by Carey Corp
Kenna stared out a nearby window. If she sunk any lower in her chair, she’d disappear under the table. I opened my mouth, not even sure what I would say, but before I could speak, Duncan grunted, “Nay.” He’d been watching the girl beside me as well.
His focus shifted to the opposite end of the table. “Jamie, your plan makes the most sense.” Then, with a crooked half smile, he turned back to my friend. “Mackenna, I’m willin’ if you are.”
“Fine.” She met his gaze, her cheeks glowing crimson, but she brazened it out with a lift of her chin. “Just leave the acting to me.”
Duncan’s grin faded as he arched a brow. “Is that so?” An enigmatic look passed between him and his brother, prompting Jamie to shake his head and roll his eyes, the corner of his mouth tilting.
Duncan stood and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Striking a pose, he opened his hands as if beseeching and he began to speak. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!”
Each word forceful and deep, he moved around the table toward Mackenna as he continued his impassioned rendition of Romeo’s speech to Juliet.
“It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night.” Duncan lowered to one knee, taking her limp hand in his, dark eyes intent upon her face. “Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!”
After several beats of silence, Duncan sprung to his feet with a wide grin and swept into a bow.
I burst into applause. One glance at my best friend, who sat like a parody of a statue with her mouth unhinged, and I blurted the first thing that popped into my head. “Wow, Duncan. If I’d known acting could be like that, I would’ve raced to join the drama club!” I fanned my face with my hand and winked at him, doing my best to draw his attention until Kenna could gain control.
“Thank you, my lovely queen.” Duncan inclined his head in my direction and took his seat, looking like he’d just hit a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth. Which, judging by Kenna’s stunned expression, he had.
“He doth nothing but talk of his horse,” Jamie mumbled with a shake of his head.
Something resembling a croak escaped my throat as I tried to cover my laugh with a cough. I recalled the quote from a reading we’d done in Advanced Lit of The Merchant of Venice. The MacCrae brothers sure knew their Shakespeare.
“That may be, brother. I have missed Mable somethin’ fierce.” Duncan wiggled his brows, his eyes full of mischief. “But me thinks I’ve proven I can handle a wee bit of acting.”
Kenna rose from her seat, pink cheeked but composed. “I concur.” She shot Duncan a fleeting glance, and then turned to me. “If this meeting’s over, I’d like to return to my room.”
At my nod, she turned on her heel and headed for the door. Maybe this ruse wasn’t such a great idea after all.
CHAPTER 11
Mackenna
Whoever said knowledge is power obviously had no other marketable skills . . . and no Wikipedia. As a member of the digital generation, I struggled to see any merit in wandering through shelves of dusty tomes in hopes of finding a literary needle in a haystack.
During my last visit to Doon, I’d successfully managed to avoid the library, mostly by staying in the dungeon. As I entered the stadium-sized room, I debated which — the library or the dungeon — was more enjoyable. I hated the way knowledge smelled; dusty with a faint tinge of mildew. Not that I didn’t enjoy learning, I was constantly expanding my audition song repertoire. But books seemed flat and impersonal . . . and hard to finish. That’s why I always opted for the movie version if available.
At least the space was airy, with large windows and high ceilings. Cozy little nooks of overstuffed chairs and divans, perfect for napping, existed in every corner. Which would be tempting, if I wasn’t actively trying not to think about my farce with Duncan.
It was my very own messed-up version of Victor Victoria, a silly, pointless musical that had never held much appeal for me. I was faking being in love with a boy that I was pretending not to be in love with, but was really head-over-heels crazy about.
I worried over what this little stunt would do to our truce. Duncan was finally starting to act like himself again. Faking a Calling would be a painful reminder of my betrayal and all the reasons he had to doubt me. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling me I didn’t deserve another chance.
Footsteps echoed across the marble floor. I turned toward them, intending to chide Vee for being late, but she wasn’t there. A curvy girl with dark bangs, a sad-yet-determined smile, and a clipboard strode toward me wearing a sky blue maxi dress. “Her Majesty’s running late.”
