by Carey Corp
From his tone, I knew exactly what type of flowers he meant. When Vee and I first came to Doon, black petunias started to grow on the barren land surrounding the abandoned witches’ cottage. According to Doonian legends, they were the harbingers of evil — which proved to be true in our case. We’d unwittingly transported a cursed journal into Doon, making the kingdom vulnerable for the first time in centuries to an old hag with a revenge fixation.
“Jamie threw a rock over the threshold and it immediately disappeared from sight, although we could hear it rolling through the underbrush. And then . . .”
He shook his head back and forth, his face tightening. “One of the farmer’s hounds took off after the rock — before we could stop it. The dog charged passed the petunias and vanished. We could hear it running. All of a sudden, it began to yip, an’ the yips became shrieks — high, keening yelps that animals make when they’re in agony. . . . and then after a few minutes, it went silent.”
Chills clenched my spine. I didn’t know which was creepier: the sounds of an animal being tortured by something unseen or the unnerving silence that followed. While Duncan shook off the memory, I reached under my seat for a blanket.
After a moment, he continued, “Veronica and Fiona found a reference in the castle library to a similar occurrence when Doon was under siege. The witches cast a spell that encircled the kingdom like a snake. The villagers called it an Eldritch Limbus, which means ‘strange limbo.’ Everything in its path — villagers, animals, nature — decomposed instantly.”
“You mean died?”
“Nay. They rotted alive, from the outside in. But they didn’t die, they became enslaved to the witches in a suspended state of undeath.”
Zombies! I’d had an irrational fear of them since Vee and I snuck into an R-rated movie when we were twelve — at my insistence, of course. We’d lasted all of three minutes. Just long enough to see some creature in a prom dress eat her date’s face off. In retrospect, it was one of my less-than-fabulous schemes.
“So. You guys think this limbus thingy is happening again?”
Duncan frowned. “We’re no’ sure. There are some similarities . . . but whatever this is seems to be contained to the Northern Borders. We need more information.”
“How do I fit in?”
Vee was a one-woman research facility and Fiona had sight into the supernatural realms — together they were a problem-solving dream team. I failed to see how I could contribute . . . unless they needed someone to headline a half-time show.
“A couple o’ days after the farm, Veronica had a vision of you standing near the border surrounded by a green light. Fiona thinks that the light symbolizes the Ring of Aontacht. She believes that you’re meant to come back to Doon to assist in whatever we’re facing.”
The plane began to taxi. “What do you think?”
“Doesna matter. I do as my queen bids me.” Pressing his lips together, he gripped his armrests and stared at the seat in front of him. When the plane picked up speed, I covered his hand with mine. His warmth comforted me as we shot into the sky. As soon as the plane leveled off Duncan lifted my hand and placed it in my lap without making a big deal. But the message was loud and clear. Regardless of what Doon or her Queen needed, he didn’t want anything to do with me.
Reclining his seat, he opened his book and began to read. “It’s a long flight. Ye best try and get some rest.”
I was reminded, yet again, that I had a lot to atone for. Duncan had certainly made it clear that coming to get me wasn’t his choice . . . but maybe with time, we could go back to before. If I could help Vee save his kingdom maybe he would see me as someone worthy of a second chance.
CHAPTER 3
Veronica
Fairy tales made it look so easy. The girl finds her prince, they fall in love, a crown is placed on her head, and voila! A new queen is born! The stories never mention the killer learning curve: court politics, indigenous customs, royal protocol, and hundreds of years of history to memorize. And don’t even get me started on all the names. If I met one more Ewan, I’d have to start sticking color-coded name tags on people just to keep track of which Ewan belonged to which clan.
It was hard work, but as I stared out at the grand throne room — the crisscrossing vaults of the three-story ceiling, the colorful tapestries bringing Doonian history to life, and the long plaid carpet leading to the dais I now sat on — my destiny had never been clearer. More than anything I wanted to prove that I could be the queen Doon needed — that I’d been Called here for this specific purpose.
However, there was a fine line between leadership and conformity, and some antiquated traditions were meant to be broken.
