Shades of Doon (11 page)

I moved into the room and toward the bookcases, almost reverently. The first shelf at my eye level contained an eclectic assortment of items — an enormous conch shell, a six-inch miniature of the Eiffel Tower, a pair of battered Nikes, and a long, narrow horn with rustic-looking designs carved around the surface. I felt the magnetic awareness of Jamie coming up behind me as I reached out and ran a fingertip over the engraving. “What’s this?”

“Tha’s one of my new favorites.” He reached around me and lifted it from the stand. I turned as he sucked in a deep breath and then put the smaller opening to his mouth and blew, causing a deep, droning sound to resonate through the room.

I giggled as he lowered the horn.

“’Tis a miniature Australian didgeridoo. The originals are over a meter long.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I bought it from Oliver.”

“The inventor? He just got here.” I took the instrument, astonished how light it felt in my hands. “I’m surprised he would part with it.”

Jamie waggled his tawny brows. “Didna ye know I’m filthy rich?”

“And humble,” I teased as I placed the horn back in its stand. “Clearly, I’m fortunate to be in your presence.” I threw a smirk over my shoulder and then turned back to scan the wall of shelves brimming with items from all over the world. A Grecian urn depicting frozen figures in relief sat between a model of a Harley Davidson and a hand-painted Chinese dragon. I wandered over to a tall wooden bow propped in the corner beside an animal-skin quiver full of feather-tipped arrows. I was reminded of the American Indian I’d seen fletching arrows my first day in the Doon marketplace and of my astonishment at the diversity here.

I turned in a slow circle, unable to comprehend all the artifacts and what they might represent to the one who had collected them. It was the room of a world traveler who’d never left his own backyard.

And it amazed and broke my heart in equal portions. “Jamie, this is . . .” I broke off, at a loss for what to say.

I slumped against the back of a chair and he stepped close, his kilt brushing my knees.

“Hey, why do ye look so sad?” He lifted my chin with a single finger and his dark eyes fastened to mine.

“It’s just all this stuff . . .” I wasn’t sure how to continue without insulting him. “You’ll never get to see or do — ”

He began to shake his head before I even finished. “Nay, this is no’ signifying all the places I wish I could go.” He swept his hand in a wide arch. “I feel like I’ve already been to each place or experience tha’ these items represent because o’ the detailed descriptions their original owners shared wi’ me. When I look at them, they remind me to respect all the nations embodied in our great kingdom. And what a delicate balance it takes to lead such a meldin’ of individuals.”

I blinked up at him in awe. “Oh.”

He cupped my elbow and guided me to my feet. I leaned into him as he brushed the hair off my shoulder, his warm caress lingering on my back.

“Would I like to sail the Pacific or climb Mount Everest or ride a motorcycle?” He quirked a rakish grin and I could see him astride a Harley, the wind tossing his hair around his face. “Aye. But — ”

“Everything has a price.” I quoted the lesson his mother had imparted to him and he’d shared with me. Since becoming queen, I’d lived this principle. It forced me to see both sides of every decision, and it made me a better ruler.

“Yes.” His lids lowered to half-mast, his voice a warm caress. “And I have ever’ thing I need right here.”

Not for long.

The thought jumped into my head unbidden and the room gave a quick tilt. I took a step to the side and Jamie gripped my arms. “Vee?” His sharp gaze searched my face.

“I’m fine. Just hungry.” I needed to tell him, but not yet. I wanted this dinner to be special. A memory we could both keep with us — whatever the future held.

As if in answer to my need, a knock sounded on the door. Jamie led me to a small round table in front of the fire, where he pulled out my chair and called for the person to enter. Several
people filed into the room; two liveried waiters carried trays of sumptuous-smelling covered dishes, followed by Eòran, and then Blaz at his heels.

My dog bounded toward me, his long, pink tongue lolling out of his head. I braced myself as he jumped half into my lap, getting in a slobbery lick before Eòran pulled him back.

“He missed ye, yer Majesty,” my guard rumbled. “Was mopin’ about the kitchen. Wouldna eat a morsel.”

