“I’m just trying to understand how it all works.” The intensity of his expression sent shivers of apprehension up my spine.
“Why—” He cut himself off, his body going still beside me as he whispered, “The price.”
“The price of what?” I searched his face, but he just stared at me, a furrow between his brows.
“My mother always said there was a price for everythin’.” He looked out at the water and said something under his breath that sounded like, “the price of true love.”
“What did you say?” I breathed, afraid to move or break the spell.
“I shouldna have brought you—” He stopped. With a blink of his eyes and a clench of his jaw, my Jamie was gone, and the heir to the throne was back. “We need to return.”
“But—” He was slipping away from me. I was watching it happen but didn’t know how to stop it.
Standing, he turned and helped me to my feet, promptly releasing my hand afterward. “Ye need not worry about it, Verranica. It is my responsibility alone to bear.” His reply was terse, almost accusing.
And in that instant, the fragile peace between us shattered. The reality of my situation—the choice I needed to make—crashed down around me.
As he turned to go through the rock passage, I clutched his bicep and dug my fingernails into the granite muscle, not willing to let him walk away from me. I needed answers. “Don’t you dare shut me out! What about the Calling?”
He turned, the strength of his gaze piercing my very soul. “What Calling?”
My heart plummeted to my feet and I removed my hand from his arm. When I spoke, it was a whisper. “Did you see me before I came here?” I held my breath for any sign of emotion but his eyes were hard as obsidian.
“Aye, I saw you in my dreams. But it doesna matter.”
“How can you say that?” I shook my head. “Isn’t the Calling sacred in Doon?”
His eyes locked on mine and something stirred there, something volatile that sent fear rushing though my body.
“Aye, but that’s not what we have.” His jaw clenched, his posture going rigid. “Not all dreams are sacred.”
Cold rushed down my spine, I swallowed hard. “What are you talking about? Jamie, you can trust me.”
He moved so fast, I was unprepared when he grabbed me. His strong fingers wrapped around my upper arms, and he pulled me onto my toes, bringing my face to within inches of his.
“Really? I can trust you? You have no idea what yer saying! The very fate of Doon rests on me. And you …” His face contorted with torment. “You touch me and I’m ready to throw it all away!” He shook me as if the violent movement would make me understand. “What I feel doesna matter. If yer truly connected to the witch … there will be no mercy. I have to remain strong. Don’t you see? I dinna have a choice!”
“Strong, how?” I whispered as tears stung the back of my eyes. I already knew the answer—strong because he had to deny what was between us, so he could objectively sentence me to death or whatever punishment Doonians reserved for conspiracy to commit witchcraft.
He abruptly loosened his hold on my arms, and I stumbled back several steps. He reached out and steadied me but stepped away quickly. “This”—he gestured toward me and then back at his chest—“canna go on.” His voice was strong and sure, but his eyes filled with regrets.
Thunder bellowed across the sky. All the blood seemed to drain out of my body as I took a step toward him. “Jamie, please believe—”
“M’ laird!” A shout in the distance cut me off. The male voice was familiar, but too distorted with agitation for me to place.
Jamie turned toward the passage without a backward glance and began to run. Cursing my stupid skirts, I yanked up the material to my thighs and followed.
Ahead, Fergus burst through the trees, his face mottled crimson. Leaning over to catch his breath, he watched us approach with anxious eyes. “M’ laird,” he gasped, “’tis yer father. There are horses waitin’ for ye on the low path. Duncan’s already gone ahead. Ye must make haste.”
Jamie put his hand on Fergus’s massive shoulder. “Stay with the lasses. See them safely back to the castle.”
“Aye.”
Then without so much as a word, or even a glance in my direction, Jamie MacCrae was gone.
CHAPTER 20
Veronica
I plodded along behind Fergus through the forest and back toward the glen, dragging my battered heart behind me. Not even Eric had emotionally sucker punched me like the future king of Doon. Guys were idiots. Plain and simple.
I knew the connection between Jamie and me was real—more real than anything I’d felt in my life—so why did he think he had to resist it? Did he really believe I was in league with the witch? Or maybe his history with Sofia trumped anything he felt for me. I kicked a pebble, sending it shooting through the underbrush. I still didn’t know if we’d shared the same visions, or dreams—whatever they were.
And why did I care? Obviously, he didn’t.
Fergus stopped so abruptly I almost smacked into his arm. Quick as lightning, he drew his weapon and maneuvered me behind him. “Gideon, man, ye better start talkin’.”
“I arrived and found the girl standing over them.” Gideon’s voice sounded strange, even for him—agitated, almost frantic. “I subdued her for my own protection.”
Peeking around the giant guard, I had to blink several times before I comprehended what I was seeing. Kenna sat rubbing the back of her head, looking dazed, surrounded by bodies. Dead bodies—soldiers I recognized from the castle guard—with faces frozen in various stages of terror.
“Lass, do ye know how this happened?” Fergus asked Kenna, his tone carefully modulated. These soldiers could’ve been his friends, men he’d worked alongside every day.
Kenna seemed on the verge of tears. “I … I don’t remember how I got here.”
“She’s killed them wi’ her evil magic. The witch must die!” Gideon proclaimed, his skeletal face emanating zealous triumph. Gideon held a broadsword in one hand and a wicked-looking dagger in the other.
Like a scene from a movie, Gideon charged at Kenna, his face contorted in rage as she let out a strangled cry. Racing against Gideon, who was just a dark blur in my peripheral vision, I leapt forward and tackled Kenna. We both slammed into the ground. The air whooshed from my lungs as I gripped her shoulders and braced for the impact of a sword in my back.
But it never came.
Jerking my head toward where the guard should be, I sucked in a sharp breath. Fergus and Gideon were engaged in battle not two feet away. The tension left my body in a surge of relief, and I thanked God for Fergus Lockhart—our guardian angel.
Gideon shouted a jumble of accusations and curses. Flecks of froth appeared at the corners of his thin mouth as he swung his weapon with the appearance of superhuman strength. But the raving madman was no match for Fergus, who disarmed his captain with a deft movement and a great heave, then finished him off with a swift uppercut. Gideon crumpled to the ground, out cold.
“Kenna, are you okay?” I asked, rolling onto the grass.
“I’m fine, but you’ve been holding out on me.”
As we both sat up, I blinked at her in confusion. “What?”
A small smile formed on her lips. “I thought you said you were a cheerleader, not a ninja.” Her voice hitched, betraying the feelings behind her words.
I smiled, tears filling my eyes as she threw her arms around me. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Och, lass! Were ye trying to get both of you killed?” Fergus scolded as he squatted down beside us. “Next time, wait for my signal.”
