Destined for Doon

by Carey Corp

  I turned, and when I did, I saw that Duncan was sitting up. Although no longer in shadow, he still appeared haunted.

  “But you said you didn’t — why would you lie?”

  Rather than answer, he looked away. Even if he’d seen me perform and possibly understood why I made certain choices, it didn’t change the fact that I’d hurt him. “Fine,” I said. “You don’t want to talk about it. How ’bout you answer me this . . . Why don’t you go to church anymore?”

  He shrugged, his face half hidden. “It doesna matter.”

  If he was determined to shut me out there was really no reason to stand around. “I’ll see you later.”

  Abruptly, he sprang to his feet. “Usually I’d be inclined to escort you back, but I’m late to meet Ana. I trust ye can find your way.”

  All the tumultuous emotion I’d worked so hard to purge re-formed, like a tornado. I marched right up to him and stared into his ridiculously gorgeous face — that I really wanted to slap. I could feel my nostrils flaring as I sucked in bursts of air. “As you might have noticed in Chicago, I’ve managed just fine on my own. So go on. You don’t want to keep your little thief waiting.”

  He tilted his head, his lips quirked with amusement. “So you are jealous.”

  “Of her? No.”

  I made a scoffing noise meant to sound dismissive, but it came out more like a sob. Duncan’s dark eyes bore into mine. He took my hand, holding it so that his thumb lightly brushed across the back. “Do you remember the last time we were alone in this garden?”

  I did. It was during the ball. He’d begged me to take him to Chicago and, under the spell of the moon and his lips, I’d foolishly agreed. Fireflies stirred in my chest as I tried to remain stoic.

  With his free hand, Duncan grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. He lowered his face to mine and said, “You wrecked me.”

  Without warning, he let go and I stumbled backward. Before I could recover, he retreated into the shadows. His tone revealed nothing further as he said, “Good-bye, Mackenna.”

  Then he turned and walked away . . . to her.

  For the longest time, I stood rooted to my spot, feeling the fireflies die off one by one. Gradually, the mournful sounds of the night penetrated my consciousness. In the distance, an owl screeched. The wind howled like an old woman, and the revelers on the lawn waned to a single melancholy tenor who began to sing in a tender, slightly slurred voice:

  In the gloaming, oh my darling

  When the lights are soft and low

  And the quiet shadows, falling

  Softly come and softly go

  When the trees are sobbing faintly

  With a gentle unknown woe

  Will you think of me and love me

  As you did once, long ago?

  I shook my head, desperate to break the spell Duncan had cast by leaving. A gust of icy wind tore at my hair, and I pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders as I marched down the path that would take me back to the castle.

  In the gloaming, oh my darling

  Think not bitterly of me

  Though I passed away in silence

  Left you lonely, set you free.

  Had Duncan paid them to sing that dreadful song? Desperate to escape, I jogged past the group surrounding the tenor. The lyrics of his song nipped at my heels like hellhounds as I sprinted the rest of the way to my room.

  For my heart was tossed with longing

  What had been could never be

  It was best to leave you thus, dear

  Best for you, and best for me.

  But it hadn’t been best for me . . . or, as far as I could tell, for the sweet prince who had worn his faith and his heart on his sleeve.

  “You wrecked me.”

  The truth of his words slammed through me. I hadn’t just left him, I’d caused him irreparable damage. His duality, the loss of his beliefs, his association with Analisa — all my fault. I didn’t deserve a second chance to stay in Doon or with the prince that was once destined to be my soul mate. I wasn’t worthy.

  CHAPTER 16

  Mackenna

  The queen of Doon and her royal hottie clung to one another in the doorway to her chambers. Their good-bye kiss rivaled a gum commercial. If the world wasn’t about to end and the boys didn’t have to check in with the border patrols, Jamie and Vee might have made it last all day.

  Duncan and I stood awkwardly on the sidelines, staring at our shoes while we waited out the PDA. Our conversation in the garden had caused us to take a step backward. His guard was up, which made being in close proximity unbearable. From opposite sides of the room, our occasional glances would meet only to shift away as quickly as possible.

