Doon (Doon Novel, A) (9 page)

Duncan introduced the girl as Fiona Fairshaw and explained, “Fiona is at your service.”

Resisting my baser impulses to dive face-first into the buffet, I waited impatiently as our self-appointed benefactor said his good-byes. Laughter colored Duncan’s tone as he said, “I am needed elsewhere, m’ ladies, so I will take my leave. But please, make yourselves at home in my quarters. Fiona can get you anything ye may have need of … including sheets.”

Everyone turned their focus to the spread before us but I
continued to glare at the prince. In the space of a heartbeat, Duncan’s mirth vanished. Calling Fergus aside, he said in a soft, bone-chilling voice, “Ye know what to do, man.” Refusing to analyze the lethal look that passed between the two men, I turned my attention toward the food.

As Vee and I topped off our lamb and arugula sandwiches with blueberry puff pastries, Fergus beckoned Fiona to the opposite end of the room. I knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d watched enough BBC to know the help always had the best intel, and some scheme was definitely afoot.

Fergus cleared his throat, his voice projecting louder than a stage whisper in the confined space. “I think the lasses would do well with a wee nap.”

“That they would, Fergus, but a summons is forthcoming. And they’d best be alert.”

From the corner of my eye, I glanced at the girl who was our court-appointed babysitter. I figured she was about our age, or the Doonian equivalent. Maybe there was a way to calculate the difference—like you do with dog years?

Although taller than Vee, she looked like a child next to Fergus. Though a very attractive and strong-willed one. The reddish-blonde wisps of hair that had escaped her cap grazed the tops of her shoulders, and she had rosy cheeks and a dusting of pale freckles across her button nose. The young guard towered over her, but she stood her ground, hands clamped onto her hips, determined to get her way.

The rest of the exchange was lost, thanks to Vee murmuring into my ear, “What do you think she means by
summons
?”

“Shhh.”

Whatever I’d missed caused Fergus to exclaim in a much louder voice, “Ye have no way o’ knowin’ that, wench.”

“Fergus Lockhart! I’ll no’ have ye callin’ me disrespectful names in front o’ our guests.” She jabbed her finger in Fergus’s barrel-like chest. “Ye have no right ta tell me what I can and canna say or do!”

“Can I not?” Fergus searched her pretty face until her frown shifted. And as soon as she cracked, the big guy turned every imaginable shade of pink. Obviously, there was more to their relationship than met the eye.

Almost shyly, Fiona turned from the colossal guard and walked to the door. For a fraction of a second, we all stared in anticipation. Then three succinct knocks shattered the silence, causing Vee and I to gasp and jump up from the table. Fergus muttered a curse followed by a hasty apology for swearing.

Another round of knocks reverberated through the room. After receiving Fergus’s go-ahead nod, Fiona opened the door to reveal a waiting messenger flanked by half a dozen heavily armed soldiers. Turning her grave face toward Fergus, she asked, “This proof enough for ye?”

Unable to contain her dismay, Vee scampered to Fiona’s side. “Please. What did you mean by a summons?”

To me, the goon squad made it pretty clear. Vee’s dream boy wanted to rake us over the coals again. I walked over and pointed to the soldiers, but lowered my voice as a precaution. “It means Prince Not-So-Charming wants to interrogate us some more.”

Fiona laid a hand on each of us, her clear hazel eyes compassionate and sincere. “Well, I believe it be the auld laird ye’ll have to face this time.”

Vee cleared her throat. “Do you mean Jamie and Duncan’s father?”

“Aye. He only involves himself in matters which impact the future o’ the kingdom.” Fiona paused, first searching my face and then Vee’s before ushering us out the chamber door. “Remember ta speak the truth that’s in your heart and all will finish right.”

Easy for her to say. Since coming to Doon, everything from my mouth seemed to come from some place other than my heart—or my brain, for that matter. As I trailed Fergus down the one hundred and seventeen steps, I vowed to hold my tongue and play mute. From here on out I would reenact
The Miracle Worker
and leave all the talking to Vee.

