“I’m sorry.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and stiffened my spine in determination. “I had no right.”
The king looked directly into my eyes, a shrewd expression on his face. “No right ta what?”
“No right to fall in love with your son.” Having said it—actually admitting it for the first time—a breath whooshed out from deep within my chest.
“Veronica, ye are here fer a reason. Our Protector does no’ make mistakes.” Coughs began to shake his body once more. I refilled his empty glass, and then helped him hold it as he took short sips between ragged breaths. When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “But there is something in your way …” His eyes watered in his effort to continue. “Someone.”
The king’s face turned crimson as he valiantly fought for breath. “You alone can save the kingdom.” He began coughing again. “When the time comes, ye must be willing ta sacrifice … for Jamie’s sake.”
“Sir, I don’t understand.” Someone? Was he talking about Sofia? Did he mean I should sacrifice my feelings so Jamie could be with Sofia? And how could I save the kingdom?
He swallowed, seeming to struggle for breath.
“I’m going to get Fergus.” I started to rise.
He shook his head, “Nay,” he croaked. “I need ta tell ye …”
“Yes, sir, I’m listening.” I leaned in close.
“Doon did no’ call ye here ta become its queen by marrying my son.” The king sunk back into his pillows then, a coughing fit consuming him.
I stood frozen and stared at him for several seconds, trying to comprehend his words. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I wasn’t meant to be with Jamie?
I stood on weak legs to fetch Fergus. But before I could move away, the king sat up, his cold hand clutched my arm, and he gasped out one chilling word. “Witch.”
Suddenly, the room spun away from me in a vortex of sights, sounds, and emotions. The dizzying effect sent me to my knees as the whirl of images flashed before my eyes and then ground to a sudden stop on a single hazy figure.
Waves of asymmetric blonde hair shifted over the figure’s shoulder as she turned toward me—Adelaide Dell, the caretaker of Dunbrae Cottage. What the—?
The vision grew sharper, like the lens of a camera coming into focus. Addie’s flawless skin thinned, becoming lined with age, her mouth turning down slightly at the corners. Her pencil skirt and twin sweater set morphed into an old-fashioned black dress that covered her from neck to ankle. Her pale hair turned white, twisting into a tight bun as she clutched a small leather-bound book to her chest.
The vision fell away, leaving me in a crumpled, boneless heap on the floor. Addie Dell is the witch of Doon! Working to focus my eyes, I lifted my head and saw the king’s arm hanging limply over the edge of the bed above me. Gripping the mattress, I struggled to my feet and found him still and silent. His eyes half-closed, his head lolled listless on his shoulder. Oh no! Was he gone?
“Laird MacCrae?” I whispered into the dead silence of the room. Leaning forward, I placed my fingers on the side of his neck and counted to thirty before I found a pulse. It was weak, but steady. I turned to get help.
Raised voices greeted me as I neared the chamber door. “Father thinks you’ve misread the dreams. Tell her, Jamie, perhaps—”
“I can’t risk it.”
“If you care for her at all, give her a chance.”
“I care for this kingdom. As should you, brother!”
“If you dinna tell Veronica, I swear to you I will!”
My stomach did a sickening backflip, and I burst out of the room to find Jamie and Duncan nose to nose. “Your father passed out!”
The brothers turned to me, their faces twin masks of stone as I added, “I checked his pulse. It’s weak but steady.”
“I will attend him.” Duncan strode through the open door. “Veronica, Jamie has something to discuss with you.”
Jamie sighed heavily and shoved a hand into his disheveled hair. When he turned to me, his perfect lips twisted in a scowl. “You’ve wanted to know if I was dreaming about you?” he snapped.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
His face softened. “I did dream of you … You were crying the first time I saw you. Then I couldn’t walk down the street without seeing your haunting face. And that day in the bedroom window …” He swallowed convulsively.
My pulse stuttered as I waited for him to continue.