  He’d accompanied his brother to say good-bye before heading out for “training exercises.” While this was clearly Jamie’s last stop, I couldn’t help but wonder if Duncan had yet to visit Analisa. And if she would be sad to see him go, or simply fill the space on her dance card with the Rosetti boy.

  After an eternity, the Dentyne Duo came up for air. While common decency kept my vision focused on the purple wallpaper, Jamie’s murmured endearments made my cheeks feel hot.

  “Time to save the world. We’re depending on you.” He reluctantly released Vee and took a step back. “Both of you.”

  Vee nodded. “We’ll find something. When will you be back?”

  “Midday tomorrow if all goes well. We’ll spend the night at the hunting lodge, see if Adam’s found anything new.”

  Vee closed the gap between them to give Jamie a peck. “Be safe.”

  Before they could commence PDA part deux, Duncan placed a hand on his brother’s bicep and said, “Time to go, man.” With a final halfhearted nod in my direction, he slipped through the doorway. Jamie captured one more kiss from his lady love before following his little brother.

  Shutting the door, Vee leaned against it with her eyelids at half-mast. With her mussed hair, swollen lips, and glassy gaze, she could’ve been posing for the cover of a romance novel. But if we were going to figure out how to stop the limbus, she needed to stop swooning and bring her A-game. “Do you need to take a cold shower before we start?”

  She blinked at me, her cheeks turning deep red as she got my meaning. “Sorry. Duncan was awfully quiet. Everything okay?”

  “Things are fine.” Last night when I returned from the garden, she was sound asleep. I’d planned to fill her in over breakfast, but the princes had interrupted us. And now that I’d seen Duncan again, I didn’t feel like talking. Desperate to change the subject, I parked myself on her settee and started organizing the dozen or so books on her coffee table into piles by color. “Find anything useful?”

  “Not yet. But I’ve only gotten through half of these so far.”

  Scouring old, moldy books for the key to saving the kingdom had about as much appeal as skydiving naked, but it’s not like I had any better ideas. I couldn’t exactly tap dance my way to answers. So I picked up a brown-leather hardback and offered, “How about I skim for keywords and you tackle the heavy lifting?”

  Side by side, we passed the day in research mode. Whenever the words started to blur, I’d take a break for refreshments and a musical intermission. By early afternoon, our progress could be measured in cold cups of tea, half-eaten plates of food, and my repertoire of iconic Patti LuPone songs. But we still had a big fat nothing regarding the limbus.

  Vee closed yet another book with a thwack. When I glanced at her, I noted she was resisting the urge to pick it up and hurl it across the room. Time to acknowledge the giant pooka in the room. “What if we can’t do it?”

  She stood and methodically rolled the kinks from her shoulders. “Failure is not an option.”

  “But it’s a definite possibility.” I hated to be the one to say it, but we’d scoured every relevant book in the royal library. “Research isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to think outside of the box. Try something more radical.”

  “Like what?”

 
“How should I know? You’re the brains. I’m just the talent.”

  Vee sighed. “What we need is a miracle.”

  The outer door opened and Fiona hustled inside. She was one of the few people who didn’t get screened by Eòran. Emily, Jamie, and I were the others. Although not a divine phenomenon, she was a most welcome addition.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Our friend removed her shawl with a bright smile. “Figure out how ta save the world yet?”

  “Nope.” Who was this cheerful creature and what did she do with Fiona?

  “I’ve no doubt ye’ll figure it out.” Out of habit, she began tidying the dirty dishes while humming a lively tune. “After all, the Protector o’ Doon called the both of ye here. There’s a purpose in all o’ this.”

  “Beyond getting zombified and dying when Doon comes to an end?”

  “Kenna!” Vee’s pointy elbow speared my ribs.

  “Sorry, but we’re all thinking it.”

  Fiona made a pffttt sound as she retrieved a cup I’d left on top of a music box on the bookshelf. “No need to be so pessimistic, Mackenna. Life is good.”

  Said the girl who’d spent the last week in perpetual waterworks. All in all, I think I liked teary Fiona better than this sunshine-and-rainbows version. Giving voice to my thoughts, Vee stated, “You seem pretty cheerful. If you’ve got good news, please share. We could use some right about now.”