Who? It took me a moment to realize we were talking about Vee. “Oh, okay. I’m — ”
“Mackenna. Yes, I know. I’m the queen’s personal assistant, Emily Roosevelt.” She held out her hand and I gave it a shake.
So this was the girl whose future had been destroyed by the zombie fungus? Her nose was a little larger than I’d pictured, but for the most part she was exactly as my bestie had described her — a lost soul in need of a project. Looking at the poor girl, I decided I could forgive her air of self-importance under the circumstances. She’d lost her other half. Even if she did move on with her life, she would forever be incomplete. Something I understood all too well.
“The queen will be here shortly. In the meantime, she’s requested that I bring you and Analisa up to speed on the project. Shall we get started?”
“It seems to me we’re a person short.” Despite Vee’s assurances that Analisa wasn’t “too bad,” I didn’t relish spending the afternoon with a felon. Hope blossomed that the forger’s absence meant she’d be a no show. “Maybe Analisa can’t make it.”
“Or maybe she’s already here and sitting right under your noses.”
Holy Hammerstein!
Clutching at my chest, I stepped back from the clipped London accent coming from the furniture directly in front of me. The voice seemed to emanate from thin air, but on closer inspection I detected the motionless form of a girl molded into one of the high-backed chairs.
Taking her sweet time, the girl rose to her feet in one fluid, feline motion. Unless she’d just materialized, Analisa had gotten to the library before me. She’d seen me enter. But instead of identifying herself, she sneakily intruded on what I thought was a moment alone. Had she heard me muttering to myself about Duncan? I hoped not.
Analisa tucked the long side of her platinum-over-jet-black bob behind her ear and crossed the floor with the smooth, lanky strides of a supermodel. Her Vee-inspired dress swirled bewitchingly around her legs as she approached. I disliked her more with each step. Girls that looked like her tended to think the rules of mere mortals didn’t apply to them.
As she joined us, she gave me the once-over with a perfectly arched brow. “So you’re the actress from Chicago. Funny, I thought you’d be . . .” She trailed off, and I couldn’t help picking up where she left off. Thought I’d be . . . what? Prettier, more petite, older, thinner . . . Please don’t let it be thinner.
Analisa’s cat-like eyes blinked as she shrugged. “Never mind. You are what you are.” By way of dismissal, she turned to Emily. “Shall we get started then?”
Emily, who’d been studying the notes on her clipboard, nodded. “Yes. Her Majesty wants to compile a complete history of Queen Lynnette Elizabeth Campbell MacCrae. She was married to the king who invoked the blessing, but didn’t live to see her kingdom delivered. She passed away while Doon was still under attack.”
I knew all this. We’d discussed it as the cover story to research the previous limbus, but I nodded along like I was hearing it for the first time. As Emily continued to speak, pointing out the organizational flow of the library, I studied the girl who’d gambled everything on true love and lost. Her stick-straight brown hair accentuated dark, wounded eyes. More than her physical appearance, she radiated an inner fragility that clung to the structure of her task causing her to wield her clipboard lik
e protective armor. Unlike Analisa, this girl I could be friends with.
After the official tour, we split up. Relieved to go separate ways, I wandered toward the back of the library, marveling at the sheer volume of books. Who knew so many books had been written prior to the Renaissance? But what we were looking for were older volumes. Doon had vanished off the map right before the 1600s, and we needed firsthand accounts leading up to that event.
In an alcove at the back of the library, I discovered another inviting space arranged around a roaring fireplace. Above the mantle hung a portrait of a young woman wearing a crown. An unruly mass of auburn curls framed her lovely face. Her expression was equal parts mischievous and determined. The inscription read Queen Lynnette, founder and patron of this esteemed place of learning.