S
omeday, I hoped I’d look back on this as a grand adventure. A tale of valor I could use to impress my kids. But right now I was having difficulty putting one foot in front of the other. Twenty hours of sleep deprivation tended to have that effect. Maybe after a good night’s rest I’d be able to wrap my head around everything. Although it was pretty clear the fantasy of living happily ever after with the literal man of my dreams was a bust. At this point, I just hoped our trial wouldn’t end with Kenna and me locked back in the
icky
dungeon for the rest of our natural lives.

Fergus half-carried me into a room that reminded me of a cross between the dining hall at Hogwarts and the throne room from Sleeping Beauty’s castle. If I’d had the energy, I would’ve gawked over the three-story vaulted ceiling supported by stone columns, and marveled at the scalloped leaded glass windows. But in my diminished state, not even the vivid tapestries, larger than the giant man at my side, stirred more than a passing interest.

At our entrance, excited whispers rushed through the room. Hundreds of staring eyes strained to catch a glimpse as guards herded Kenna and me down the center aisle like circus freaks on display.

We approached a wide marble dais, where an elegant, aging man—who looked every bit a ruler—occupied the throne. My heart galloped ahead of me at the sight of Jamie standing beside his father, his hands clasped behind him, a lock of sandy blond hair across one eye. Duncan stood in a similar pose on the old laird’s other side.

As we drew closer, and I could see the impassive set of Jamie’s features, I reigned in my pulse, burying my emotions deep. If he could remain stoic, then so would I. When we stopped, I lifted my chin, locked my spine, and focused on the king. He looked incredibly regal, from the green and blue brocade robe that covered him from neck to feet to the simple gold crown. Even his thick, white hair, which hung down his back in a plaited braid, lent him an air of noble dignity. But it was his dark eyes that drew me in; they radiated with intelligence and life.

Scrutinizing the stalwart king, I couldn’t help but wonder why Jamie had the duties of acting ruler.

“He totally has that King Lear vibe going for him, dontcha think?” Kenna whispered loudly in my ear.

“Shhh.” I shot her a look of disbelief. Didn’t she realize we were in serious trouble?

As King MacCrae opened his mouth to speak, he began to shake and appeared on the verge of pitching forward. Both princes tensed as if they were milliseconds away from lunging to catch him. As their father recovered, they both stiffened, their expressions identical masks of concern.

During the incident, the king’s face remained passive, but his traitorous body betrayed him. Closer observation revealed
red-rimmed eyes, a slight tremor in his knobby hands, and deep fatigue underlying his look of fierce concentration. My question regarding Jamie’s role was answered.

As the royal family recovered, Gideon stepped forward and groveled before the king like the sycophant he was. “Sire, if I may, these two lassies before ye are about the witch’s mischief. I apprehended them spying on the princes at the tournament.”

Fear rippled through the crowd in a jumble of hysterical commotion. I turned to confront my jailer and froze. Gideon looked creepier than I remembered. The skin of his face stretched over his skull and his beady eyes protruded amphibiously from his head, like he’d been the victim of a terrible plastic surgeon. I steadied my breath and managed, “We’re not working for any witch.”

He wet his cracked, nearly nonexistent lips. “Why should we believe you?”

Before I could compose a persuasive reply, Kenna blurted out, “Because if we were, I’d have already turned you into a toad.”

My friend wiggled her fingers ominously, inciting another round of outrage from the agitated crowd. I glanced behind her and met openly hostile stares. Many of the citizens seemed to have already made up their minds that we were guilty.

I turned back around and grabbed Kenna’s elbow. “Not helping.”

A single chuckle pulled at my attention. I turned toward the laughter and encountered Duncan’s wide grin. My gaze flew to Jamie, daring to hope he shared his brother’s lighthearted sentiment.

With an impatient gesture, he shoved the hair off his forehead and admonished, “Tis no laughing matter, Duncan.”

Duncan shrugged one broad shoulder. “‘
Tis
when someone’s overreacting.”

The king regarded the standoff between his offspring before settling a stern look of reproach on his eldest son. Speaking for the first time, his measured brogue oozed authority. “Just because yer brother laughs does no’ mean he makes light o’ the situation.”

He shifted in his seat to favor Duncan with an indulgent smile. A glance of understanding—of preference even—passed between the king and his youngest son. Rather than react or defend himself, Jamie mutely turned away.

