by Carey Corp
“No problem.” Vee’s eyes flitted to mine and I gave her a nod. Ana already knew so much, might as well tell her the rest. Vee took a breath and exhaled slowly before saying, “One last thing. We need to keep this a secret. From everyone . . . even Jamie and Duncan.”
“If you say so.” Ana stood.
Vee followed her lead. “Aren’t you even going to ask why it’s a secret?”
“I’m sure you have your reasons. We all keep secrets — ” She looked at me pointedly. “That’s human nature, innit?”
I watched as Vee walked Ana to the door. Just before she left, the girl paused. “A word of advice, Vee. The next time you lot have a mind to take a field trip to the witches’ cottage, you might want to arrange for a lookout.”
With a wink Analisa exited stage left. I still didn’t like her — if anything I liked her less now that I’d witnessed how underhanded she could be. “Do you really think we can trust her?”
“Yes.” Vee shut the door and turned the key in the lock. “And we don’t have a choice.”
“I guess not. She knows everything.”
“Not quite everything.” Vee walked back to the couch looking sheepish. “Yesterday when I touched the Arm o’ the Bruce, I had a vision. It was Fergus and Fiona’s second wedding night, and I was looking down at the couples dancing in the ballroom. Everyone was together and safe just like we planned.”
I had to hand it to Vee, it’d been a stroke of genius to invite all the outlying families to stay at the castle for both wedding night celebrations. That would not only get the people away from danger but also put them under the same roof. Even many of the villagers were staying at the castle after the ball. The rest of Doon would be practically deserted. “What else did you see?”
“My bird’s-eye view traveled from the castle, over the village, and through the limbus to the Brig o’ Doon. The full moon illuminated the bridge covered in black petunias — they were creeping toward the far side. Then the view shifted and I was standing on the riverbank in front of a Pictish stone. The writing on it matched the spell in the book. You stood next to me and we were both wearing the gowns we’d chosen for the ball. You raised the Arm o’ the Bruce over your head and swung. The axe sparked as it made contact, cracking the stone in two.”
Goose bumps caused the hair on my arms to stand on end. The room felt freezing cold as I prompted her to continue. “And then?”
“Then I snapped back to the catacombs.” She sat on the adjacent couch. “But the vision is pretty clear.”
“No offense to your vision, but I’ve already done the Saving-the-World-in-a-Pretty-Dress thing. It’s overrated. If we’re going to destroy the limbus spell during the ball, we’re stashing sensible clothes along with the axe.”
Vee thought about my terms for a second and then nodded. “One more thing . . . I’m pretty sure you need to destroy the stone by midnight or the limbus will attack Alloway.”
Why did it always have to be midnight? Just once I’d like to save the world at high noon like a cowboy. Still, it was a tremendous relief to know everything would be over in two days. Unless we failed, in which case the limbus would creep over into modern Scotland and Alloway would become ground zero for the zombie apocalypse. “What should we tell the others?”
“I’m not sure we should tell them anything. What purpose would it serve? It’ll ruin Fiona’s celebration.”
I agreed there was nothing our friend could do, so worrying about us would only dampen her special event. “What about Jamie and Duncan?”
Vee exhaled like she carried the weight of the world — which I guess she did. “I’m more certain than ever that you and I need to be the ones to go into the limbus and destroy the curse. If Jamie — and Duncan, for that matter — knew what we had to do, they would never go for it. They wouldn’t willingly stand on the sidelines while we put our lives in danger.”
That was true. Even if Duncan and I had no future, he was too chivalrous to allow me to risk my life. His brother would blow a gasket and then padlock Vee in her chambers. “What about your new understanding with Jamie?”
“We’ve agreed to trust each other, but this would be too much for him to handle. He’d insist we find another way. But there isn’t one.” She shook her head, speaking mostly to herself. “I hate keeping things from him, but it’s for the sake of Doon. It’ll be a lot easier for him to forgive me once the kingdom is safe.”
With renewed conviction, Vee reached for my hand and placed her palm against mine so that our rings touched. “It has to be us and it has to be the night after tomorrow.”
Fiona had been right about Doon choosing us. From the moment Duncan had shown up in my dressing room, the ending of this story had been predictable. Using the Rings of Aontacht, Vee and I would step into the limbus and break the curse. While not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination, it was pretty straightforward. Thanks to Vee’s flash, we now knew how, where, and when. The only thing her vision hadn’t supplied — which I felt certain in my gut was lurking just around the bend — was the twist.
CHAPTER 24
Mackenna
In matters of the heart, weddings were the only things more perilous than dances and woods. Bearing witness to others embarking on a sacred union inspired all kinds of fanciful notions — from starry-eyed declarations on balconies to starkly honest, spot-lit moments of confession.
Accompanied by the music of a dozen pipers, I walked next to Duncan in Fergus and Fiona’s wedding procession to the old stone church. Today, I planned to keep my wits about me. My eyes would not reflect stars, or moons, or any other marshmallowy shape you would find in a Lucky Charms box. I wouldn’t drink to the point where baring my soul seemed like a brilliant idea. Determined to maintain control, I vowed to celebrate in moderation.
