Destined for Doon

by Carey Corp

  “Now, where were we?” Jamie growled.

  “No way.” I ducked out from under his arm and skipped away. I glanced pointedly at the leather bag that had fallen at his feet. “Didn’t you say something about a gift?”

  He snatched up the sack and quirked a mysterious grin. “Tha’ I did.”

  He untied the cord on the leather satchel, and what he removed made me gasp in wonder. It was a circlet of silver, so delicate it looked as if it could easily snap in his large fingers. But when he held it out, I could see by the intricate weave of silvery branches that the construction was solid. Leaves, dotted with tiny green jewels and what appeared to be amethyst and topaz flowers, caught and reflected the light.

  “Oh, Jamie, it’s exquisite!” He set it lightly in my hands. “Where did you get it?” As far as I knew, the ceremonial crown I’d worn that day was what the queen had worn for generations.

  “T’was my mother’s favorite. She couldna stand that beast of a crown either.” The light seemed to leave his face, his gaze fixated beyond me to somewhere in the past. “Before she passed, she gave it to me, to give to my queen someday.”

  When he focused back on me, the temporary grief was replaced by something as hopeful as a summer sky. “May I put it on you?”

  “Please.” I handed it back to him. “I wish I had gotten the chance to know her.” A little tear opened inside me. If Jamie’s mother were still here, I could have had a role model to help groom and prepare me for what was ahead — instead of being thrust head first into a duty I was so pitifully unprepared to face. And just maybe I could have shown her that I was worthy of her son, and her kingdom.

  Jamie set the circlet upon my head and it settled on with comfortable ease, as if it had some magical property that made it mold to each queen who wore it. I stood a little straighter, held my head a little higher, feeling connected to the woman whose shoes I was trying so desperately to fill.

  My prince brushed a length of hair behind my shoulder, his hand lingering on my back as he searched my eyes. “She’s here with you in spirit, Verranica. Dinna ever doubt — ”

  A crash, followed by shouts, sounded from the outer corridor. Jamie spun and pushed me behind him just as the door slammed open.

  “Where is she?” a ragged voice bellowed.

  “Gregory, what’s happened?” Jamie’s voice was like smooth-edged steel.

  A horrific groan echoed through the chamber. My curiosity propelled me around the protective barrier of my knight’s body, and my jaw almost hit the floor. A man staggered toward us, his right hand thrust out before him. Like something straight out of a horror movie, gory bits of flesh hung in ragged shreds off of the exposed bones of his fingers. Dark red spattered his clothes and soaked the remaining fabric of his sleeve. I choked back a gag. Two sword-wielding guards followed behind the man with wide, terrified eyes, clearly afraid the grotesque degeneration of the man’s arm might be catching.

  “It . . . it took my brother!”

  Bile rose in my throat at the agony in the man’s voice and the implication in his words. I prayed he wasn’t saying what I thought he was saying.

  “It’s her, I tell ye! This dark magic is all her doing!” His eyes swiveled in his head like a wild horse before locking in on my face. “Yer nothing but a queen of the damned!”

  “Guards, seize him!” Jamie commanded. The guards glanced at each other and shook their heads.

  Jamie edged over to block me from view, but as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t hide behind his strength. I moved around him and took several steps toward the injured man.

  Keeping my attention away from the melting flesh of his arm, I begged, “Sir, please tell us what happened so we can help you.” I stopped and reached an open palm in his direction to show I was unafraid. The man hesitated, his frantic gaze shifting from me to Jamie, who poised at my side like a tiger ready to spring.

  Gregory’s posture seemed to wilt as he reached a shaking arm across his body to clutch the bicep of his injured limb. Green eyes spilling over with tears, he began to speak. “Drew and I were choppin’ trees by the northern border . . . and . . . carrying them to the river ta be sent to the mill, but . . . but . . .” He trembled so hard every word was a struggle. “But his end dropped and . . . and he was just gone, sucked into . . . nothing. I went to the spot where he disappeared. I could see his shadow and I reached out, but . . . it hurt so terribly, the very air eating the flesh from my arm.” He paused and his entire body began to convulse, his voice catching on a sob. “He was screaming som-somethin’ terr-rrible, but I pull-lled back. I . . . I couldna ss-save him.”

