Why?

There was nothing so different about him, Fern thought, but her eyes were still caught. There was nothing extraordinary. Was there?

He was not overly tall-maybe five feet ten or so-with a strongly built body and broad, muscular shoulders.

Most of the islanders were fishermen or farmers so there was nothing unusual in a good physique.

The man’s thick, gold hair, crinkled and in need of a cut, was bleached blond with weather and sun and his skin was burnt brown-but most islanders were similar so there was nothing remarkable in that, either.

But Fern knew every man on this island and she didn’t know this one.

The man was in his early thirties, she guessed, mentally flicking through the wedding guest list in her head and ticking people off.

How romantic! She should be thinking of Sam.

So why was she still staring at the stranger?

It was his eyes…

The stranger’s eyes were the most direct, mocking eyes she had ever seen. They met hers and somehow locked her to him and it was as if there was some magnetic force holding her in thrall. The stranger’s taunting eyes challenged her with mocking laughter- as if he knew that the real Fern wasn’t some vision in white satin but really a child dressed up in play clothes, playing a part.

He could see who she really was…

For heaven’s sake…Even if Fern was playing a part, she’d better get on with it.

With a small, indignant gasp, Fern tugged Uncle Al forward, sweeping past the unknown guest and turning her eyes from his disconcerting gaze.

She had things to do.

She had Sam to marry…

Sam…

There was something wrong. Sam’s look of anxiety had deepened.

Fern’s waiting bridegroom looked agonised!

Sam…

Fern stopped about four feet from her future husband, her face puckering into concern under her misty veil. ‘Sam, what’s wrong?’ she whispered.