“At first the dreams were … amazing. You were more than I could’ve dared hope for.” He glared at his feet, shoved his hands in his pants pockets, brows drawing together. When he looked up, his eyes were misty as if tears—no, it had to be a trick of the torchlight. “But then the dreams changed. I couldna get close … an evil surrounded you, moved with you, contaminating everything, until …” He paused, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he stared at the wall.
I desperately wished he would stop, but I couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move.
His eyes sliced back to mine, his entire face drawn, almost haggard. When he spoke, his voice was thick with grief. “Until everythin’ was destroyed. The entire kingdom … gone forever … because of you.”
Like a blow to the chest, his words stopped my heart.
I stared at him and shook my head. My mouth moved for several seconds before I could whisper, “No. You’re wrong.”
His eyes burned into mine, begging me—to what? Believe him? Prove my innocence? There was nothing I could say.
I wanted to shout that even if he’d dreamt that I’d harmed the kingdom, it didn’t mean anything. It was just a nightmare. But that wasn’t true. A bubble of panic pushed against my ribs, and I pulled in a ragged breath. Dreams meant everything here.
Jamie took a step and reached for me. I stumbled out of his reach. Turning on my heel, I ran blindly down the opposite corridor. He called my name but I didn’t stop. Consumed by tears, I ran aimlessly through the maze-like castle until I found a dark, quite hallway and sank to the floor, my head in my hands.
The worst part was that I’d begun to let myself hope. As hard as I tried to deny it, there’d been a secret part of me that wished, prayed even, that the visions meant this amazing boy was my soul mate—the destiny that’d brought me here. But instead, I was his nightmare and my destiny his ultimate destruction.
Help me!
Every time I tried to surface, another hideous dream tugged me under. I was strapped to a chair, forced to watch Jamie and Sofia twirl across the dance floor while the benevolent king repeatedly told me I wasn’t meant to be with his son. Addie appeared, as real as if she were standing before me, her eyes glowing an unearthly purple. She handed me a small book and moments later Jamie walked toward me, tall and solid. I held the familiar leather volume out to him as warnings shrieked through my brain. He took what I offered and crumpled at my feet, gasping for breath. Abruptly, he stopped struggling, his beautiful face frozen in death. The witch cackled gleefully, “Thank you Veronica. You’ve done well!”
I jerked awake and swallowed a scream.
The journal!
I lay rigid under the covers, my heart pounding to the beat of my cascading thoughts. Aunt Gracie’s notes said an object cursed by the witch and brought into the kingdom could compromise Doon’s protection. I thought that Kenna and I had found the journal by accident. But it was entirely possible that Addie had planted it. Who knows what she’d done in the cottage before we arrived. She’d have had plenty of time to place a spell on the book. The more I thought about it, and how easily we’d found everything, the more it made sense.
No, no, no! I dug my fingernails into my palms, squeezing my eyes tightly closed. What had I done?
My first instinct was to tell someone. But who? If I told Jamie, I’d not only be confirming his worst fears about me, but likely put him in grave danger. The image of him falling dead at my feet, the book in his hands, wouldn’t leave my mind.
I glanced at Kenna sleeping peacefully beside me. I l
onged to wake her and tell her everything, but then I remembered the king’s words: I alone could save the kingdom. Did that mean if I involved my best friend, I’d fail to save Doon? Or that it was best if I acted alone? I had no idea how the curse on the journal worked. But why endanger others if I didn’t have to? I was the one who brought the journal across the bridge in the first place—the one who’d put the people of Doon in danger.
Picturing the dead guard’s faces, frozen in agony, tears leaked out of the corners of my closed eyes. My fault. The king had given me the vision for a reason. And Jamie’s dreams had nothing to do with Kenna. This was my responsibility, my problem to fix. But the bridge was closed until the Centennial, and the king had taken the rings.
Suddenly the walls closed in around me. I had to get out, had to come up with a plan—guards or no guards. Careful not to wake Kenna, I pushed the coverlet back and slid to my feet. After tugging on my skirt and blouse, I retrieved the journal from its soggy hiding place and tucked the tiny book in my skirt pocket.