This was the girl who’d been queen when Doon had been attacked? The one who’d died from illness at the height of the siege? She looked like a teenager, but at the same time she possessed a poise that transcended age. In truth, she reminded me of Vee — not in looks, but in bearing.
“I adore that painting.”
Vee’s voice startled me out of my musings. Standing behind me in one of her patented maxi dresses with a delicate crown entangled in her dark hair, she looked more like a fairy princess than a queen, except for the tightness around her eyes. The weariness in her face spoke of the weight she carried for her people. Had we been in a musical, now would’ve been the perfect time for an expository duet about the challenges of governing a kingdom.
Instead of warbling in beguiling soprano, Vee flopped into a chair. “Queen Lynnette was my age when the portrait was painted. The Master Archivist told me she’d just had a baby.”
“Really?” I looked again at the girl for signs of baby weight. Nothing. Then again, portraits were the original form of airbrushing. Heaven help the artist who captured nobility as they truly were rather than how they wanted to be seen.
“I often come here when I need a source of inspiration.” Vee inhaled softly and stood a little straighter. “Queen Lynnette gives me strength. She was a great visionary and a champion of the people. It’s because of her that this library exists. She had books brought in from all over the world. Languages, science, history, religion. Anyone could come to the library at Castle MacCrae and learn. At every Centennial, there’s a group of Doonians dedicated to continuing her legacy by collecting new books, both fiction and nonfiction.”
“Except this past one.” My words caused Vee to flinch. This last Centennial had been pandemonium. The bridge had been impassible due to a spell cast by the witch, Jamie nearly died, and Vee had ended up in charge of the Doonians. Which reminded me . . . “How did Analisa, Emily, and the others get here if the Brig o’ Doon wasn’t working?”
“A couple of the guys came through the mountains. The rest were gathered at the bridge. When it opened, they took the scenic route around the lake — just like we did the first time. When we crossed at midnight, we went the opposite way, so we didn’t find them until the next morning.” Vee gingerly rolled her head from side to side. “We’d better get started. We’re looking for anything that mentions the limbus. Fiona will join us after her dress fitting.”
Heading to the right of the portrait, she pulled a stack of books from a section labeled local history and piled them on the end table between two leather chairs. As she settled into research mode, I wandered among the stacks in the alcove waiting for inspiration and humming the music to Beauty and the Beast.
Despite the overabundance of books, the library had killer acoustics. I wondered if anyone had ever thought to stage a concert here. I was just about to ask Vee when she set aside her book with a thump. “You do realize we’d accomplish more if you looked in the books and not just at them?” she huffed.
Doubtful. I don’t think I’d ever researched anything without either Cliffs notes or a Veronica Welling cheat sheet. I continued my perusal, unaffected by her impatience. “I’m searching for something specific.”
“What?”
“Books that look really old.”
“Kenna — you can’t just eyeball spines and tell the age of a book.”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “People do it with wine all the time.”
She glared at me like I’d spoken pig Latin. “What?”
“Wine. One sip and they can tell how old it is. Scotch too, I think. So I’m going off first impressions. Looking for something . . . like this.” Tucked between two large volumes that’d tipped toward each other was a thin leather-bound book. Easy to overlook if one wasn’t really paying attention.
Vee shook her head while I eased the book from the shelf. As I opened the cover she said, “Just because it’s an old book doesn’t mean it’s applicable — ”
I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “A Complete History of Queen Lynnette Elizabeth Campbell MacCrae, Autobiographical.”
I’d discovered the Holy Grail. Vee leapt from the chair to get to the book. “May I see that?”
Rather than surrender it, I silently arched an eyebrow and waited until she said, “Fine. I’m so sorry. Your Jedi-like skills are far superior to my traditional research techniques. May I please have it now?”
I placed the book gently in her hand. “Was that so hard?”
Instead of answering, Vee checked the date in the front and then skimmed through the entries to the back. “Her entire life seems to be documented in here, in her own words . . . except for the end. And there’s chapter titles.”
