Shades of Doon

by Carey Corp

  “You brought me all this way — in the middle of the night — to be a farmer? Or are you planning to kill me? Am I about to dig my own grave?”

  Rather than take the bait, he placed a butterfly kiss on the tip of my nose. His long dark lashes fluttered hypnotically as he asked, “Mackenna Reid, do ye trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then dig.” He reached for my hand and wrapped it around the handle. “One shovel-full of earth will serve.”

  Admittedly, I was intrigued. I scooped up a divot of dirt and deposited it next to the hole. When I met Duncan’s bright grin, he said, “Ye’ve just broken ground on Doon’s new Broadway Theater.”

  Astonishment clogged my throat as the tears I’d been struggling to keep at bay flowed like a faucet stuck in the on position. This was the site of my theater — the one Duncan would construct with his own hands. The kind, loving gesture elicited a whole new level of weeping.

  I felt Duncan’s arms wrap around me as he asked, “Why are ye cryin’?”

  “’Cause — you’re building me — a theater,” I moaned between sobs. I’d never been a dainty crier. In fact, if you looked “ugly cry” up in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of my red, blotchy face.

  He pulled back. His fingers grazed my chin, coaxing my face up until I looked at him. “I told ye that I’d build one for you. Here.” He handed me my sock.

  “I know,” I gasped. “It’s — ” I blew my nose, a honking and singularly unattractive sound, into his priceless token. “It’s just so nice.”

  His index finger brushed my jaw as he peered into the depths of my being. “I love you.”

  “I love you, more.”

  He shook his head. “Doubtful.”

  Before this turned into an all-out “Anything You Can Do (I Can Do Better)” – style throw down, I conceded to my handsome benefactor. No matter how much I struggled to find my place, Duncan would never stop reminding me that he believed I belonged in his world.

  “Okay. You love me more. And I am so lucky to have you.”

  Urging Vee to forget the freaky modern-day delusion had been the right thing to do. This was finally our time. And together we would create a life in which all our dreams could come true.

  CHAPTER 5

  Veronica

  The céilidh was like a Disney movie come to life. My handsome prince lifted me into the air and we spun in a circle, my skirt fluttering in an arc behind me. I held on tight to his broad shoulders, the fiddle and bodhrán driving us faster and faster, while paper lanterns whirled into a kaleidoscope of fairy lights above our heads.

  A quick strike of the drums signaled the end of our umpteenth reel and I fell against Jamie’s chest with a laugh. I’d wanted to dance and I’d certainly gotten my wish, but I was relieved when the musicians announced they were taking a break. A refreshing breeze brushed my flushed face as we made our way off the dance floor and back to our table. The warmth had leached from the autumn air as soon as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and people gathered around cheerfully crackling fires in large brass basins, roasting sausages or warming their hands.

  Jamie headed off to get us drinks while I plopped in a seat at our empty table and fanned my steamy face with a napkin. I scanned the area for Kenna and Duncan before remembering they’d disappeared sometime during the storytelling. Kenna was still adjusting to the slower-paced life in Doon, and, not unlike many of the Destined, trying to find her place. As much as I enjoyed hearing the old folktales and legends, I imagined our storytelling was not the type of performance she felt she could sink her teeth into. Personally, I couldn’t wait until she realized the missing theater scene was a blank canvas waiting for her genius. Not only would it give her a purpose, but with no television or computers in Doon, we were sorely lacking in the entertainment department.

  Propping my aching feet on an empty chair, I picked at the glittery nail polish stuck to my fingernails like superglue. Mani/pedi time had been fun until Kenna declared she’d forgotten to bring remover with her to Doon. As I peeled off a strip of Caribbean-blue sparkles, I recognized that, not unlike the stubborn adhesive, my best friend would let go of her misconceptions and self-doubts in her own time. But making her feel welcome was something I could help with, which is why I’d blocked off my entire morning the following day for some pure, unadulterated girl time.

  The table jerked and slid three inches as Blaz pulled against his rope to get to me. He whined and then gave a short yelp to inform me of his displeasure.

