In the next instant, he was gone.
With a deep, steadying breath, I sat up and adjusted my clothes while Jamie moved to the other side of the room. His fisted hands braced against the window casing as he rested his forehead against the icy windowpane and stared at the wintery landscape. The tension in his posture caused reality to infiltrate my fuzzy brain, and shame washed through me. I was supposed to convince him to be with Sofia. Not make this harder on both of us.
“Jamie?” I whispered as I rebuttoned my shirt.
“Just give me a moment,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
Was he struggling to gain control? Or was he angry that he’d let it happen at all?
He began to pace, running his fingers through the top layers of his hair, causing it to fall in a tangle over his forehead. Even distraught and rumpled, he resembled a Greek statue come to life.
Forcefully ignoring the ache of longing the sight of him stirred within me, I focused on restarting the necessary, but painful, conversation I’d begun earlier. “Jamie—”
I stood, clutching the ridiculously large pants before they fell down around my knees. “I’m not trying to make any decisions for you, but it’s obvious you have feelings for Sofia and have for some time. You’ve only known me a few days.” I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what the king had said to me; it would only make him feel as if his father were controlling his destiny from the grave.
He stopped pacing and stared down at me like I imagined Heathcliff had with Catherine. And look how their romance turned out.
“You’ve known her your whole life. The people of Doon trust and care for her.” Then, before I lost the courage, I rushed on. “How could anything you feel for me compete with that?”
As I stared into his expressive eyes, the emotions warring across his face convinced me I’d made my point. I may be the shiny new toy that’d momentarily attracted his attention, but his relationship with Sofia had history and substance. And a future …
He took my hand and led me to the hearth, where we sat facing each other. Jamie searched my face. “Will ye deny the Calling then?”
I pulled my hand from his, realizing with a sinking heart that the more we touched, the harder our ultimate separation would become. “Considering the direction your dreams took, I don’t know if we can ever be sure it was a real Calling.”
I broke eye contact, unable to bear the expectation burning in his gaze. “Besides, you would always be watching me, waiting for me to prove your nightmares true. There wouldn’t be any trust between us.”
“I admit it would be much easier if I could put the dreams out of my mind … put you out of my mind.” He cupped my cheek, urging me to return his tortured stare. “But I canna. Can you?”
Ignoring his question, I turned away from him and unwound my damp hair. The mundane task of fanning the strands out in front of the fire helped to distract me from the temptation sitting way too close.
“Has anyone ever told you that yer so beautiful you glow?”
Chills raised the hair on the back of my neck. Trying to act as if his words didn’t affect me, I shrugged. “No.”
I felt him close the distance between us and stifled a groan of frustration.
“Let me do that for ye, love.”
My arms dropped into my lap as if they had a will of their own. Jamie pulled his fingers smoothly through the strands of my hair, and I wondered if this was part of his strategy to win me over. But as he repeated the motion, his fingers brushing the nape of my neck and massaging my scalp, I forgot to care. Melting into a puddle of spineless goo, I was ready to curl up on his lap and purr like a contented kitten.
Seriously, how much more could a girl take?
“Do ye not care for me, Verranica? If no’, then tell me to leave ye be.” His deep voice was hypnotic. And calculating … and controlling. At least that’s what I tried to believe as I steeled myself to say the words that would turn him away from me forever: I don’t care for you a bit, Jamie MacCrae … I could never love you.
But when I opened my eyes to his beautifully noble face only inches from mine—looking as if I were the only thing that mattered in his world—the lie died on my lips.
His mouth shifted into a lazy grin. The hand that’d been stroking my hair cupped my jaw. His thumb rested on my chin as he tilted my face and lowered his mouth toward mine, his tempestuous scent weaving its spell around me.
He watched me under heavy lids as the pad of his thumb swept over my bottom lip. “I canna resist you.”
Oh no! I turned into a mindless lemming when he kissed me. I could not let it happen again. My mission repeated in my head. It was my only defense. Get the journal out of Doon and make sure Jamie ends up with the right girl—which, heart-breakingly, wasn’t me.