  Jamie stepped forward just as the man collapsed, catching him before he hit the stone floor. He cradled the man’s head against his bent knee and ordered the guards to send for Doc Benoir. Both men rushed from the room and several Doonians spilled through the door followed by Fergus. Blood streamed from his temple, and Fiona attempted to prop the giant up with her shoulder.

  I met Jamie’s somber gaze and saw my own horror reflected on his face. What we’d feared most had happened — the erosion of the borders had taken its first human life.

  My only hope was that together, my BFF and I could pull off another miracle.

  Oh God, I prayed, please let Kenna get here soon!

  CHAPTER 4

  Mackenna

  I stood off to one side as Duncan tipped the Alloway driver generously. Since his first “horseless carriage” ten months ago, he’d become an expert at traveling by taxi. Despite the late hour, we’d decided to skip my aunt’s cottage and go straight to the bridge. My companion was anxious to get back to his kingdom . . . and away from me. He’d made that much as clear as the Phantom of the Opera’s high-pitched tenor.

  As the taxi’s taillights disappeared into the night, he turned to me. “Ready?”

  When I nodded, he reached into his pocket and produced a pair of rings. Not just any rings, but the ones that would open the bridge portal between my world and his so that we could cross into the Kingdom of Doon. He slipped the gold and ruby one onto the tip of his pinky finger as far as it would go. According to Fiona Fairshaw, who had special insight into the supernatural realms, the Rings of Aontacht chose their owners and not the other way around. If that were true, the gold and ruby one had chosen my best friend Veronica. And my uncle Cameron’s silver and emerald one had chosen me.

  Duncan offered me Cameron’s ring, and for an instant my treacherous heart imagined he was going to drop on bended knee. Thankfully he did not assume the proposal position, but extended his hand with the ring cradled in his palm. Doing my best Chuck from Pushing Daisies impression, I gingerly picked up the ring while avoiding any actual skin-to-skin contact.

  An awkward moment followed. Given the colossal importance of what we were about to do, it would have been natural to hold hands. Heck, it might even be necessary to activate the rings like the Wonder Twins . . . form of a hostile Scottish prince, shape of a girl who’s blown her shot at happily ever after.

  Before handholding became too tempting an option, I started across the bridge — alone. The minute I stepped onto the cobbled stones, an unbearable stench assaulted me — like rotting meat, decomposing plants, stagnant swamp, and sunbaked garbage all rolled into one odor straight from the pits of hell. Nose burning, eyes watering, I backpedaled, bumping into Duncan in my efforts to get away from the stink.

  The prince’s arms encircled me as I tried to get off the bridge. Thrashing out of his grasp, I stumbled off of the stone path and collapsed into the cool grass of the riverbank. My throat burned as I gulped in ragged breaths of fresh air. My body shuddered as my stomach dredged up my afternoon venti mocha.

  Suddenly Duncan was kneeling beside me. With one hand he held back my hair while the other kept me from collapsing in my own puke. After an indeterminable bout of dry heaving, I rolled away from the mess and flopped onto my back, shivering.

  Duncan’s scowling face loomed over me. “What happened?”


  “I don’t know.” My voice sounded raw, so weak it was hard to hear over the whooshing sound of the blood in my ears. “Something’s wrong with the bridge. There’s an awful stench, like — ”

  “Like what?”

  “Death.” My teeth chattered as another bout of shivers racked my body. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it reminded me of death.”

  Duncan stood and walked to where the grass bordered the ancient stones of the bridge. He glanced at the ring on his pinky, as if assuring himself that he still wore it, before scanning our surroundings. Streetlamps illuminated both sides of the riverbank at precise intervals with golden spheres of light. Only the center of the bridge remained in shadow. “I dinna see anything.”

  I struggled into a sitting position. My body complained, like it’d been steamrollered by sumo wrestlers. “Do you smell anything?”

  “Nay.” He cautiously took a step on the Brig o’ Doon as I cried out a warning. But he only shook his head. “I don’t sense anything.”