I knew what I had to do—how I could save the kingdom. Grabbing an apple out of the bowl on the coffee table, I moved to the door and flung it open—only to stop just short of barreling into a teary-eyed Fiona. Before she even spoke the words, I knew what she would say. I didn’t want to hear it, but like so many other things in Doon, I had no choice in the matter.
“The Laird MacCrae has passed on.”
My throat tightened as I moved to embrace Fiona. There was one choice still left to me. I would not let the king’s vision, the effort it’d cost him to warn me, go to waste. I’d get the cursed journal out of Doon before it was too late.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of dark, drab clothing and Kenna’s cryptic references to Our Town. I numbly went through the motions of getting ready for the funeral while also looking for my chance to escape. Despite my resolve, I both dreaded and longed for that moment; alternating between the desires to speed time up and freeze it in place.
After what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the Auld Kirk. From my vantage point in the middle of the church, I let my eyes slide over the sea of mourners, searching for the face of my prince. He and his bother sat alone in front, opposite, yet the same; one dark, one light, their broad shoulders squared in an almost identical steely bulwark against their anguish—stoic islands of grief. I wished I was sitting next to him, if only to hold his hand.
Pain shot up my jaw and I unclenched my teeth. Jamie wouldn’t want reassurance from me. He’d made his feelings abundantly clear, and after what I’d done, it was for the best. I shifted in my seat, the impulse to duck out the back door, to grab the journal and go, almost overwhelming. Fearful to bring the witch’s evil into the Doonians’ place of worship, I’d stashed the book outside the doors of the chapel, in the pot of a tall fern.
A deep silence pulled my focus back to the front of the church where Jamie made his way to the center of the altar. Stopping behind the podium, he stood tall and strong, sincerity shining from his face. As he began to speak, his words filled the chapel with an almost visible peace, his internal strength comforting and encouraging his grieving kinsmen.
Kenna shifted beside me. She slipped her warm hand into mine and squeezed. If she chose to stay in Doon, this could be the last moment I spent with her. I squeezed back, hoping she knew how much she meant to me.
“You okay?” she whispered.
Afraid she would read my thoughts, I nodded but kept my focus on the eulogy. As I listened, something inside of me shifted. The resentment I’d felt since discovering it was my responsibility to save the kingdom transformed into quiet acceptance. Jamie MacCrae would make a wonderful king, and it was my duty—no, my destiny—to give him that chance.
Even if it meant leaving the two people I loved most in the world … forever.
CHAPTER 22
Mackenna
As I followed the funeral crowd around the side of the Auld Kirk to the pavilion behind, I asked myself WWSSD: What Would Stephen Sondheim Do?
I thought about the two gladiator princes who, despite all their strength and cunning, were powerless to stop the death of their beloved father—even in an enchanted kingdom. Bittersweet, coming-of-age melodies swirled in my head. If only Stephen were here to give them a musical silver lining to cling to in their time of need.
Instead, they had a whole community of loved ones who grieved in harmony with them. And the discord of two alleged witches, causing unease in their realm at a time when they needed it least.
Make that one witch.
Vee had wandered away from the masses at the first opportunity. Ever since the picnic at Muir Lea, she’d been a ghost girl, barely here. Considering the whole Sofia thing, I figured she just needed some space.
But this morning had been different. Whatever happened between Vee and the auld laird before he passed had seriously messed her up. In our entire friendship, I’d never seen her so devastated—or withdrawn. Not even when her dad went MIA.
It was time for a Kennavention … just as soon as she returned.
Moments after Vee slipped away, I watched Jamie follow. From what little she’d told me, Prince Not-So-Charming had a lot of sucking up to do. Maybe after some alone time they’d be able to reach an understanding.