“No!” I practically yelled the word as I jumped up, my exhausted body betraying me when I stumbled back several steps.
Jamie was up in a heartbeat, his powerful arms steadying me.
“Please don’t,” I whispered, trying to twist away from him. He loosened his hold but didn’t let me go. Afraid if I met his eyes he would try to kiss me again—and this time, I wouldn’t have the strength to resist—I stared at the spot where the edge of his sweater met his neck. It was such a nice neck: smooth, tan skin, the slightest bit of stubble leading up to his square jaw, and—the delectable dimple in his chin. Then my hand was on his face, my thumb sweeping across the indentation that’d fascinated me from the first moment I saw him.
Apparently, I had no willpower whatsoever.
I lifted my eyes to his and felt dizzy, like gazing into an endless midnight sky sprinkled with stars. Gently, he took my hand away from his face and held it between us, his expression becoming uncertain.
“I’m not myself around you, Verranica. When you look at me with those captivating sea-green eyes, I canna even think straight.” He swallowed, hard. “I canna fight what I feel for you any longer … I dinna want to.”
My voice stuck in my throat. As I searched his face, a gust of wind blew down the chimney, fanning the flames and causing sparks to sputter onto the hearth. I couldn’t let him say any more; I had to find a way to convince him I wasn’t the right choice for him or his kingdom.
Pulling out of his arms, I pursed my lips. “Do you want to know what I think?” Before he could respond, I continued, “I think the Divine Protector of Doon would be gravely disappointed that his new king was being so selfish. If your faith was strong, you would know the warning dreams were for good reason.” I watched him turn steely, but I rushed on.
“We aren’t meant to be together, Jamie.” I swiped at my tears. Now was not a time for crying. There would be time enough for that later. “You asked me if I care for you, but my feelings are irrelevant. So are yours. Don’t you see? It’s not about us. It’s about what’s best for the people of Doon. Your people.”
“Don’t I get a say in what’s best for my people?” he asked as he stalked toward me. I held up my hands to warn him off, as I could see by the hardening of his expression his patience had come to an end.
“You don’t even know me, Jamie. How could you know if I’m good for the kingdom or not? You know nothing about my life before I came here.” On shaky legs, I slumped down on the couch, and cleared my throat before continuing. “I’m just a momentary distraction. You’ll forget about me once I cross over the bridge.”
“Never.” His jaw was set in rigid determination, but it was his dark, imploring eyes that sucked the fight right out of me. “Vee, you dinna—”
“Just stop.” I shook my head. This conversation was getting us nowhere. “Can we talk about this later? I’m so tired.” It wasn’t a lie. As I curled my legs beneath me, I yawned and my eyelids fluttered closed for several seconds. Emotionally and physically drained, I didn’t have the strength left to argue.
Despite my best efforts to stay upright, my head lowered to the arm of the couch, and exhaustion washed over me like a corporeal force.
Several moments later, I blinked to discover Jamie as he squatted down in front of me, concern shining from his face. He reached out and tenderly brushed my hair off my cheek.
“Do the right thing …” I wasn’t sure if I spoke the words aloud or said them in my head. “Make Sofia your queen.”
“Dinna worry, I will … Sleep now, love. We have the morrow.”
I think I smiled at him—my beautiful prince, I thought dreamily, before sleep swept me away.
I awoke to the harsh light of day and the knowledge I had a little over forty-eight hours left in Doon. I just prayed that the Covenant would protect all of us from the witch’s malice until I could get the journal out of the kingdom. Now that I knew I couldn’t leave until the portal opened at the Centennial, each minute felt like a ticking time bomb.
In vain, I searched for a clock. How much time had I wasted sleeping?
Jamie must have covered me during the night because I was buried under a mountain of thick wool blankets. Rolling over and sitting up, I became aware that the sun was high in the sky, filling the cozy room with early afternoon light.