  “I’ve jus’ come from the dressmakers. There’s no way that lace monstrosity will be ready by Saturday, so I’m getting my mermaid dress after all.” Fiona placed the cup on the tray of dishes and rang the service bell. “Mum’s so forlorn, she’s taken ta her bed.”

  Okay, that was a small win, but getting her dream gown didn’t change the fact she was on the barrel end of the universe’s shotgun wedding. “You do realize the world is still coming to an end unless we find a way to stop it?”

  “You will.”

  “How can you be so sure that there’s a divine purpose here?”

  “Because, Mackenna, you’ve the gift of sight. You’re the only one that can see the true nature of the limbus. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

  When I shrugged, Fiona took my hand. Her earnest hazel eyes trespassed into places I didn’t want her to go. “Because of Veronica’s fate, I fear ye’ve dismissed your role in this too easily. This isn’t just her story, it’s yours too. The Rings of Aontacht chose the both of you. Whether you want to accept it or no’, you were destined for Doon.”

  An efficient knock sounded at the door, followed by Eòran entering the room. Grateful for the interruption, I moved away from the girl who saw too much. Even if Fiona was right, I rejected the notion that I didn’t have a say in the matter. After all, it’d been my choice to leave Duncan at the bridge. The universe had nothing to do with it.

  Eòran looked from Vee to Fiona, who indicated the tray of dishes. Mutton Chops cleared his throat. “Shall I have these cleared, m’lady?”

  “Yes, please.” Vee lifted her mouth into a forced grin and indicated a stack of books next to the coffee table. “And would you arrange to have these returned to the library?”

  “Certainly, m’lady.” The guard held out his hand to offer Vee a tiny green leather-bound volume. “The Master Archivist sent this over. He said you left it behind the other day.”

  A tiny frown furrowed Vee’s forehead as she took the book and politely waited for her personal guard to retreat with the tray of dirty dishes. As soon as the door closed, she turned to Fiona and me. “I didn’t leave a book behind.”

  I opened my mouth to challenge her, but she cut me off. “Kenna, you’ve known me forever. Does that sound like me?”

  She could be dreamy, but she was practically OCD when it came to double-checking her surroundings. A byproduct of having a mom who would pawn anything of value that happened to be lying around. “No.” Half in jest, I said, “Maybe it’s that miracle you wanted.”

  “Aye,” Fiona replied in earnest.

  Vee opened the book. Her frown deepened to craggy proportions. “It looks like English — all the right letters are there — but it doesn’t make sense.”

  Fiona and I approached Vee from opposite sides to read over her shoulders. Sure enough, some of the words were perfectly understandable English while other were gibberish.

  Fiona pointed to the text. “Tha’s Scots.”

  Vee turned the page and then glanced at our friend. “Can you read it?”

  “Aye. And write it.”

  “That’s a crazy coincidence,” I interjected with a chuckle.

  “Not really,” Fiona replied. “Most of the village can read and write Scots.”

  “Well, it’s our good fortune you’re here,” Vee added diplomatically. She turned the next several pages, which were mostly pictures with captions. Rectangles with one rounded end — like the shape of a tombstone — filled the book. Each one was filled with swirling designs and hieroglyphics that reminded me of Celtic tattoos.

  When I spoke my observation aloud, Fiona said, “Not Celtic. Pictish.”

  Glancing from Fiona to me, Vee said, “Of course. Those drawings are Pictish stones.”

  Since my two friends seemed to be on the same nerd wavelength, I had to ask, “What’s Pictish? Anything like Pictionary?”

  Vee looked at me with feverish eyes that I recognized as her knowledge-is-power expression. “Remember World History freshman year — that unit on Celts?”

  “Vaguely. There was a boatload of drama going on. The cast had just been announced for Children of Eden. Everyone thought I would get Eve because I nailed my audition. But then Suzi Klein got it just because she was a senior, even though she sang ‘Memory’ at tryouts and I sang ‘Children Will Listen.’ I mean, Sondheim trumps Andrew Lloyd Webber every single time, am I right?”