  I went around and knelt in front of him. “Oh, buddy, what happened? Did we leave you all alone?” He’d wound his leash around the legs of the table, so I unclipped it from his collar.

  At the first click of freedom, he slathered my face with dog saliva and then curled the edges of his mouth, his tongue lolling out of his head. Who knew a dog could actually smile? But I had no doubt that was exactly what he was doing. I led him around the table, and when I sat, he tried to crawl onto my lap.

  “Blaz, down!” At the sound of Jamie’s deep voice, the dog stilled immediately and flopped at my feet with a whimper. “Where’s Eòran?” Jamie handed me a cup of chilled cider.

  Where had my guard gotten to? He’d said he had no one he wished to spend time with at the festival. “He probably just went to get some food.”

  “Speaking of, can I get you anything, love?”

  “Maybe a — ” A sharp bark cut off my words, and Blaz — true to his name — took off like a racehorse out of the gate. Jamie and I jumped to our feet and watched in horror as he bumped into Adam, a scientist from Ireland, who balanced three overflowing mugs of ale. The dog whooshed past him and Adam spun on his heel, liquid sloshing all over his shoes.

  Then Blaz ducked under a table and sent the cobbler’s wife to her feet with a squeak, before darting into a stand of trees after a bushy-tailed cat.

  “Blasted mutt! Some guard dog he’s turned out to be,” Jamie grumbled as he ran after my rapidly disappearing puppy.

  I sat down again, laughing out loud at the Tom-and-Jerry-spectacle and the good-natured ribbing from those seated nearby.

  “Might want ta trade that pup in for a real dog, yer Majesty.”

  “That wee beastie needs a good wallop.”

  “The Laird’ll take care o’ tha’!” the cobbler shouted, inciting sniggers all around.

  I certainly hoped Jamie wouldn’t hit my sweet Blaz. I sat up straighter and craned my neck, but could no longer see either of them.

  The music began again as I settled into my seat and took a sip of the cool, spiced cider. Several couples began a slow waltz-like dance, Fergus and Fiona among them. Fergus, sporting a dark purple bruise under his left eye, whirled his diminutive wife around the floor — his meaty hands held her as if she were an exquisite china doll. Gabby Rosetti danced in the burly arms of the blacksmith’s son. And her petite older sister, Sofia, breezed by with her father, Mario.

  Something about the precious way Mario looked at his daughter hit me like a punch to the sternum. My vision darkened and another couple took their place . . .

  “Dad, you’re supposed to lead.” I squeezed his arm under the soft jersey of his sweatshirt and looked up into his laughing eyes. The same aqua-blue as mine.

  “How can I when my daughter is a ballerina?” He took my hand and spun me out.

  I did a quick pirouette, extending my leg out and back again as he held my hand above my head.

  “Bravo!” He twirled me back in with a chuckle. “See, I could never compete with such grace.”

  “You don’t have to compete, silly daddy. It’s just a pretend dance . . .”

  Six months. That had been six months before he disappeared. Had his eyes been unnaturally bright or was I superimposing what I knew now over the memory? Had he already been thinking about leaving me? Was I such a heavy burden to bear?

  My attention snapped back to the present and I noticed Sofia and Mario swaying on the edge of the dance floor, tears tracking down S
ofia’s face. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help hearing her strained words.

  “Why won’t the dreams stop, Papà? I canna wait to go to bed each night, but each morning when I awake I grieve for him.” She clutched a fist to her chest. “It’s like a physical ache I carry with me every moment of every day.”

  “I do not know, la mia bella. But I do believe i sogni, the dreams, mean there is still hope. Spereremo.”

  Sofia shook her dark curls. “Non è possibile. The bridge is closed until the next Centennial and both the Rings of Aontacht are in Doon. I’ve missed my chance at a true Calling, haven’t I?”

  “I have to believe the Protector will find a way. Just look at the extraordinary circumstances that united Jamie and Duncan with their soul mates.” He tucked a stray ebony curl behind her ear, his dark eyes liquid. “Never give up hope. Mai!”

  “Mi dispiace, Papà. It hurts too much to hope. I have to move forward with my life.” She stared down at her feet. “Somehow.”