  “I’m not lying about this.”

  “I dinna say you were.” He continued to stare at the opposite riverbank, but with his back to me I couldn’t read his face.

  I forced myself to my feet. Lightning fast, Duncan turned and was by my side helping me up. The temptation to sag against him, if only for a moment of reassurance, was strong. But before I could act, he let go.

  He crossed to the edge of the grass and I followed, careful not to come in contact with the stone pathway. The riverbank on the opposite end of the Brig o’ Doon looked normal. The air was fresh, and I felt none of the terror that had gripped me moments before. Perhaps I had hallucinated it? Like an extreme stress reaction or something . . .

  Indicating the opposite side of the river, Duncan asked, “Do ye smell anything now?”

  “No.” For a long moment he studied me. Under his scrutiny I felt like a puzzle that was missing important pieces. When I could bear it no longer, I asked, “None of you saw anything like this at the northern border, not even Vee?”

  “No.” Duncan shook his head. “The Queen was right to send for you. You can see things that the rest of us cannot. I hate to ask this, but I need to know what’s on the other side. Do ye think you could step back onto the bridge?”

  My entire being screamed in protest, but Duncan was right. He needed what only I could provide. I wouldn’t fail him again.

  Using my scarf as a mask, I held it over my nose and stepped forward. The glowing emerald of my ring washed the bridge in a sickly green color. The stink returned, but now that I was braced for it, it wasn’t completely overpowering.

  Duncan’s mammoth hands fastened to my hips. He held me gently, yet firmly, from behind becoming a physical anchor to safety. His smooth brogue penetrated my fear as he spoke quietly into my ear. “Do you smell it?”

  When I nodded, he said, “Let me know if it becomes too much to bear. Now, what do you see?”

  I tried to block out the stench and focus on the horizon. Fuchsia and orange streaks lit the indigo sky as I glimpsed a world that was not my own. “It’s dawn.” The words were muffled by the scarf. “I can see the castle in the distance.”

  “What else?”

  I pulled my gaze back, focusing on the land between us and Castle MacCrae. The woods looked just as I remembered, except they were slightly off on one side, like a see-through scrim separated the setting from the audience. Looking closer, it seemed that a catastrophic event had destroyed most of the natural life. I could see skeletal branches and some kind of slimy black fungus that had inserted its dominance in the aftermath. “The forest looks wrecked. All the plants are decaying and moldy.”

  “Where?”

  “On the right side of the Brig o’ Doon.”

  “How far?”

  “Starting at the riverbank. As far as I can see.”

  The more I focused on the rotten land, the more the smell threatened to overpower me. My eyes began to burn. Fighting the urge to step back to safety, I tried to absorb more details. From out of nowhere a crow swooped across the riverbank.

  Maybe it was because I was somehow holding the portal open, but the bird flew from my world straight across the river and into the devastation as if it could sense no threat. The instant it reached the other side, it let out a bloodcurdling squawk, followed by a shriek as it dropped to the forest floor. It flopped for a moment, then unsteadily stood on broken, twisted legs. Most of its feathers littered the ground and the flesh of the creature fell away in chunks, exposing the bones underneath. Making low, guttural noises, the crow lurched away deeper into the putrefied woods.

  “Enough!” I gasped.

  Duncan’s hands guided me as I stepped back and dropped the scarf. Dragging clean air through my nose to my lungs, I took several calming breaths before addressing his questions. Same as the farmer’s hound, he’d seen the crow disappear, but he’d only heard what came next. I filled in the gaps, recounting in as much detail as I could recall, including the transformation of the zombie crow. As I described the bird lurching away into the slimy undergrowth, one other significant detail surfaced. “The ground — ” I stated. “The edge of the riverbank was covered with black petunias.”

  Duncan shivered. “So the northern and eastern borders of Doon, from the bridge to the high farmlands, are compromised by the Eldritch Limbus. How about if we stay south once we cross the bridge?”

  Panic seized my chest. The stench, the undead animals — death was on the other side of the Brig o’ Doon. I couldn’t cross the bridge — I wouldn’t. My head shook from side to side and I heard myself babbling the word no. Was this what it felt like to be hysterical?

