Jamie leaned over and whispered urgently to the steward, who sprinted out of the ballroom. I imagined he wanted to confirm that the missing individuals were safe as Gideon claimed. Fergus lifted two fingers to his mouth and a piercing whistle cut through the pandemonium, bringing all but a few to silence.
“Thank you, Fergus.” Jamie nodded his head to the big guard before continuing. “Now listen to me well, all of you. There is a time and place for these accusations. Gideon’s claims shall be heard but I willna be making any decisions without proper proof.”
“This book contains all the proof ye need, sire.” Gideon pushed a tiny weathered volume in Jamie’s direction.
He had found Aunt Gracie’s journal. Although I didn’t understand the full implications of the curse on the small book, I knew deep in my bones I had to stop Jamie from touching it. Blindly, I began pushing my way toward the stage.
I couldn’t move through the people fast enough. Jamie reached out to take the journal from Gideon’s outstretched hand.
“Wait!” I screamed and every head in the room swiveled in my direction. Startled, Jamie searched the crowd, his hand suspended in midair.
Reaching the edge of the dais, I caught his eye. “Don’t touch that!” His normally confident-yet-relaxed posture stiffened visibly as he glanced at the book still in Gideon’s extended hand. Slowly, he lowered his arm.
Thank God. “Jamie, I can explain everyth—”
“M’ laird, I found this evil tome hidden in the American girls’ suite.” Gideon pushed the book toward Jamie again.
Jamie glanced at me, his eyes masked. “Verranica, you’ll have your chance to explain.”
I reached up to intercept the book, but hands on my arms and shoulders restrained me. The air whooshed from my lungs as I watched Jamie take the book and open the cover. When he didn’t collapse or show any sign of harm, I allowed myself to breathe again.
He leafed through the journal, stopping to study a particular page for several seconds in silence. When he glanced up, his soft voice carried across the room, his expression neutral. “Miss Welling, is this your book?”
“Yes,” I responded, feeling it was critical to be as honest as possible. “It’s Kenna’s Aunt Gracie’s journal. We brought it with us as a guide to the kingdom.”
“Indeed. And have you read it?”
On the surface, the journal was Aunt Gracie’s loving record of Doon—nothing more, so I didn’t think there was any harm in admitting to having read it. “Yes, I’ve read every page … several times,” I finished, my voice trembling.
He stared down at me with flat eyes. “How do ye explain this?”
A frown turned down the corners of his mouth as he held the book open for me to see. I gasped, along with a few others around me who could see the page in question. It was a sketch that I knew had not been there before … a portrait of the witch of Doon.
“Addie …” I whispered in stunned disbelief. What was going on? I’d memorized every word, every page in that book, and there had never been any reference to Addie, let alone a lifelike portrait. Gideon must have planted it.
“And how, pray tell, would ye know who she is?”
I noticed too late that there was no caption on the picture. I panicked, the words rushing out of me like nails hammered into my own coffin. “She’s the caretaker at Aunt Gracie’s cottage. I met her in Alloway. I’d known her for less than twenty-four hours when—”
“And yet ye know her as the witch o’ Doon.” His hard voice sliced through the chaos, quieting the building hysteria.
“No. I mean—I didn’t—”
“Silence! You’re a liar and I dinna want to hear another word.” Jamie snapped the journal shut in front of my face.
“That’s not all, sire!” Gideon’s voice rang over the crowd, two octaves higher than normal. “The devil-haired one killed my men in Muir Lea and yer own brother locked me up to protect her.”