scenarios. When visions of public execution and slow torture brought on by Jamie’s orders didn’t do the trick, I focused on the only positive I could find—I could protect Kenna. I would shoulder any blame if it meant getting my best friend across the bridge at the Centennial. That way, at least one of us would live to see our dreams come true.
CHAPTER 21
Veronica
The dim corridor grew longer with every step Fergus and I took. Torch-like sconces diffused our path in flickering light as we hurried past the rich tapestries, distinguished portraits, and burnished suits of armor that lined the austere passageway. Like living creatures, deep shadows set up residence along every angle.
I rubbed the goose bumps along my arms. This part of the castle felt ancient, almost like an entirely different structure than the bright and airy palace I’d come to love.
We approached a set of arched wooden doors, iron hinges, and ringed door pulls lending authenticity to the gothic atmosphere. Fergus lifted a lion-head knocker and tapped lightly while I lingered a few feet behind. Waiting, I glanced up at my protector. I must’ve looked as scared as I felt because he broke his stoic facade to give me a tiny smile of reassurance. His usually flushed skin appeared colorless, his bright eyes dim and shadowed.
The depth of his sorrow pulled me out of my selfish preoccupation. The people of Doon were suffering along with their beloved laird. I caught Fergus’s meaty hand in mine and gave it a brief squeeze. Knowing if one of the other guards saw our exchange, my new friend would suffer for it, I let go quickly. Fergus acknowledged the gesture with a slight nod of his head.
The door opened a crack and Fergus spoke in hushed tones to someone inside. The only word I could make out was my own name. As the door closed again, I clenched my teeth. The waiting was the worst. I just couldn’t fathom why the king would want to speak to me, of all people. I wasn’t even a Doonian. Yet, my heart whispered before I could stop it.
The door opened again, and Duncan slipped out into the corridor, followed by Jamie.
A lock of golden hair fell over Jamie’s forehead, partially obscuring his red-rimmed eyes. It had been only a day since I’d last seen him, but it felt like a thousand years of miserable separation. I had to fight back the urge to run and embrace him.
“Lairds, I will escort the lassie. No need ta concern yer-selves.” Fergus’s posture was rigid, his words uncharacteristically formal.
“Thank you, Fergus,” Jamie said, his voice sounding strained. “I have need to see to a few judicial matters. Duncan shall attend Father after h—” Jamie’s voice cut off, and he cleared his throat with a rough cough before continuing. “His meeting.”
Jamie’s eyes darted to mine and then away so fast, the supportive smile I started to give him died on my lips. But I couldn’t leave things like this—not after what had happened between us on the cliffs.
As he turned to go, I followed on his heels. “Jamie, wait!”
Stopping abruptly, he turned. His pale face void of emotion, he stared down at me. And I had no idea what to say.
“Are you okay?” Mentally kicking myself for being an insensitive jerk, I watched every feature of his face tighten. Of course he wasn’t okay; his dad was dying. “I mean … Is there anything I can do?”
A sardonic smile twisted the corner of his mouth as his eyes shifted to hard ebony. “Aye. You can leave me alone.”
Without waiting for my reply, he turned and walked away, his swift footsteps echoing through the corridor. Feeling as if I’d just taken a blow to the gut, I wrapped my arms around my waist in an attempt to keep myself from collapsing onto the stone floor.
Catching my eye, Duncan flashed an apologetic smile before turning and following his brother.
“We should no’ keep the laird waitin’,” Fergus said gently.
Hoping I could keep myself together, I turned to follow him, clasping my hands tightly in front of me as we entered the dark chamber. A single candle on the nightstand illuminated a massive bed draped in burgundy velvet and shadow.
“My laird, I have brought Miss Veronica Welling, as ye requested.” Fergus stood in front of me, his large frame blocking my view of the king. I checked the urge to twist my hair behind my head, knowing Fiona’d spent considerable time that morning braiding the sides and neatly tying them back with a ribbon that matched my royal blue skirt.
“Well, let me see her then, man.” The voice sounded stronger than I’d expected for a dying man.
“Aye, sire.” Fergus stepped out of my way.
The king sat propped up by large pillows behind his back and under his arms. His long silver hair rested loose on his shoulders.
“Have a seat, my dear.” His kind, dark eyes helped relax the knots in my chest.
Fergus moved a chair to the side of the bed and I sat. The king tilted his head, studying me for several seconds. Then he focused his regard on Fergus, whom I could feel hovering close behind. “Tha’ shall be all, Fergus.”
With a furtive glance in my direction, Fergus let himself out of the room.
I turned back to face the king, and he appeared to shrink before my eyes. Falling back into the pillows, he closed his eyes. Just when I started to ask him if I could get him anything, he said, “Authority can be quite exhausting.” His eyes opened then and he stared at me intently.
Sitting straight, my hands folded in my lap, I wasn’t sure if I should agree or remain silent. But before I could make up my mind, the king continued, “Veronica—may I call ye Veronica?”
“Of course.”
“Veronica, dear, why have ye come ta Doon?”
I jumped a little, startled by the question no one had yet bothered to ask. But now that it had been put to me, it seemed the most obvious question of all.
What had led me to Doon? Had I manipulated Kenna to the bridge, knowing she would force me to cross? Or had I done it to help my best friend find what her aunt had so desperately wanted for her? Or had my own personal mission to find the boy who’d haunted my days and nights influenced my every action? I was pretty sure I knew the answer. I glanced up at the patiently waiting king.
“I … began having visions shortly before I came to Scotland. When I first put on the Ring of Aontacht and heard the legend of Doon, I felt in my spirit it was all true. Gracie Lockhart believed Kenna had a reason to come here, but Ken had a hard time believing it and well, I …” I hesitated, not sure what I wanted to say.
The king nodded in encouragement.
“I knew the kingdom existed, and that no matter what it took I had to find it.”
“Because of the dreams ye were having?”
“They weren’t dreams exactly, since I was awake, but in any case … it seems I misinterpreted them.”
The king sputtered as coughs began to rack his frail body. I scrambled to the pitcher I’d seen sitting on a nearby table. Returning with a glass of water, I helped the king sit up straighter and held the glass to his lips. After a moment, his hands were steady enough to hold the cup on his own.
“Sir, should I get Fergus?”
He waved his hand and shook his head dismissively. “Sit, lass. I’m fine now.”
I perched on the edge of the chair, wondering if I should cut the audience short. The conversation was clearly taking its toll, but my heart urged me to continue on the chance it could shed some light on Jamie’s behavior.
“Could ye indulge an auld man and tell me what ye had visions of before coming here?”
My shoulders slumped. The moment of truth had come. I didn’t want to give him false hope, considering the strong implications of the Calling in Doon’s culture. But I couldn’t lie to this honorable man, the king of Doon, and, most importantly, Jamie’s father.
“It was your son … Jamie.” Inexplicably, tears filled my eyes.
