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
“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
CHAPTER 11
Veronica
Someday, 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
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. “‘
The king regarded the standoff between his offspring before settling a stern look of reproach on his eldest