She crossed back to the sitting area with her nose buried in the pages of Queen Lynnette’s life. I followed, looking over her shoulder at the uniform words. “If it’s told in her own hand, why is it typed? They didn’t have typewriters back in the medieval ages.” At least I didn’t think they did.
“No, but printing presses were common by the early fifteen hundreds. Someone must’ve printed this after she died.”
As Vee reclaimed the chair she’d previously occupied, I grabbed the notebook and pen I’d thought to bring from the modern world and sat opposite her. “I’ll take notes.” I might not have been a Master Jedi when it came to the heavy lifting part of research, but I was the Anakin Skywalker of bullet points — minus the whole dark-side thing.
My mind started to wander down the Star Wars Saga as a musical path. Like Children of Eden but with lightsabers and Darth Vader. Every once in a while Vee would read out a fact for me to capture. Age. Birthdate. Marriage. Philanthropy — Vee’s word, not mine. Most of it was not nearly as exciting as my vision of singing Ewoks.
We’d yet to unearth any mention of the witches’ siege, or the limbus that plagued the kingdom four hundred years before, when Fiona appeared. Her forceful stride made the petite girl seem taller than five two. As she approached, her strawberry blonde curls bobbed around her agitated face.
Vee set the book aside in favor of our friend. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my mum.” She huffed to a stop in front of us and then began to pace as she elaborated. “I wanted a simple dress. Elegant and flowin’ like a mermaid. Or a glen fairy. With a garland of wildflowers. But Mum, she told the dressmaker lace. Yards and yards of stiff, itchy lace. An’ she’s got the milliner creating this abomination of a veil. I’m going ta look like a giant cumulous cloud!” She paused her movement on the last statement for emphasis.
In tandem, Vee and I stood to comfort our friend. “I’m sure it’s not so bad,” I said as I patted her arm.
From her other side, Vee added, “And lace is really — ”
“Veronica Welling,” Fiona interrupted. “Do you know what happens ta queens who lie? They roast in the fiery pit. So think carefully before ye finish that sentence. Lace is really what?”
Vee blanched and then replied tentatively, “We’ll love you anyway, even if you do look like a giant cloud.” She glanced at me, transferring the mental image of Fiona decked in miles of lace to my brain. We both began to snicker despite our distraught friend.
Like wildfire, the
snickering became full-blown giggles. After a tense moment, Fiona caved, her agitation dissolving into maniacal laughter. We clung to each other until tears leaked from our eyes. As the hilarity ebbed, Fiona moaned, “What am I ta do?”
Sharing a brain, Vee and I said without hesitation, “Bachelorette party!”
“Who’s having a bachelorette party?” Analisa’s ghetto-British accent cut through the moment as she rounded the corner with Emily.
Before I could say ix-nay on the bachelorette arty-pay, Vee answered, “We are. For Fiona.”
Analisa rubbed her hands together. “We’re in.”
Fiona blinked at us curiously. “What’s a bachelorette party? A modern custom?”
Before I could explain, Analisa flashed her a wicked smile. “Oh, you’ll see.” Then she turned to Emily. “Could we get that oldest Rosetti boy to do the entertainment, do you think?”
Emily began to make notes on her clipboard when Vee interjected, “We are not getting anyone to do that kind of entertainment, as tempting as your suggestion is . . .” She shook her head to dispel the image. “I’d already planned on throwing a bridal shower. We’ll have the bachelorette party after. Strictly no boys allowed!”
“But we could do karaoke,” I suggested. “Show tunes!”
“Yes.” Vee nodded and pointed to Emily’s clipboard. “That one you can write down.”
Emily made a note and then turned to her queen. “Did you find any books mentioning Queen Lynnette? We found a couple of mentions, but nothing we didn’t already know.”
Vee shared a glance with Fiona and me before answering, “I did find a couple interesting accounts, but I’d like the chance to read them through before we go any further. So, for the time being, can you and Analisa plan the shower and party? Oh, and the second wedding-night ball?”