  Vee’s eyes narrowed, so I added, “I do remember the unit on ancient Mesopotamia — it came in handy for my character’s backstory as the marked servant girl.”

  “That you remember?” When I shrugged, she said, “You wrote a paper about Stonehenge.”

  Something tickled in the back of my brain. Giant rocks, extraterrestrial theories, and a C minus for effort. “So Pictish is an alien language?”

  “No. Pictish originates from Scotland, not outer space. But it’s an ancient, dead language. Nobody reads or writes it anymore. And as far as people can tell, nobody ever spoke it.”

  Fiona cleared her throat. “Except the Picts.”

  “Yes, except the Picts,” she replied with a half-roll of her eyes. “But they’re extinct.”

  Fiona fidgeted. “Mostly.”

  “What does mostly mean?”

  “At one time Doon had a family who was directly descendent from the Picts. They kept all the old arts alive. They even taught their ways to some o’ the other womenfolk in town.”

  “Are any of them still around?”

  “They all perished, except one.”

  I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that I knew where this was going. Apparently, so did Vee. She paled as she asked, “Which family was it?”

  With deep, grave eyes, Fiona replied, “The Blackmores.”

  Vee and I spoke over one another. “As in Adelaide Blackmore Cadell?” “The witch of Doon?”

  “Aye. The Blackmores had a growing coven — at least until the church began to speak out against them. The legends say that Adaira Blackmore married Gowan Cadell, a boy from a respectable farming family, ta quiet the opposition. Shortly after their union, the lad died. Rumors began that Adaira had murdered the boy — sacrificed him to her dark lord. Nine months later she bore triplet girls. Villagers were convinced that the babies were not the issue o’ Gowan but o’ the dark lord hisself.”

  As if just speaking of the dark lord made her susceptible to evil, Fiona crossed herself before continuing. “One night, a mob descended on their cottage demanding that Adaira hand over her babes. They took the infants to the lake, planning ta drown them, but the queen, being a mother herse
lf, took pity on Adaira. She interceded with the king, gettin’ him ta promise to protect the children until they were of age. His guards rescued the babes, and they were restored to Adaira with the caveat that she give up witchcraft for good.”

  A rude noise burst from my lips, one that would’ve been embarrassing if boys had been present. “Which she obviously didn’t.”

  Tendrils of strawberry blonde hair bobbed around Fiona’s shoulders as she shook her head. “Nay. On the surface, the Blackmore Cadells were a picture o’ propriety.”

  Fiona walked to one of the wingback chairs and perched on the edge. Vee and I settled on the couch as she continued. “They nursed the village sick back ta health and went to church on Sundays. The triplets grew into intelligent, lovely girls that seemed to be the embodiment of goodness. But secretly, they all practiced the dark arts.”

  After a small dramatic pause, she continued. “No one in Doon saw the pattern at the time. Most o’ the males they nursed died, while the females thrived. Several o’ the women they healed joined them in their pagan worship.

  “When the king fell sick, Adaira and her daughters were called to attend him. Whether they killed him or merely failed to cure him is a mystery but when he died the throne passed to his only son, Prince Angus Andrew Kellan MacCrae. Angus was a handsome and just lad. Before becoming king, he surprised everyone by naming Adaira’s daughter Adelaide Blackmore Cadell as his queen-to-be. This was how the Blackmores were ta get their revenge, by ruling Doon.”

  I’d gotten a glimpse of all the junk that plagued Doon’s new queen on a daily basis. Her life of royalty seemed to be one mind-numbing blur of diplomacy and politics. No thank you. “That sounds like the stupidest revenge plan ever.”

  “Not really,” Vee countered. “A ruler can regulate their country’s religion. They can force their subjects to comply with their beliefs or face execution. Continue.”

  Fiona nodded. “Exactly. Addie would’ve murdered her bridegroom and then forced all o’ Doon to worship the dark lord. But the queen, whose suspicion had grown since her husband’s death, figured out the pattern — that the Blackmore Cadells were draining the life force out o’ the men they were supposed ta be healing. Unfortunately, before she could officially oppose her son’s choice o’ bride, she died.”