If I, an outside observer, could pick up so quickly that Duncan was the favorite son, what must it be like for Jamie? An overwhelming urge to comfort this beautiful golden boy with the dark, wounded eyes rose up inside me. But I dismissed the impulse as his deep scowl pinned me to the spot. Maybe I’d taken a knock to my head somewhere along the way, because I had far more important things to worry about—like, oh, I don’t know, my imminent survival or imprisonment—than an arrogant boy who treated me worse than an ant he found crawling over his boot.

Clenching my jaw, I did my best to ignore his intense stare as King MacCrae addressed the crowd. “We shall hear the evidence against Miss Welling and Miss Reid.”

Gideon once again approached the throne. “M’ lairds, ye heard it with yer own ears. The one with hair the color o’ devil’s fire freely admits to witchery.” His bulging eyes blazed like a zealot. “’Tis my belief the Witch o’ Doon has built herself a new coven, and these two—her emissaries o’ evil—are somehow impervious to the enchantment.”

Nausea flooded my system as chaos exploded around us. Angry citizens pressed closer, shouting about witchcraft and malevolence. Kenna grabbed my hand, her voice quivering. “Enough of this Salem witch trial. I don’t want to be hanged, or burned at the stake,
or
stoned—let’s make a run for it.”

I clasped her hand tighter and leaned in close. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this … somehow.” I chanced a glance at Jamie and prayed he wouldn’t allow us to be carried down to the river by a mob of pitchfork-wielding villagers. In that moment, my prince commanded, “Silence!”

The clamor died instantly, replaced by a palpable and equally tense quiet. Jamie jumped down lightly from the dais and strode forward, his eyes never leaving my face. He stopped before me, and I met his catlike stare. Some indefinable emotion crossed his face and softened his rigid features, but before I could identify it the detached ruler was back. A vein pulsed in his throat as he demanded, “What have ye to say against the charges?”

My fear shifted into anger with a nearly audible snap. Letting go of Kenna’s hand, I stepped forward. “What charges? So far, I haven’t heard anything but conjecture from a raving lunatic. Shouldn’t we be given the opportunity to defend ourselves?”

The prince moved into my personal space, forcing me to lift my chin to meet his gaze. Barely restrained energy radiated from his body, and against my will I trembled in response. His warm breath pulsed against my ear as he leaned in and hissed, “That ’tis precisely what I am doing. But if you have no explanation for yer presence here, we’ll move on to the sentencing.”

Gideon moved in and pulled Jamie back. “If ye continue to let her speak, sire, she’ll beguile us all.”

Jamie scowled at the guard’s fingers, and Gideon snatched his hand back before continuing in a scornful tone, “Need I remind ye, they just appeared. By
magic
.”

At this latest allegation, the crowd clucked in disapproval. Jamie stepped away from me, and the breath I hadn’t realized I held whooshed from my lips. He nodded toward his father. “Gideon makes a sound point. We can’t risk these alleged witches beguiling us.”

On the second to last word, his voice cracked, but he turned to face the people and continued in an expressionless tone. “Any defense must be offered by a citizen of Doon.”

For the first time in the proceedings, the room was as silent as a crypt. Jamie declared, “Is there no one willing to speak on their behalf?”

Duncan stepped down from the dais and winked in our direction. “Don’t be daft, Jamie. You know I’ll defend them.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed slightly as his mouth quirked into a tight, shrewd smile. “You can’t, little brother. As a member of the royal family, you sit in judgment on this hearing.”

Duncan’s expression mirrored his sibling’s. “Then I renounce my royal claim. You must now be an only child and I an orphaned commoner.”

I waited for the king to stop them, but he retained his Zen-like nonchalance. Either he was used to his sons’ antics or his health was too compromised to intervene. Maybe a bit of both.

In an unexpected display of emotion, Jamie leaned toward his brother. Despite the quiet, I strained to catch his barely audible reproach. “Stop this madness. Ye know what’s at stake here.”

In an equally intimate tone, Duncan replied, “What happened to your heart, brother? What would Mother say if she were here to witness your callous behavior?”

Jamie’s eyes widened as he turned away, dark color staining his cheekbones.

Duncan addressed his father. “If these girls held the power to bewitch us, they would’ve done it by now. As defense, I would like the lasses to give an account o’ how they came to be in Doon.”

When the king nodded in agreement, Duncan addressed Kenna and me. “Dinna be afraid. Speak whatever truth is in your hearts.”