  “Relax.” Duncan led me a short distance away from the path. “I’ll not risk your safety. If the way is not sure, we’ll try for the mountains in the morning.”

  The mountain pass was the back door into Doon. It was steep and long, but if it kept us far away from zombie crows, I’d take it. Even better that we were going to rest first. Relieved, I staggered over to a nearby park bench and slumped down. I might’ve curled up right there to sleep, except Duncan inspected me with narrowed eyes and asked, “Shall I carry ye to Dunbrae Cottage?”

  There was no teasing in his tone, but no tenderness either. If I said yes, he’d scoop me up and cradle me against the warmth of his chest. His steady heart would beat a rhythmic lullaby and I would drift into a safe, dreamless sleep in the shelter of his arms . . . and wake up to the harsh reality that he’d merely been obeying orders.

  “I can make it on my own.” Summoning the last of my strength, I got to my feet. The world began to tilt and I took another deep breath to steady it. Fighting vertigo, I walked away from Duncan’s tempting offer. It was time to leave the woods.

  Dunbrae Cottage, just a short walk from the bridge, was as quiet as when I’d left it ten months ago. Except the key was missing from its hiding spot. I flipped over a couple more rocks, my brain swirling with scenarios that involved the return of Adelaide Blackmore Cadell, the witch bent on the destruction of Doon.

  “Lookin’ for this?” Duncan, who’d been following a few paces behind, held up the key.

  The swirl of worst case scenarios going through my head caused me to snap. “Where did you get that?”

  Duncan seemed suddenly unsure. “Veronica said ye wouldna mind if I stayed while I got my travel affairs in order.”

  I snatched the key from his hand and busied myself with unlocking the door. After a couple of failed attempts, I fit the key into the lock and turned. Duncan followed me into the foyer. After carefully locking the door behind us, he asked, “Can I get ye anything?”

  The pragmatic tone of his voice made me want to lash out. Couldn’t he understand that I needed more right now? I needed Duncan the boyfriend, not the duty-bound knight on a quest. With effort, I reminded myself that it wasn’t his fault that I had unrealistic expectations — if anything the fault was mine for messing things up in the first place.

  “I just need
sleep.” And perhaps a time out.

  Duncan nodded. “I’ll carry your bag up to your room.” Only then did I notice my canvas tote slung over his shoulder. I’d dropped it on the bridge and never given it a second thought. He must’ve gone back for it after I started toward the cottage.

  Shamed, I followed Duncan up the stairs to the room I’d claimed as my own. I watched from the doorway as he flipped on the light by the nightstand and set the bag next to my bed. Before turning to leave, he scanned the room, going so far as to peek under the bed. Satisfied there were no witches or monsters to torment my sleep, he crossed to the door. Instead of leaving, he paused and studied me again.

  It was impossible to decipher the thoughts flowing across the canvas of his eyes. Good thoughts? Negative ones? I had no clue. What struck me most was how the absence of his trademark twinkle altered him. Where was the laidback boy with the quick, wry humor? Was he this somber all the time now? Or only around me? When we got to Doon, I would ask Vee.

  Clearing his throat, Duncan said, “You should get some rest. The journey tomorrow won’t be an easy one.”

  Of course not. I suspected nothing would be easy for us ever again. “Thank you. Take any room you like.”

  My attempt at civility sounded oddly hollow. But if Duncan noticed, he chose not to react. Evenly, he announced, “We leave at — ”

  “First light.” By now, I knew the drill.

  Without another word, he left, closing the door behind him. Instead of retreating to another bedroom, however, I could hear him hovering just outside. From the sound, I guessed that he was setting up camp in the hallway. With only a door separating us, it would be so easy to use the horrors of the bridge as an excuse to invite him in. If I begged, he would hold me through the night. He was too much of a gentleman to say no.

  With a heavy heart, I turned off the light and crawled into bed. If his nearness got to be too much, I’d count zombie crows. After everything I’d done, I owed it to Duncan to protect him — especially from myself.