Make that less than forty-eight hours left in Doon.
With a sigh of resignation, I pushed off the covers and stood with a yawn. A sleepy-eyed Jamie emerged from the other room in the pants he’d been wearing the night before—and no shirt.
Oh no.
His broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted torso would’ve put the models on the giant Abercrombie and Fitch posters to shame. He was all bronze skin and smooth muscle.
“Good mornin’.” His voice sounded rough from sleep. Rubbing his open hand against his eight-pack abs, his eyes crinkled against the sun and a languid grin spread across his face. He’d never looked hotter—correction, I’d never seen anyone look hotter. As my pulse skyrocketed out of control, I acknowledged that I’d made a huge mistake. I should’ve demanded he take me back to the castle the night before, no matter how exhausted I’d been.
“Good morning,” I mumbled as I self-consciously smoothed my hair and straightened the huge shirt he’d loaned me.
“Oh!” Startled, I glanced down at my bare legs. I was fairly sure I’d been wearing pants the night before. I tugged the shirt down to cover my thighs and wondered why I felt so embarrassed. My cheer-skirt barely covered my behind, and I’d practically lived in it during football season. Maybe it was all the long skirts and stockings I’d worn for the last two weeks.
“What are ye—Och!” Jamie cut off as he noticed my missing clothes.
“I must have kicked them off during the night,” I explained as I sat next to the mound of blankets and began searching for my pants.
“I have seen legs before, ye know,” Jamie said with studied casualness.
I glanced up to find him staring at me with a boyish grin, his eyes fixed on my one bare leg visible between the disarray of blankets. I was pretty sure viewing a woman’s naked legs—especially the length that was currently visible below my shirt—would be considered taboo in his culture. Something about the situation made me feel giddy—and a little powerful.
Without taking my eyes off him, I experimentally removed the blanket covering my right leg and watched in satisfaction as his eyes widened. Slowly, I stood, allowing the shirt to fall into place just above my knees. Jamie cleared his throat but his eyes stayed locked in the downward position. Knowing I was playing with fire but unable to resist, I lifted my arms above my head with a great yawn. As I stretched onto my toes, the hem of the shirt rose to the top of my thighs.
“By the saints,” Jamie muttered, shoving a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.
Fluidly, I lowered my arms and brought my feet to rest flat on the floor. The knowledge that I could beat him at his own game filled me with wicked satisfaction. Then I caught his eye, and the forceful heat of his stare hit me like a wave, almost knocking me back onto the sofa. With great deliberation, he moved in my direction. And I knew I was in way over my head.
“Ah … Jamie? I ah … need to … Is there a privy I can use?”
“Aye, it’s through that door.” His voice low, he pointed in the general direction of the room he’d slept in. But with a mountain of blankets blocking my most direct path and Jamie advancing toward me, I was trapped.
Teasing this particular boy had been a bad idea—especially in light of the lecture I’d given him the night before. I pivoted to my left, leapt over a small pile of blankets, and ran around the back of the sofa. Feeling like the worst kind of coward, I stopped and faced him with the large piece of furniture between us. The corners of his mouth turned down in a disappointed frown.
“Um … I’m sorry?” It came out as a question because I didn’t have any idea how to diffuse the situation. I offered him a small smile. He stared at me blankly for several seconds and then grinned.
“No, I’m sorry. I suppose I have no’ seen legs—ah—like yours before.” He shrugged ruefully. “For future reference, lass, dangling bait in front of a hungry shark is a bad idea.”
The laughter bubbled out of me. “Really? Thanks for the advice.”
Jamie picked up a clump of brown cloth and threw it at my chest. “I think ye better put these on. Before I do somethin’ verra un-princelike.”
My eyes widened at the implication of his words. Quickly tugging on the pants, I sprinted from the room.
Safely ensconced in the small—but to my immense relief, well-equipped—bathroom, I leaned against the door, sucking in ragged breaths. I had to remember my goal—get the journal out of Doon and, in the process, get myself out of the way, so Jamie could marry Sofia and live happily ever after.