I glanced at Kenna, and she nodded for me to take the lead. Clearing my throat, I locked my knees against their shaking and focused on the king. “Respectfully, sire, we walked across the Bridge of Doon.”

What I thought was a straightforward statement incited the mob, and Gideon had to shout to be heard. “Ye see, sire! The Brig o’ Doon does no’ open fer two more weeks—until the Centennial. Yet these lassies crossed it. ’Tis witchery, I say!”

“NOT—” Duncan paused until the roar died down. “Not if they possessed the Rings of Aontacht.” Behind him, the assembly gasped.

“That is a bold claim, m’ laird.” Gideon scoffed and crossed his arms over his spindly chest.

Duncan smiled. “Is it?” Without taking his eyes off Gideon, he inquired, “Fergus Lockhart, what say you?”

The gentle giant stepped forward. His pale blue eyes met mine briefly before refocusing on his co-conspirator. Prompted by Duncan’s nod, Fergus addressed the king. “Sire, we did remove rings from these lasses. One gold and ruby, the other silver with an emerald.”

The king considered this for a moment then turned his attention back to Fergus. “If this is true, where are the rings now?”

“Gideon confiscated ’em, sire.”

King MacCrae gestured for Gideon to approach the throne. Purple with indignation, Gideon reached into his vest. After a ridiculous amount of searching and patting, he produced the rings. Rather than hand them over immediately, he stammered, “M’ laird, what if these trinkets be forgeries? Or cursed? They need ta be evaluated before—”

The king silenced him with an elegant flick of his wrist, then extended his hand and waited until Gideon surrendered
the bands. They came to rest in the monarch’s palm with a subdued clink.

King MacCrae took a ring in each hand and examined them. I watched mute, as he went into a trance-like state and held the rings reverently skyward. His lips moved in silent prayer. At long last, he proclaimed, “These are, indeed, the Rings of Aontacht. Where did ye get them?”

“They were left to me by my aunt Gracie and uncle Cameron.” Kenna’s voice rang through the hall.

“You’re a relative of Cameron Lockhart?” As Kenna nodded, the auld laird favored her with a smile. “This explains much.”

Jamie emerged from the crowd, apparently recovered from his moment of humiliation. “Father, just because these girls have the Rings of Aontacht does not mean they should be absolved. They could yet be aligned with the witch.”

Without a trace of his characteristic smirk, Duncan interjected, “Or not.”

Kenna sighed. “Just take us back to the bridge. We’ll use the rings to go home. Problem solved.”

My stomach bungee-jumped into my toes. Of course, leaving was preferable to death, but I wasn’t ready to give up on this place … or on
him
.

I ignored the impulse to glance at Jamie and instead focused on the one person who held our fate, King MacCrae. The same shrewd expression I’d seen on the faces of his sons now emerged on his. “I am afraid ’tis not so easily settled, lass. These rings belong to Doon. They will be locked safely in the chapel until Doon has need of them again.”

“But—” Kenna sputtered. I knew she was thinking about her internship, life moving on without her in the modern world.

As if he could read her thoughts as well, the king elaborated. “Questions have been raised, Miss Reid, as to the purpose of
your sudden arrival in our kingdom. You and Miss Welling will stay here in Doon for the next fortnight. At that time, the Brig o’ Doon will open for the Centennial and ye will be able to leave without use of the rings. Until then, my kingdom is at your disposal. Fiona and Fergus will remain in your service.”

Gideon’s odious voice interrupted again. “But sire—”

“Gideon, it has been spoken. I will no’ change my mind. M’ ladies, ye have been granted a rare opportunity. Most travelers get only one day, but you have two weeks ta come to know Doon and its people. And for us to know you. At the Centennial, however, you must make the choice all outsiders are tasked with. Ye must choose whether to remain in Doon or leave us forever.”

“Sire—” Gideon halted under the king’s withering stare and dropped his beady eyes to the tip of his boot. The auld laird rose, and his sons each rushed to support him. As he leaned on his heirs, King MacCrae pronounced in a most wise and fatherly voice, “As Laird MacCrae, I welcome ye to Doon. Tomorrow my sons will present to you their kingdom. Ye must forgive my absence, but my health is not what it once was. Jamie will serve in my place.”