We stepped from the cell into the corridor. To our left, the dungeon guards sprawled lifelessly on the ground. As I stifled my reaction, Kenna gasped. “Are they dead?”
Duncan shook his head “Nay. Just unconscious.”
Of course, the scuffle and moan made sense now. They had to knock out the guards in order to rescue us. It wasn’t just Fergus who’d committed treason, but the king’s own brother. Unfortunately, I had a sinking feeling if we didn’t get to Jamie soon, facing treason charges would be the least of our worries.
Following Duncan’s lead, we crept through the back passages until we arrived at the main corridor to the castle chapel unnoticed. At the entrance, Gideon barred our way, flanked by a half dozen guards. Although he stood at attention, tremors racked his emaciated body. His visible skin was a patchwork of flakes and sores. “No one is ta disturb the king.” His bluish lips twisted in a sneer aimed at Duncan. “Not even you, m’ laird.”
Duncan squared his linebacker shoulders. “You’ve caused enough mischief for one night, Gideon. Stand down!”
“I’m verra sorry, sire. I canna. I have my orders. And so do my men.”
“Oh, fer Heaven’s sake!” Fergus reared back and delivered a knockout punch to Gideon’s nose.
As the misguided guard crumpled to the ground, his men surged toward us. Half grabbed Fergus, who growled and lashed out, his fists and boots directed at his attackers. The others moved toward Duncan, who held them off with his sword. “Stand down, men! Your prince commands it!”
Indecision, thick and palpable, charged the air, making the guards’ attack disorganized and sluggish. Duncan easily fought two guards at once, and projected his voice over the clang of their swords. “Graham, you know Gideon is not in his right mind. He’s obviously ill.”
The guard I assumed was Graham glanced back at Gideon’s prone form and lowered his sword. His comrade continued to fight until Duncan lowered his weapon and pleaded, “Patrick, I’ve known ye since we were lads. I must speak to my brother. It’s a matter of life and death.”
After several agonizing seconds, Patrick lowered his sword and called for his cohorts to release Fergus. Duncan regarded the men with a steely nod. “Go home to your families. Tha’s an order.”
The resounding “Yes, m’ laird!” filled the tight corridor. Then the guards turned and scattered, their footsteps echoing noisily off the cobbled stones as they ran.
Gideon lay unconscious as rivulets of sweat trickled across his twitching body. Duncan unfastened a key ring from the guard’s belt and rushed the massive chapel door. At my feet, Gideon convulsed, causing his fist to unclench, and with a soft clink the Rings of Aontacht rolled from his hand.
“What’s he doing with the rings?” I asked as Fiona stooped to pick them up.
“I don’t know why I didn’t consider it before. My mum told me that many years ago a servant of the witch used one of the Rings of Aontach to enter Doon. The ring was enspelled with a curse.”
“A curse?” Kenna asked, the last part of her question drowned out by Duncan swearing as he tried various keys in the lock.
Bouncing on my toes in impatience, I heard Fiona reply, “Aye. Wrapped around it—like a parasite and attaching itself to the first Doonian it touched.”
Kenna’s eyes widened. “Could the curse have caused Gideon to kill his own men?”
Fiona’s fair head dipped in terrible confirmation. “Aye. With a spell this strong, ’tis verra likely the witch’s been in control of him. Gideon could’ve done terrible things and no’ had any recollection after the deed was done.”
Her words cut through me like an icy wind, stealing my breath. The journal held a curse and when Jamie touched it he hadn’t been harmed as I feared, but he had changed. For the first time since I’d arrived in Doon, he’d looked through me as if I wasn’t even there.
With a loud creak, Duncan pushed open the chapel door. “Got it!”
I shoved past him while calling Jamie’s name. Halfway down the aisle, I stopped, searching the cavernous space. “I don’t see him.”
Duncan pointed to a closed door off the main altar. “He’d be in the annex.”
I ran. Jamie’d had the journal for hours—plenty of time for him to turn into a possessed monster like Gideon. I slammed my shoulder against the door and shoved the handle, but it didn’t move. “Duncan, do you have a key?”
“Nay, it only locks from the inside.”
I rushed backward and then ran forward, flinging myself against the door with all my strength. But I bounced back, struggling to keep my footing. “It won’t budge.”
“Step back.” Duncan waved me a safe distance away. With the count of three, Duncan and Fergus hit the door together. Their combined strength splintered the wood into kindling.
Impatiently, I shoved my way between them. “Jamie!”
The small room was empty. Fear balled in the pit of my stomach. I whirled around to Kenna, my voice thick in my own ears. “Ken, he’s not here.”
Duncan stepped to one side, allowing Fiona access to the deserted chamber. “What do you make of this?” he asked.
She passed in front of me, her eyes locked straight ahead. Across the small, dim room, Aunt Gracie’s journal sat open on the altar railing. It flickered with a strange violet light. The dancing purple flames reminded me of burning copper, but without the heat. Even from a distance, I could feel the chill emanating from the flame.
Fiona drew in a deep, controlled breath. After a moment, her eyes widened with alarm. She turned toward Kenna and me. “Remember how I said there’s good and bad power beyond our comprehension? This is the worst kind. Verra old—verra potent evil.”
My stomach clenched into a knot. Dreading the answer, I asked, “If it’s that powerful, does it mean she’s been controlling me? Using me to hurt the kingdom and Jamie in some way?”
A sob hitched in my throat, and rendered me unable to continue. Large, hot tears rolled down my cheeks. Had I been the witch’s pawn all along, just as Jamie’s dreams had predicted?
Gently, Fiona placed her hand on my shoulder. “There’s an energy ta everything, Veronica, and yours is not evil. I kin find no trace of the witch on you. And this spell was only meant for one.”
I sniffed, fighting against my useless tears. “But I brought the journal into Doon.”
“And Doon’s Protector brought ye here … for a purpose. Don’t doubt that now when yer faith is ta be tested.”
Faith? It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in a higher power, but I had never put my faith in anyone besides myself—until coming here.
“I agree with Fiona.” Duncan attempted a reassuring smile that didn’t reach his eyes, before redirecting his comments to his fellow countrywoman. “But what of my brother? What are ye able to discern?”
Fiona’s countenance shone with gentle empathy. “I’m sorry, but I believe the witch has enthralled him.”
Although it was what I’d expected myself, her words were not a theory, but a statement. “Wait! How could you possibly know that?” Fear and confusion made my voice sharp.
Fergus placed a calming hand on my shoulder. “Fiona has the gift o’ discernment. She can see beyond the natural realm.”
That explained a lot about my new friend’s propensity for the prophetic. A million questions about her ability swirled in my head, but I pushed them aside. “Fiona, what else can you see?”
Rather than reply, Fiona held up her hand in a gesture I took to mean
Her voice sounded fluid and far away. “This journal is not evil. ’Tis been misused. It belonged to a Keeper —one who’s been called from Doon to protect it from the outside.”
Softly, Kenna said, “But Aunt Gracie was an outsider.”
Fiona raised her hands tentatively over the violet flames. “Aye. But she took Doon inta her heart and made it her home.”
Her eyes closed in concentration and her lips moved noiselessly. In a trancelike state, she continued to share her revelations. “After she died, it fell into the clutches of evil. ’Tis a seeking spell the witch’s working from the other side o’ the bridge. This one’s meant specifically for the king. Once Jamie touched the journal, the witch’s spell was set inta motion.”