  Mario tipped up his daughter’s chin and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You’ll always be il mio tesoro.”

  My treasure.

  Unable to listen to another word, I shot to my feet and began to make my way through the crowd. There were too many people, the laughter around me too loud. I didn’t know where I was going but I had to get away. My people could not see me break down. Not here, not like this.

  I’d reached the last row of tables when a deep, honeyed voice filled my ears. The crowd let out a cheer, and I stopped. I didn’t recognize the words of the song, but the familiar rich tone, edged with that enticing hint of a rasp, resonated deep in my soul. Jamie.

  Someone grabbed my hand, and I turned to meet Gideon’s skeletal face. I started and jerked my fingers from his. It was still a struggle to trust the ex-captain of the guard, who’d caused Kenna and I so much trouble when we’d arrived in Doon. But the man’s genuine, almost apologetic expression kept me rooted to the spot. The witch, Addie, had controlled his every move via a curse. This was the true Gideon. “Yer Majesty, pardon my intrusion.” He bent in a short bow. “But the Laird sings for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “’Tis an ancient Gaelic ballad w’ a verra special meaning.” His eyebrows arched into his scarred forehead.

  I pivoted to see Jamie on the stage facing me, standing tall and strong, his gaze confident yet beseeching. As he sang, the wind tousled the waves of his hair across his forehead. He shoved a tawny lock out of his eyes and then extended his hand in my direction. Giggles drew my attention to the foot of the stage, where a cluster of girls had gathered like groupies at a boy-band concert, their adoring eyes glued to my boyfriend as they looped arms and rocked in time with the music. I couldn’t say that I blamed them; Jamie’s charisma was off the charts, but why was he singing for me? Why now?

  “Ged nach eil sinn fhathast pòsd’ . . .”

  The words flowed through me like the first time I’d tasted ale — warm and smooth, leaving me lightheaded. “What is he saying?” I whispered.

  “Ye should go find out, eh?” Gideon’s voice rose at the end in barely contained excitement.

  The man clearly knew something he wasn’t telling me. Jamie’s eyes never left my face as I walked toward him feeling like I was smack dab in the middle of an episode of Glee. But I was no Rachel Berry. I couldn’t sing. Not a note. Kenna had tried to improve my voice, but we finally determined music moved my feet, not my tongue.

  When I reached the last row of spectators, I saw my puppy sitting obediently at Jamie’s feet, as lulled by his voice as the group of sighing girls around the stage.

  I stopped at the edge of the crowd, and Gabby, along with Emily and Analisa, parted the sea of people so I could get closer. If there was a sound associated with swooning, I heard it all around me as Jamie crouched to my level, his broad smile bringing out both dimples in his cheeks. I took his extended hand, and he pulled me up beside him. Gazing into my eyes, he sang the last note of the song, and I melted into a puddle of spineless girl-goo.

  He took both my hands in his broad palms, and suddenly my heart catapulted into my throat. This was no pointless romantic serenade. Nothing Jamie did was pointless. The intense lines of his body and the emotion pouring from his eyes said this was a declaration. I swallowed, hard. Was he about to propose? I loved this boy more than I thought possible, but marriage? I was barely eighteen.

  My vision narrowed in panic. I couldn’t say no in front of our kingdom.

  Jamie’s throat bobbed in a rare show of nerves before he spoke. “Verranica Welling, I feel like I’ve been dreamin’ of you since before I could talk . . .”

  Oh no. I was dead in the water. My chest tightened as I gazed into his heartbreakingly handsome face — a face I wanted to wake up with and go to sleep to every night for the rest of my life.

  The people sent up a cheer, along with someone who sounded suspiciously like Fergus shouting, “Get on with it, laddie!”

  Jamie’s eyes sparkled, but a muscle twitched in his jaw, and I realized he was taking a huge risk by putting his feelings out there for everyone to see, especially without knowing if I would accept or reject him.

  He cleared his throat before continuing. “Vee, you’re the only one I’ll ever love . . . Would ye become . . .”

  He swallowed again, and I thought my chest might burst.

  “ . . . my handfasted mate?”

