replied with a delighted snort. “If you knew what I know, ye’d care a great deal.”
Stepping closer to Alasdair, within reach of Mackenna, I let my hand rest lightly around my lass’s soft hip. “Stop talking in riddles, man. You will curry no favor if ye dinna answer our questions.”
“Apologies, Yer Highness. You see, I not only know how ta get back to Doon . . .” He paused self-importantly, his enigmatic smirk reminding me of a great-uncle I had not been overly fond of. “I am perhaps the only soul who knows how ye kin defeat the witch.”
“How?” Mackenna demanded as I scrutinized my supposed kinsman. What was his game? And why speak now after we’d been in Alloway for nearly two fortnights?
“Not so fast, lassie. I know how to defeat the witch, but I’ll only be sharin’ that information with the queen.”
I dug my fingers lightly into her hip to quiet her. “Which queen?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
Alasdair’s shrewd, watery eyes moved from Mackenna’s to mine. “The American lass. Wee thing, dark hair, goes by the name of Veronica.”
“I know who my best friend is—” Mackenna’s pocket chimed, cutting through the tension of the auld man’s revelation. She removed her mobile phone and glanced at the screen. “Fiona says we need to return to the cottage right away.” Turning halfway toward the parking area, she paused as if suddenly remembering we had unfinished business on the beach. “What do we do with him?”
With a series of gestures, Eòran indicated caution. Addie had magically removed the faithful guard’s tongue and given it to her lackey, Sean. Despite being a mute, Eòran had no issue with making his sentiments known. Regarding Alasdair, Eòran was of the opinion that this was possibly another trap set by the Witch o’ Doon. I agreed. The only way Alasdair could’ve known about Veronica is if the witch had told him.
But if he truly had intelligence about how to defeat her . . .
Both the guard and Mackenna looked to me to determine Alasdair’s fate. If there was the slightest possibility the auld man had information that would help us not only return home but ultimately defeat Adelaide, we had to take that chance. “He comes with us.”
With a delighted chuckle, Alasdair nodded his consent. With Kenna at my front, the auld man at my back, and Eòran bringing up the rear, we solemnly made our way across the beach to our waiting sedan.
When we arrived at Mackenna’s ancestral home, Dunbrae Cottage, the front door was ajar. Not only was the door open, but the library windows as well. Our people spilled out of the doorway onto the front walk and garden. Those outside huddled in groups near the windows, whispering to one another. The posture of their bodies and severe expressions made it easy to discern that something of great importance was happening in the library.
As Mackenna pulled the sedan to a stop, I ordered Eòran to stay in the car with Alasdair. Fixing my stare on the auld man, I said, “If ye know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put until I tell ye to move.”
Alasdair’s rheumy eyes crinkled as if amused. “Yes, m’Laird.”
By the time I exited the car, the Doonians standing out of doors had turned to face the road. They all shared the same expression of unease mingled with hopeful expectancy. Mackenna slipped her cool hand into mine. Her brows pinched in confusion. “What do you think’s going on?”
“I dinna know.” I squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Let’s go find out.”
Wordlessly, the crowd clustered around the doorway parted so we could enter the cottage. The interior contained more human beings than I would’ve imagined possible in such a cramped space. Friends were pressed against one another in the foyer and up the stairwell, their bodies angled toward the library. As we appeared, heads swiveled in our direction. Each one regarded us with that same disquieting expression.
Despite the mass of bodies, the crowd managed to step aside so that we could get to the library. The focal point of the room seemed to be a divan—or rather a person perched on the divan with her face downcast. At first sight, the figure appeared to be a child. Slender and petite, the girl had sleek ebony hair and copper skin. The slight trace of makeup on her fine-boned face indicated that she was not a child, merely small in stature.
Caledonia Fairshaw, Fiona’s mum, sat to one side of the girl while