To take my mind off my bestie’s drama, I focused on the scene before me. Wooden tables, laden with food and drinks, bordered the length of the space closest to the church. At the far end, a band—complete with bagpipes and drums—began to set up just in front of the Doonian crest. The opposite side of the tent opened to reveal the spectacular shoreline of the Loch o’ Doon. In the middle of the shore, a small wooden ramp sloped into the gently lapping waters of the lake. A rectangular pyre of twigs sat on the makeshift dock in preparation of the king’s final journey.
As the good citizens of Doon gathered in the pavilion, the musicians took up their instruments. Accompanied by the sad, slow strains of the fiddlers, the bagpipes began to weave their haunting tale of sorrow. Perhaps Sondheim’s spirit was present after all.
Fiona wove her way through the crowd to check on me. Her swollen eyes spoke of a grief I wasn’t entitled to share. Feeling like an intruder, I picked the first safe topic I could come up with. “I think it might rain.”
At my seemingly benign statement, Fiona stifled a sob. “Aye. I’ve no doubt that it will. The weather and the kingdom share a distinct connection. Although we have seasons, the weather is always harshest when we Doonians are—struggling.” Her voice broke on the last word, and I decided my curiosity was better left unsatisfied. As she moved on, the first fat drops of moisture began to fall, giving the impression that the sky cried along with the people.
Or maybe these were the tears of God?
I’d heard someone say that about rain once, and the thought sent a shiver trembling up my spine. Would God cry at the death of one king? Or any single Doonian for that matter? What about my world? Had he cried over my mother? Would he cry for me?
He would cry for Duncan—that I was certain of. The younger prince of Doon had a simple faith that resonated from his being. He was kind and loyal, and … good. Everything nobility ought to be.
My gaze roamed restlessly through the crowded pavilion, seeking the face of Duncan MacCrae. Over the past few days he’d been absent, busy with the Centennial and grieving over his dad. His playful banter seemed to have died along with the soldiers in the meadow. Now the unsettling feeling of missing him, if only as a friend, tugged at me.
He was easy to spot—a dark-haired hulk standing a full head above his peers. Well, not peers exactly … In this case, he held court with a half dozen girls, each one prettier than the next. A dozen lashes batted in unison, as mouths of all shapes and sizes curved in empathy. Large doe eyes of every hue imaginable gazed up at Duncan with invitations of solace.
Thinking of him taking consolation in one of their arms made me feel like going postal. Stupid, stupid me. I’d had my shot … and blew it. I could’ve kissed
him in the meadow, but I’d taken the high road. Or the low, slinking road of cowardice, depending on how you looked at it. My heart twisted sharply with that observation, and I had to remind myself that it was better this way. I was leaving at the first opportunity.
Unable to continue watching the macabre flirtfest, I drifted along the edges of the pavilion until I came to the lake. Heavy rain caused a symphony of ripples on the water’s surface. Little clusters of ducks and geese, reveling in the downpour, swam in jubilant pursuit of each another. At times, one or another would stop to dive for an underwater morsel, their duck butts quivering and bobbing along the water’s surface.
In the midst of such aquatic frivolity, a single swan glided in complete isolation. The graceful black and white bird cast such a somber contrast to the reckless ducklings that I felt drawn to it. Wasn’t it a bird like the others? Yet unaffected by the ducks’ infectious play, it floated among them as an entity apart.
“Swans mate for life, ye know.”
In my distraction, I hadn’t heard Duncan approach. His smooth brogue caused me to jump in surprise and set my girl parts to tingling. “No, I didn’t know.” Intrigued by the noble swan, I returned to my contemplation of the lake and conveniently away from an even more captivating view.
“His name’s Romeo,” Duncan supplied. The words rolled softly from his tongue, making me long to hear him recite the soliloquy of Shakespeare’s iconic hero. O that I were a glove upon that hand …
Pulling myself back to present, I asked, “Where’s his Juliet?”
“Died.”
The poignancy in that single word caused my chest to contract as I faced the prince. Grief etched deep lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. As I stared at him, Duncan continued to regard the lake with luminous eyes. “Five winters ago … Not a day goes by that he does not miss her terribly.”
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