“Is this really necessary?” I wiggled beneath the royal blue cloak and searched its heavy folds for an opening. The eighty-five degree heat combined with my frazzled nerves made the velvet cape feel like a pressure cooker. I made a mental note to commission a modern antiperspirant research team. The baking soda I’d patted under my arms that morning was long gone.
“Yes, ’tis necessary, and so is this.” Fiona opened an intricately carved wooden box and removed the most ornate crown I’d ever seen in real life. Golden peaks of alternating heights flashed with green and blue jewels the size of my thumb. “The hearing of the grievances is quite a serious matter in Doon. These implements are all about the perception of authority.”
“What about the perception of a queen who faints upon the throne because she’s drowning in her own cloak?” I hissed, not wanting the guards stationed around the room to hear me. My fingers finally found a gap in the layers of fabric, and, inhaling with a sharp gasp, I swept the bejeweled material over one shoulder.
So far, Fiona had been a God-send. I’d congratulated myself on the brilliance of making the wiser-than-her-years girl my chief advisor, but as she placed the weighty diadem on my head, I was forced to rethink that decision.
Fiona tsked under her breath and closed the robe, covering the strap of my maxi-dress. After much debate, she’d agreed to have a wardrobe of modern clothes made for me as long as I promised to keep them covered while in court.
I glanced at Fiona’s pretty freckled face as she leaned over me adjusting my hair, her hazel gaze sparkling with amusement. “The color of the robe is lovely with yer eyes, Yer Highness.”
“Shut up,” I muttered as the gold-and-jewel-encrusted crown slid over and caught on the delicate skin of my ear. My judicious advisor giggled. She had a mischievous streak as wide as her ginormous fiancé.
As if in response to my thoughts, Fergus entered the throne room and aimed an enigmatic half grin at Fiona before he turned to me, his expression becoming stoic. My personal guard bent in a curt bow. The weapons strapped to his belt clanged against one another as he straightened and announced the first complainant. “Mr. Ewan Murdoch seeks an audience with Her Majesty.”
Another Ewan?
The Doonian entered the hall with a sheep in tow, and I visualized the family trees I’d been studying the night before. Ewan Murdoch, unmarried, son of Alan and Martha Murdoch. Martha was Called to Doon from Wales. Alan’s family had been here for generations.
Satisfied that I’d placed the man, I shifted forward so that my feet actually touched the floor. Being vertically challenged wasn’t so bad during a pyramid cheer formation, or when trying to find a prom date who was tall enough that I could wear heels, but when working to gain the respect of an ancient civilization it became an epic adversity.
As the farmer made the long walk across the room, Fiona positioned herself beside the throne, and I was forced to retract the hateful thoughts I’d had toward her just moments before. I’d never been more grateful for her steadying presence by my side. But as appreciative as I was for her wisdom, I longed for another — the boy who fulfilled my dreams.
My co-ruler-to-be, Jamie MacCrae, was preoccupied with preparing the royal army to protect the kingdom against something more physical than disappearing livestock and eerie supernatural flowers — something h
e could fight. In Duncan’s absence, he had sunk his teeth into the role of captain of the guard with a tenacity that was admirable, if not a tad bit scary. Being raised since birth to rule the kingdom — which in Jamie’s case encompassed his entire world — meant he was one of the most driven, goal-oriented people I’d ever met. So, even though I hadn’t seen much of him lately, I was happy he’d found an outlet for his indomitable energy.
As much as I missed him though, I had to admit, conducting this first hearing on my own was for the best. I could imagine how hard it must be for him to relinquish the throne to his girlfriend. But every time I went to him with a question or point of discussion, he sprang into action, took control, and solved the issue for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want his help, but I’d never earn the people’s respect if they still saw Jamie as their leader.
I forced my attention into the present as the scowling Ewan stopped before me. He jerked in an awkward bow and then straightened, keeping his eyes pinned to the floor.
Waiting . . . for me. This was my show to run, and yet with a flash of panic I realized I had no idea where to begin, how to act, what words to speak. Why hadn’t I asked Fiona to walk me through the steps of the process? Maybe make up some note cards?
