“When Wise King Angus Andrew Kellan MacCrae retreated ta the castle chapel ta pray for deliverance for his people, those that weren’t in battle wi’ the witch and her minions gathered in ye Auld Kirk ta pray for guidance for their king.”
The preacher was a natural storyteller. Despite myself, I leaned forward and hung on his every word. “’Twas not jus’ the king who won favor that blessed day but all the people o’ Doon with their selfless petitions. It was the kingdom’s unity which invoked the Miracle. The people pledged never ta forsake their kingdom. In return, they were granted protection from evil, a bountiful land, and new citizens ta multiply their population. That is the great covenant between the people o’ Doon and their Protector.
“Now let us recite the Prayer of Unity in preparation of the Centennial.”
A single child, a girl of about nine or ten with pale hair and freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose, stood and began to sing in a high soprano. After the first verse, Jamie MacCrae—of all people—echoed her, his strong tenor pitch perfect. By the chorus, the entire congregation had joined in. Italian, French, and several languages I couldn’t readily identify melded together in a melodic petition.
The prayer was so beautiful—even more moving than “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Carousel—that I wanted to cry. A sniffle from Vee on my right and the outright sobbing of Fiona on my left reassured me that I was not the only one.
As the service concluded, the congregation began to stir and break the spell. Doonians clumped together peering at us with trepidation; I heard several murmurs about black petunias, and yet again the names Roddie MacPhee and Millie Ennis. Across the sanctuary, Gideon appeared ready to burn us at the stake.
In sudden need of air, I strode toward the door. Before I made it outside, someone grabbed my elbow. My free hand balled into a fist as I swung around and nearly punched Duncan MacCrae in the jaw.
“We’re ready to set off for Muir Lea.” He slipped his arm through mine, oblivious to the ripple of gossip he created by doing so.
One look at his candid expression confirmed not all Doonians were hypocrites.
The road bumped and thumped so that my teeth rattled continuously. As the royal carriage jostled its way up the mountain, I gained new insight into the turnip I’d played in first grade. Vee, of course, had been a cute little strawberry with an adorable lisp while I had the honor of being drab, hugely round produce.
If I ever portrayed a turnip again, I would tap into the impatience to get somewhere—anywhere—where I wasn’t constantly knocking knees with the other turnips, the expectant, searching glances of one smokin’ hot turnip in particular, and the uncertainty of what was coming next. Yep, in the future I’d make one Oscar-worthy root vegetable.
After an eternity plodding uphill, Fergus halted the carriage. “This is as far as I go,” he announced cheerfully.
It appeared to be the end of the path—the cart path, at least. I looked about me in confusion. We’d stopped on the side of a steep mountain at a dead end. Aside from the road, which was just wide enough for the carriage to turn around, the ground sloped sharply in either direction—one way steeply down, the other sharply upward. This was their highnesses’ fabulous picnic spot?
“Wow.” Unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I gestured to our unremarkable surroundings. “This is amazing.”
“We’re not there yet, woman.” Duncan flashed me a conspiratorial smile. “Fiona? Would ye mind staying here and keepin’ Fergus company?”
I looked back to see Fergus unhitching the horses. He considered Fiona shyly, already turning a patchwork of pink. Unfazed, Fiona unloaded wicker baskets from the trunk of the carriage. “Aye. I packed an extra basket just in case.”