As the staff arranged our meal and lit the candles on the table, I fought through a wave of dizziness and leaned into Blaz, hugging his bristly neck and nuzzling his face. “Did you miss me, you big baby?” He gave a soft whimper in answer and laid his heavy head on my shoulder. When he seemed satisfied that he’d regained his rightful place in my heart, he pulled back and cocked his head. His liquid eyes stared solemnly into mine and his paw tapped my knee, giving a low whine as if he knew something was off. I’d heard that dogs could sense illness in their owners, but I hadn’t believed it until that moment. His intelligent gaze locked on mine, he patted my knee several times. “It’s okay, boy,” I whispered. “I’ll be fine. Go lay down.”

“M’Laird, Chef Mags instructed us to stay and serve the meal,” I overheard one of the waiters say.

“Thank you. That willna be necessary. But give Mags our regards,” Jamie replied.

“Yes, sir,” the waiters answered in tandem before filing out of the room.

Blaz, after giving me one last lick, hopped down and headed to the hearthrug where he turned in half a dozen circles before curling up for a nap. Jamie held the door open, brows arched expectantly. I followed his gaze to Eòran whose hands were clasped behind him as he perused the items on a nearby shelf.
Jamie and I exchanged an amused look before he cleared his throat. The guard didn’t turn.

Unfolding a napkin and placing it in my lap, I asked, “Was there something else, Eòran?”

He meandered over to the windows, his limp barely noticeable, and tested each latch. Unless Addie sent flying monkeys after me, I didn’t see how the windows at the top of a castle tower could possibly be a safety issue.

“I just thought ye might need some . . .” He wandered the perimeter of the room, then paused and poked his head into the open door of Jamie’s bedroom. “Extra security.” My guard turned, spread his legs wide, and crossed his arms, settling in directly in front of the doorway.

My hand flew to my mouth as I tried to hide a giggle. The sweet man wanted to protect me . . . from Jamie. But when my gaze wandered to where my prince stood rigid by the door, his expression growing darker by the second, the laughter died in my throat. Clearly, he was insulted by Eòran’s lack of confidence. But I was touched. The guard didn’t know Jamie like I did. Didn’t know that honor and integrity ruled his every action. Didn’t understand that he was harder on himself than anyone else could be.

Shooting Jamie a “down boy” look, I rose and walked over to where Eòran stood. “You don’t need to worry. I’m one hundred percent safe with him.”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at ye, lass,” Eòran replied under his breath, his hazel eyes latching on mine. “I’m not so old that I dinna know what that means.”

I placed my hand lightly on his forearm. “Eòran, Jamie would
never
hurt me.”

He started to interrupt, but I talked over him. “
Or
take advantage of me.” I squeezed his arm and stepped back, offering a smile. “You need to trust us.”

Lines tightened around his mouth and his shoulders slumped. “’Tis just . . . yer father isna here, and I feel responsible for ye.”

My heart did a funny little skip. “I . . . thank you,” I managed to force out over the lump in my throat.

He uncrossed his arms and leaned in as if he might hug me, but then turned on his heel and marched across the room. He paused at the door.

“Eòran, I vow to respect her above myself.” Jamie’s tone sounded strained, his eyes intense.

My guard gave a terse nod. “Make that far above, lad.” And then he was gone.

Jamie closed the door, and blew out a loud breath before turning to me. “Shall we?”

I made my way back to the cozy, candlelit table. The savory scents of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread made my mouth water, but then my stomach clenched in rebellion. My famously insatiable appetite had been missing for weeks. Since my illness, I’d been so used to covering up how I truly felt, the lie slipped out easily. “Yes, I’m starving!”

I sat and spread the napkin across my lap again, focusing on smoothing out every last wrinkle. I couldn’t even meet Jamie’s eyes — how was I going to tell him the truth?

He leaned over the table and whisked the metal dome from my plate. “Coq au vin,” Jamie pronounced in a perfect French accent. “Mag’s specialty.”

The dish looked sumptuous. Golden-brown chicken and mushrooms smothered in a burgundy wine sauce, herb-smashed potatoes, and a miniature rosemary tart on the side. Something thick and bitter coated my throat. I swallowed hard.

Jamie poured us each a glass of chilled cider and then sat
and said a blessing over the food. While I prayed for strength and for the words to say what needed to be said.

After saying amen, Jamie dug in, and I took my time slathering butter on a warm slice of bread. I’d managed to choke down a few bites of food when I noticed Jamie’s plate was empty. I laughed despite myself. “Hungry?”

