His laugh was a mere breath, incredulous. “So it would seem.” His fingers settled over hers on his arm, as they so often did. And she wondered if he’d kiss her again. There were hundreds of perfect spots here, and they had the Gardens to themselves. It would be the perfect cap to the last few strange days. “What did you two talk about that first day?”

“Well . . . on this part of the path, she told me a bit of the history of the Betrothal Stone. Or the legend, anyway.” They were only a few steps away from it now, so naturally they stopped. Libby smiled at the memory. “She mentioned that your parents had a story about it, though she didn’t tell it to me.”

“No? Well, that won’t do.” Grinning, Oliver pulled away so he could face her. “It was in the dead of winter, so you’ll have to use your imagination there. Most of the garden was dormant, and a fierce storm had just blown through. All the islanders had been hunkered down for days, but on the solstice, the sun was shining again. So my father seized the opportunity to take my mother for a stroll. She’d always been intrigued by the local legends—”

Libby laughed. “Having met her father, I find that utterly astounding.”

“No doubt.” He set a hand on the slab of granite. It would be warm from the summer sun, but perhaps he was imagining it with a winter chill. “Father had told Mother that he’d read the stone may have had some other ceremonial purpose in the days of the Druids. He said he thought that it was originally aligned to catch the rays of the setting sun on the winter solstice. Which, as you’d expect, was all it took to get her out here at sunset. Even though no one knows where the stone originally stood, she was certain that if she caught the flash of sunset through one of the holes, something would be revealed.”

She couldn’t have held in her smile had she tried. “And I suspect something did.”

“Indeed.” Eyes twinkling, Oliver shifted behind the stone. “While she was busy investigating, Father slipped back here. And at the exact moment when the rays were stretching through the hole, he reached through.” Oliver’s hand came through the small, topmost hole. “And he opened his hand.” Oliver’s fingers uncurled from his palm.

Libby’s smile stilled. Her breath caught. His hand wasn’t empty. There was a ring sitting there in his palm, the main stone a gleaming purple—or green?—with diamond rainbows sparkling from all around it. “Oliver?”