“Be serious, Ken.” I gently touched her shoulder, just below the deep purple reminder of what some Doonians were capable of.
“These are Mackenna and Veronica—and they have come to help.” Although Mags addressed the table where we’d stopped, she clearly spoke for the benefit of everyone present. She turned to us once more and tilted her head in approval. “On behalf of the castle, I thank you for your service.”
As Mags retreated, a few of the more petrified volunteers slipped away as well. But for every worker that left, two more nodded their approval to remind me that, although the kingdom was divided, our accusers were the minority.
Fiona picked up Mags’ role as our tour guide/goodwill ambassador. She paused to return the wave of a grinning red-cheeked blonde. “That’s Mario’s wife, Sharron, and next ta her are their daughters, Sofia and Gabriella. I expect they’re most anxious ta meet you.”
Then, like an anxious hostess, Fiona rushed us over and introduced the family. Sharron, with her fair skin, golden hair, and emerald eyes, epitomized Scottish beauty. And Gabriella was a breathtaking sixteen-year-old miniature of her mother. But Sofia captured my attention. She had a riotous mass of black curls and huge ebony eyes, which peered at us curiously through long, silky lashes. She was so tiny that I nearly mistook her for a child, but on closer examination I realized she was my age—which in Doon years was probably somewhere closer to sixty.
As we settled across from Mario’s family, the younger girl, Gabriella—who insisted we call her Gabby—pointed first to Kenna and then me, excitedly. “You must be Mackenna and Veronica. My papà told me all about you.”
Italian pronunciation interspersed her lovely Scottish accent to give her speech an exotic quality. “How nice of you to help assemble baskets for those too infirmed to join us tonight.”
Kenna’s eyebrows lifted toward her hairline as she reached for a basket. “What’s tonight?”
“Tonight is the weekly feast,” Sharron answered. “The evening before the Sabbath, we gather as a kingdom ta celebrate our blessings. ’Tis a great pleasure ta make yer acquaintance, by the way.”
“There’s dancing.” Gabby’s eyes sparkled with the look of one whose dance card was always full.
“And you girls will be most welcome to join us,” Sharron said with a warm smile.
Focusing on the basket in front of me, I managed a casual shrug. “Maybe we should skip it this time.”
“Nonsense.” Fiona’s firm voice told me the matter had already been decided. “Do not bend ta the will o’ fear and ignorance. Are ye really going to let a couple o’ small-minded bullies keep ye from joining us?”
Kenna’s eyes met mine, letting me know this was my call to make. Fiona had a good point. I would never prove we weren’t in league with the witch by hiding in my room. “No. We’re not.”
Gabby clapped her hands in delight. “Excellent! You’ll have a wonderful time, I know. The festivities after the meal are the best part.” She nudged her sister. “I predict that Prince Jamie will ask Sofie for the first dance.” At the mention of Jamie’s name, I fumbled a jar of pickled vegetables, and tried to ignore the fact my stomach had plummeted with it.
Mrs. Rosetti’s proud eyes shone with enthusiasm as she explained, “Jamie’s been paying particular attention ta our wee Sofia.”
Sofia blushed a deep red and lowered her inky lashes until her expression became unreadable. “None of that matters, Mamma, if someone—He’s received a Calling.”
“A Calling?” Gabby gasped. Her eyes darted across my face to focus on Kenna. “Oh. Have either of you had a Calling then?”