Silence covered the room. Fiona shifted beside me.
I glanced at my folded hands, searching for inspiration, and recalled being sent to the principal’s office for fighting — Kenna and I’d finally had enough from a group of fourth-grade bullies. Afterward, Kenna had talked the principal out of giving us a week of detention by holding her chin high and using a clipped British accent. Whenever my BFF was intimidated by a situation she pretended to be someone else, a character who embodied the qualities she wanted to convey.
And that’s exactly what I needed to do . . . But who? I didn’t think Mary Poppins would cut it this time. Then, thanks to my dad’s obsession with all things Star Wars, an image of a young ruler with a painted face popped into my mind. Channeling the young Queen Amidala, I lowered the tone of my voice and spoke without inflection. “Mr. Murdoch, please state your grievance.”
“Yer Highness, when I awoke to tend my flock this morn, I discovered half their wool shaved from their bodies.” He glanced up at me, and I could read the hurt and anger swirling in his gaze. “No’ all their wool, mind ye. Half! As ye can see here.” He tugged the sheep in front of him.
A giggle bubbled up in my chest as I caught sight of the animal for the first time. The poor thing looked like a poodle styled for a dog show. Poofs of white fluff dotted its back, and its sides were shaved in a checkerboard pattern.
With effort, I reigned in my amusement and asked in a monotone, “Do you know who did this, Mr. Murdoch?”
“I dinna have proof, but I can tell ye precisely who it was.” He lifted his chin and puckered his lips under his bulbous, sunburned nose.
“And that would be?” I arched my eyebrows, wondering why he hesitated.
“Them wild Rosetti twins.” He sighed with a shake of his head.
Rosetti twins? Mario and Sharron Rosetti were two of the most gracious people I’d met in Doon. They ran the pizza tavern in the village and had a gaggle of kids, including their two beautiful daughters, Sofia and Gabby, but I had yet to meet their other children. I searched my memory, but realized I hadn’t gotten to their family tree yet.
Fortunately, Fiona sensed my confusion and leaned down to whisper in my ear, “He’s referring to Fabrizio and Luciano, the fourteen-year-old Rosetti brothers. They’ve been known ta cause a bit o’ harmless trouble.”
I peeked back at the farmer and his pitiful sheep. “Why do you believe these boys shaved — ” A laugh choked off my words as I imagined the rest of the flock milling about like something out of Edward Scissorhands. So much for my ultra-controlled Queen Amidala routine. Kenna would rip my thespian card to bits. I swallowed hard and my cheeks quivered with the effort not to smile. “My apologies, sir.”
A small grin appeared on the man’s weathered face. “Tha’s quite all right, Yer Majesty. ’Tis humorous to behold.” He chuckled as he patted the animal’s head. “But ye see, ’tis almost shearing season, and I rely upon that wool for income.”
“I see,” I replied, sobering instantly. “What makes you think it was the Rosetti boys?”
“Last week, I found them playing polo with some friends on my south field. I ran them off on account of their horses’ hooves tearin’ up the ground. But I can tell ye, they were none too happy about it. Threatened ta make me pay, they did.”
Based on my experience with fourteen-year-old boys, Mr. Murdoch’s story seemed plausible, but I knew I couldn’t make a ruling without hearing both sides. “Fergus, please send for Fabrizio and Luciano Rosetti, and make sure at least one of their parents accompanies them.”
“Aye, Yer Majesty.” Fergus nodded and then exited into the outer corridor.
I turned my attention to the farmer. “Thank you, Mr. Murdoch. I will investigate further, and I assure you that if the boys are found guilty, you will find that you have two extra hands around your farm in the coming months.”
The man’s grin told me he approved. With a quick bow, and a thank you, he stuffed his hat back on his head and made his exit. Stylishly shaved sheep in tow.
Heartened by Mr. Murdoch’s reaction, I lifted the solid gold crown off my head, placed it in my lap, and opened both sides of my cloak with a sigh. The auld laird told me once that authority was exhausting. I had to agree, but at least I was beginning to get the hang of it. As I rolled the tension out of my neck, Fergus returned from outside the chamber door, his alert posture signaling the next petitioner.