His eyes sparkled across the table as he shoved another hunk of bread into his mouth and said around it, “Perhaps a wee bit.”

Reminded of our first “date” at Muir Lea, I teased, “We never did pass that edict, but that doesn’t seem to stop you from talking with your mouth full.”

A wide grin coaxed out the long dimples in his cheeks.

As I watched the perfect boy who had been chosen for me, and I for him, my heart drummed an accelerating cadence in my chest. Like the timer on a bomb counting down. My thoughts must have shown on my face, because Jamie’s smile faded and his eyes drilled to mine.

I shot to my feet, not caring that my chair crashed to the floor behind me, and rushed around the table. Jamie scooted back, but before he could rise, I sat on his lap and threw my arms around his neck. Digging my fingers into his hair, I lost myself in his eyes, memorizing the exact shade of rich brown, and the splash of gold around the pupil. He blinked thick, dark lashes. “Vee?”

I refused to waste a moment of whatever time we had left.

Drinking his warm breath, I lowered my mouth to his and kissed his top lip softly. His chest expanded, and I could feel his heart rate accelerate as I moved to his bottom lip. Cupping his stubble-covered cheeks, I angled my head and pressed our mouths flush, tasting salty-sweet butter on his lips.

One hand was flat against my lower back, his other tangled
in my hair. Heat licked through me, uncurling in my belly as he kissed me with a desperation that mirrored my own. My hands ran over his neck, his arms, his muscled chest, before coming to rest against the bare skin of his neck. His skin felt impossibly warm, the vibration of his pulse thumping in rhythm with my own.

Drawing a ragged breath, he moved to the sensitive skin below my jaw. I tilted my head to give him better access and shrugged off the suddenly itchy material of my cardigan. His large fingers locked around my upper arms, pulling me closer. His mouth drifted lower on my throat, igniting my skin.

If I were to die, this is how I would go. In Jamie’s arms.

Wanting his mouth back on mine, I took his face in my hands and lifted it up. He kissed me slowly, savoring my lips. Fire raced in my blood, flooding my senses. Needing to get closer, I reached down and untied the strings holding his shirt together, and spread the material wide.

With a gasp, Jamie gripped my hands and pulled away.

But I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want reality to intrude on my blissful oblivion. I leaned in.

Jamie drew back with a groan. “Yer makin’ it blasted difficult to keep my promise, lass.”

I blinked at him, disoriented.

He lifted a hand and covered his mouth, his fingers digging into his cheeks as he searched my face. Heat rushed up my neck. What was I doing? Hastily, I began to extricate myself from him.

“Let me,” he whispered and put his hands under my arms, lifting me from his lap.

As I stood fiddling with my dress, shaking and dizzy, he rushed over and picked up my chair. He carried it to his side of the table and sat it facing his. He gestured for me to sit, which
I did with great reluctance. The ticking clock in my chest sped up once again.

Jamie sat and raked the hair off his forehead. “What is goin’ on with you?” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, one side of his mouth quirking. “No’ that I’m complainin’, mind ye, but this isna like you.”

Latching my eyes on his, I took both his large hands in mine. “Promise me something.”

Without a second’s hesitation he replied, “Anythin’.”

I stared at our laced fingers, noticing my hands appeared small in his. Delicate. I loved his hands. Broad and sun-darkened, with a map of powerful veins across the back. Straight, strong fingers, his palms peppered with calluses. They were not the hands of a sit-on-his-throne-and-bark-orders monarch, but those of a leader who ruled by example — by digging in elbows deep to clean up after a party, by training every single day so he could protect his people with his life.

Jamie stroked my fingers with his thumb. “Verranica?”

Tears rising, I blinked them away, but I couldn’t look him in the face; instead, I stared at the space above his left shoulder. “If something . . . happens to me . . . promise me you’ll choose another queen.”

His silence forced me to look back at him. A furrow appeared over his left brow, and his fingers tightened almost painfully. “Dinna talk like that.”

“I’m serious. We have to expect it to happen again.” I pushed out a sigh and glanced at the crackling fire. “Something is trying to push me out of the kingdom. What if I can’t make it back next time?”

“There willna be a next time. And if there is, you’ll have the rings.”