Before I could compose a persuasive reply, Kenna blurted out, “Because if we were, I’d have already turned you into a toad.”
My friend wiggled her fingers ominously, inciting another round of outrage from the agitated crowd. I glanced behind her and met openly hostile stares. Many of the citizens seemed to have already made up their minds that we were guilty.
I turned back around and grabbed Kenna’s elbow. “Not helping.”
A single chuckle pulled at my attention. I turned toward the laughter and encountered Duncan’s wide grin. My gaze flew to Jamie, daring to hope he shared his brother’s lighthearted sentiment.
With an impatient gesture, he shoved the hair off his forehead and admonished, “Tis no laughing matter, Duncan.”
Duncan shrugged one broad shoulder. “‘Tis when someone’s overreacting.”
The king regarded the standoff between his offspring before settling a stern look of reproach on his eldest son. Speaking for the first time, his measured brogue oozed authority. “Just because yer brother laughs does no’ mean he makes light o’ the situation.”
He shifted in his seat to favor Duncan with an indulgent smile. A glance of understanding—of preference even—passed between the king and his youngest son. Rather than react or defend himself, Jamie mutely turned away.
If I, an outside observer, could pick up so quickly that Duncan was the favorite son, what must it be like for Jamie? An overwhelming urge to comfort this beautiful golden boy with the dark, wounded eyes rose up inside me. But I dismissed the impulse as his deep scowl pinned me to the spot. Maybe I’d taken a knock to my head somewhere along the way, because I had far more important things to worry about—like, oh, I don’t know, my imminent survival or imprisonment—than an arrogant boy who treated me worse than an ant he found crawling over his boot.
Clenching my jaw, I did my best to ignore his intense stare as King MacCrae addressed the crowd. “We shall hear the evidence against Miss Welling and Miss Reid.”
Gideon once again approached the throne. “M’ lairds, ye heard it with yer own ears. The one with hair the color o’ devil’s fire freely admits to witchery.” His bulging eyes blazed like a zealot. “’Tis my belief the Witch o’ Doon has built herself a new coven, and these two—her emissaries o’ evil—are somehow impervious to the enchantment.”
Nausea flooded my system as chaos exploded around us. Angry citizens pressed closer, shouting about witchcraft and malevolence. Kenna grabbed my hand, her voice quivering. “Enough of this Salem witch trial. I don’t want to be hanged, or burned at the stake, or stoned—let’s make a run for it.”
I clasped her hand tighter and leaned in close. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this … somehow.” I chanced a glance at Jamie and prayed he wouldn’t allow us to be carried down to the river by a mob of pitchfork-wielding villagers. In that moment, my prince commanded, “Silence!”
The clamor died instantly, replaced by a palpable and equally tense quiet. Jamie jumped down lightly from the dais and strode forward, his eyes never leaving my face. He stopped before me, and I met his catlike stare. Some indefinable emotion crossed his face and softened his rigid features, but before I could identify it the detached ruler was back. A vein pulsed in his throat as he demanded, “What have ye to say against the charges?”
My fear shifted into anger with a nearly audible snap. Letting go of Kenna’s hand, I stepped forward. “What charges? So far, I haven’t heard anything but conjecture from a raving lunatic. Shouldn’t we be given the opportunity to defend ourselves?”