  “Your what?” The words surged out of me with no finesse whatsoever, provoking a roar of laughter from our audience.

  Jamie’s eyes darted to the crowd and then back to my face before he leaned in and whispered, “’Tis a Celtic ceremony tha’ signifies our engagement.”

  “Would we have to do it right now?”

  “Nay, my heart. At a date of your choosing.”

  “Then, sure.”

  He leaned back and arched his brows in challenge. He wanted me to pronounce it. So flooded with love at that moment, I’d cartwheel through the crowd in my underwear if it would make him happy. I turned to the people of Doon. Keeping one of his hands locked in mine, I proclaimed, “My answer is yes!”

  Blaz jumped up and gave a sharp bark of agreement as the Doonians showed their support with clapping and cheers. I scanned the faces and saw tears in the eyes of a few dear friends, including my bestie, who grinned from ear to ear and gave a fist pump. Beside her, Duncan cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Kiss her, you dolt!”

  And in a perfect Little Mermaid moment, the people began to chant, “Kiss her! Kiss her!”

  Jamie spun me around, took my face in both his hands, and kissed me until the entire world faded away.

  The next morning, I was floating on air. The sun shone warm on our shoulders as Kenna and I strolled down the cobblestone path, peeking in shop windows and brainstorming ways to decorate her suite. We’d decided on an eclectic mix of jewel tones with accents of traditional plaid. We’d even had a painting of the Brig o’ Doon commissioned by Bahati MacPhee, Lachlan’s mom and a gifted artist who’d been Called to Doon from Africa. I’d been having so much fun, I hadn’t thought about the work waiting for me back at the castle in twenty minutes. Amazing what a little shopping could do for the soul.

  As we passed the market square, I was astounded to see the only signs of the previous night’s merriments were a few lanterns swaying in the trees. It’d been well past two in the morning when the festival had wound down, and the streets had been absolutely trashed.

  “Where did everything go?” Kenna asked, mimicking my thoughts.

  “I don’t know, but I know where I can find out.”

  Following the mouthwatering scents of fried dough and coffee, I led Kenna and Blaz across the street to Alsberg Bakery. After handing Blaz’s leash to Eòran, and piling our packages into his arms, we pushed open the door and were greeted by the tinkling of a bell and a waft of sugary heaven. The selection was insane, but we eventually decided on coffee and apple fritters the size of my he
ad.

  As we waited for our order, I asked Mr. Alsberg, “How did the square get cleaned up so quickly? Do we have a Doon janitorial staff I don’t know about?”

  “Or house elves,” Kenna muttered under her breath. I swallowed a laugh as the baker handed us two paper-wrapped pastries.

  “The Creu,” he answered, as if I knew what he was talking about.

  “I’m sorry?”

  The German shook his head with a smile and pronounced the word more carefully. “The Crew.”

  Adding cream to my coffee, I stopped mid-pour. “The crew of what?”

  Mr. Alsberg gestured us to a free table and then sat and explained that “the Crew” was a group of older children whose job it was to awake at first light and tidy up after all events. He listed Lachlan and several other names I recognized as being part of the team.

  When I asked how they managed to get a bunch of preteens to do such an unglamorous job, I was told it is considered a privilege to serve the Kingdom in this capacity. And with a wink, the baker added, “It does not hurt that Prince Yahmie leads the Creu.”

  Quickly sorting through his accented words, I set down my coffee with a plunk. “Wait. Did you say Jamie heads up the Crew?”

  Mr. Alsberg nodded. “Yes.”

  Amazing! Jamie had seen me to my door, and with our extended goodnight kiss would’ve gotten to bed sometime after three. Yet he’d still risen at the crack of dawn to lead the cleanup.

  Two hours and three shops later, my jaw still dragged on the ground. The more I learned about my future king, the more astonished I was by his many layers. I knew, like me, he was an early riser, but I’d assumed he spent all his mornings training in the Brother Cave. Apparently, not all of them.

  “So, are we going to talk about the heffalump following us around or should I shoot it in the head?” Kenna asked as we made our way to the textile shop. “I’m assuming that dreamy expression on your face has something to do with a certain hysteria-inducing prince?”