Less than forty-eight hours, Veronica. You can do this!
I walked over to the sink, splashed cold water on my face, and then left the room in search of Jamie. Following the scent of eggs frying in butter, I found him in the kitchen. Thankfully, he was wearing a shirt and … cooking?
“You’re making breakfast?” I asked in disbelief.
“Aye, I’m no’ an invalid, you know.” He gestured with his spatula. “Take a moment to enjoy the view.”
The kitchen jutted out over the treetops at a right angle. Wood framed windows lined three of the walls, giving an unobstructed view of the valley below; a sea of verdant trees made even more vibrant by sunshine glistening off the melting snow.
Jamie set two plates of over-easy eggs, bread, and cheese on a small table. “After you, m’ lady,” he insisted, holding a chair out for me.
I took the seat he offered and breathed in the savory aroma of hot eggs. My mouth watered and I realized I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. Jamie brought two mugs of steaming tea to the table and sat down.
“Thank you,” I said, genuinely impressed.
“Yer quite welcome.”
A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth and I couldn’t look away. I searched his face, longing to find some fault with him, some desperate flaw that I could cling to, so when I compared guys to him in my future—as I inevitably would—they wouldn’t fall miserably short in every way.
Ah, crud, I might as well become a cat lady!
I tore my eyes away from him and stabbed my eggs with such force that my fork clinked against the plate. I refused to think about the gaping black hole that was my future. Instead, I focused on filling my belly.
“So, what part of America are ye from?” he asked as he chewed—talking with his mouth full, per usual.
“Indiana. A small town in the midwest called Bainbridge.”
“And yer parents? How are they?” His expression was indecipherable and so fascinating I had to force my attention away from him and back to my food.
Gathering a bite of cheese and eggs on my fork, I contemplated the best way to answer his question. “My parents split up when I was twelve and …” I swallowed, but the food stuck in my throat. I gulped a mouthful of scalding tea and then stared out the window. Maybe telling him I lived in the shoddiest part of town in a run-down two-bedroom rental h
ouse with my chronically absent mom, or that my dad chose drugs over me, wasn’t the best idea. I didn’t want him to see me as some charity case, or worse, someone who needed rescuing—well, more rescuing.
I turned back to the table and found Jamie watching me contemplatively. “And?”
“And I haven’t seen my dad since.” I shrugged. “It’s no big deal, it was a long time ago.”
Jamie set his fork down with exaggerated slowness. “Tell me about him.” He paused. “Please.”
I stared at the boy of my dreams, his golden hair falling in wavy locks across his forehead, his brown eyes brimming with warmth and encouragement, and the words began pouring out of me.
“He was a great dad, never missed a single dance recital, bedtime story, or family dinner, but then both his parents died within months of each other. He couldn’t handle it, I guess. He began disappearing for days at a time, coming home strung out—on drugs, I mean.” Jamie nodded his understanding, so I continued. “After awhile, he barely remembered my name.” Jamie took my hand in his large, rough fingers.
“On my twelfth birthday, I woke to find the dad I used to know, his face open, his eyes clear, and I knew it was going to be a good day.” I stared out the window, but all I could see was my dad’s face as it had been that day, asking me what I wanted for my first “big girl” birthday. “I told him I wanted a strawberry-flavored cake with pink frosting, and a surprise.”
My gaze shifted back to Jamie, he was leaning forward in his seat, sheltering my hand in both of his. “Daddy said, ‘Okay, Sweet Pea, one pink cake and a special surprise coming up!’ He hugged me and said he’d be back before dinner.”
I swallowed, my words coming out in a whisper. “That was the last time I ever saw him.”
Jamie was out of his seat in a blur and pulled me into his arms before I could blink the gathering tears out of my eyes. He stroked my hair from the top of my head, down to the middle of my back, making soothing noises. I rested my head on his chest, feeling the strong steady beat of his heart resonate inside me.
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