Fiona squeezed my shoulder. “Ye did a fine job, Veronica. Now do tha’ a few more times, and we can be done for the day.”
When I closed my robe and placed the crown back on my head, the weight pressed into my skull, giving me an instant headache. I straightened my spine and ignored the pain. One down, and “a few” more to go. I could do this.
Fergus bowed deeply, but when he straightened an impish smile curled his lips. “Laird Jamie MacCrae seeks an audience with Her Majesty.”
I sucked in a breath and my prince stepped through the door, bringing the light of the sun with him. As he strode toward me, I soaked in his powerful form, from his fitted leather pants tucked into tall boots to his forest-green tunic stretched across broad shoulders. All the time he’d spent training outdoors looked good on him. When he reached the dais, he shoved the strands of honey-blond hair off his forehead and flashed a dimpled grin, the white of his teeth in stark contrast to the golden tan of his skin. My heart mamboed a quick rhythm in my chest.
Jamie swept into a low bow, a leather bag tucked underneath his arm. “Queen Verranica, I come bearing gifts.”
“What? No grievance, my lord?” I teased.
“Only that Her Majesty doesna have enough time for her favorite subject.” His dark eyes twinkled, one corner of his mouth tilting. “But I’ve come to remedy that travesty with an offering.”
Although we’d officially been a couple for several months, after everything we’d struggled through to be together I was still astonished that Jamie MacCrae was mine. Maybe that explained the acrobatics going on in my belly, and why every one of my nerve endings strained toward him. But he was still Jamie, the boy with a bit too much confidence for his own good. So I tilted my chin and gave him a superior smirk. “Who says I have a favorite subject? I vow to remain supremely objective, no matter what bribery you offer, sir.”
“We shall see about that.” His warm brown eyes danced with a mixture of humor and devilry. “A little birdy told me . . . or perhaps no’ such a little birdy.” Jamie threw a glance over his shoulder at Fergus, then turned back to me and winked. “Told me ye were a bit uncomfortable in your royal regalia.”
As if to punctuate his sentence, the enormous crown on my head toppled to the side and caught on the skin of my ear still raw from the last fall. I winced. Fiona took the torturous piece o
f metal and placed it in its velvet-lined box before curtsying to Jamie. “My laird.”
“Fiona.” Jamie bent in a cursory bow as Fiona glided past him and out of the room. At her gesture, Fergus and the remaining guards followed her, leaving us blessedly alone.
A true grin, the first one I’d felt in days, broke across my face as I swept the cumbersome cloak off my shoulders and flew into Jamie’s arms. He squeezed me against the hard expanse of his chest, my feet lifting off the floor. I nuzzled into the warmth of his neck where it sloped into his shoulder, breathing in his distinct scent of the air before a storm. “I’ve missed you,” I whispered as he put me down and cradled my cheek in his palm.
“And I, you.” His gaze swept down the length of my aqua blue dress, and then back up to my face. “Lovely dress. Is that new?”
I nodded as I rose on my toes and brushed my lips against his, the room spinning around me as I lingered, my fingertips skimming the firm, silky stubble on his cheek.
People are waiting for me, right? Yes, I’m the queen now . . . responsibilities and all that.
With great effort, I pulled away, but the moment I did Jamie’s hand cupped the back of my neck. He lowered his mouth to mine, his lips and tongue performing a seductive dance that washed every thought from my head. Both his hands tangled in my hair as he deepened the kiss. I stood on my toes, pressing against the strong, solid heat of him, wishing I could get closer.
“Arrrhmm.”
With agonizing reluctance, I slid my lips from Jamie’s. I must have looked as off balance as I felt, because he smiled into my eyes and kept an arm around me as we turned to see Fergus leaning into the room around the half-open door.
The giant’s cheeks were a kaleidoscope of pink and red. “Excuse me . . . er . . . my laird. Yer Majesty, ye have several people awaitin’ an audience.”
“Give us five minutes, Fergus,” Jamie replied before I could respond.
With a quick nod, Fergus pulled back and shut the door.