The bridal party stopped on the steps of the Auld Kirk. Vee and I peeled left to stand with Fiona while the MacCrae brothers went to Fergus’s right. The minister gave a long speech in what I now recognized as Scots, and then Fergus and Fiona replied with, “Aye.” The crowd — which seemed to be the entirety of Doon — cheered, and the deed was done.
Or so I thought.
After the applause died down, the minister opened the great wooden doors of the church, and the people filed around us to fill the place to standing room only. While we were waiting for everyone to get settled, I leaned into Vee. “What’s going on?”
Other than her eyes shifting briefly in my direction, she gave no indication of hearing me. It was eighth grade study hall all over again. Tugging at her arm, I whispered, “Did they just say their I dos?”
Vee answered using only the side of her mouth closest to me. “That was the first service in traditional Scots. Next is the official service.”
“Oh, right,” I replied. “The English one.”
“Nope. Latin.”
Before I could say elp-hay e-may, Fiona’s mom ushered me inside. I started forward, and as Duncan regained his place at my side, I wondered what his plan for the evening included. In the past couple days he’d boomeranged from reckless oversharing to determined aloofness. Ever since our episode of courtyard confessions, he’d kept a deliberate distance. If nothing else, it seemed his drunken drama had served to purge me from his system.
We reached the altar at the front of the church and separated again. I took my place and turned in time to see Vee and Jamie coming up the aisle. For the wedding and reception, the attire was traditional Doonian garb, then dress kilts and gowns for the second-night ball.
Vee looked lovely in her bridesmaid’s outfit. She wore a filmy white peasant blouse under a royal blue corset-style vest with a long skirt in the Doonian green and blue plaid. A pin with Doon’s crest anchored a plaid sash to her shoulder that draped down her back. Although I wore a matching outfit, and we both had flower garlands in our hair, she wore an understated tiara. Next to her, Jamie beamed like one of the luckiest kilt-wearing guys on the planet — which he was.
Speaking of l
ucky, Fergus out-grinned Jamie as he strode up the aisle to await his bride. He looked impressive in his traditional MacCrae clan kilt, complete with a sensible blue tam. His favorite Scottish cap, the one with the yellow pom-pom, had been vetoed by the mother of the bride. His pale blond, baby-fine braid hung down his back and swished lightly as he moved.
Behind Fergus, the doors to the Auld Kirk closed as the bagpipes quivered and stopped. Anticipation surged in the ensuing silence until the doors finally reopened to reveal the bride in all her glory. On her father’s arm, Fiona, in unmatched radiance, marched slowly down the aisle. Her form-fitting dream dress had a long shimmering train that glided after her just like a mermaid’s tail. Strawberry blonde curls that had escaped from her elaborate updo framed her face and neck. Her reverent gaze swept the crowd before settling on her giant husband-to-be.
It was magical . . . until the Latin started.
At least from my vantage point at the front I could look at the spectators while their focus was on the bride and groom. Fiona’s parents sat directly in front of me in the first row. Mrs. Fairshaw wore a fiercely proud expression that only faltered slightly when she regarded her daughter’s choice of dress.
The next two rows were filled with the Rosettis. Mario, who was hosting the reception, had his arm wrapped around his wife Sharron, who softly sniveled into her handkerchief. Their lovely daughters sat off to one side. Gabriella watched the ceremony with rapturous attention while Sofia’s pinched face appeared sullen — a word I would have normally never associated with her but which tended to fit more and more. Behind them were an entire row of Rosetti boys. The two sandwiched between their smokin’ hot oldest brother and the troublemaker twins were not as notorious as the others but all five looked like heartbreakers in the making.
On the groom’s side, Fergus’s mom and dad — who were also my distant relations — wept openly. They were surrounded by more Lockharts, all fair blonds or coppery redheads with pale, mottled complexions.
Several rows back, the clump of Destined sat together. Adam, the environmentalist studying the limbus, had returned from the hunting lodge with bleak news. There was nothing he could do to slow it down. He’d promised to be discrete until after the ball, when we’d scheduled a meeting to plan our next steps. Hopefully, that meeting would become unnecessary.
Emily watched the service with a tight, sad expression. Next to her, Analisa was her usual shrewd self. She watched the proceedings with her dark, squinty eyes, frowning as she noted something at the opposite end of the altar. Angling my body slightly downstage, I slowly turned my head to see what had her panties in a bunch, and connected with Duncan’s velvet gaze.
The butterflies in residence in my stomach went crazy as I realized Ana had been watching him watch me. My pulse spiked as we stared at one another. From the unassuming expression on his face, it was impossible to know what he was thinking. When I could bear it no longer, I turned my attention back to the congregation.
As the priest droned on and on, I stared at the sea of faces, familiar and foreign, friendly and hostile — even gross Gideon watched from the standing room in the way back. Yet no matter where I let my attention wander, I could still feel Duncan’s eyes on me. The skin on my neck tingled with awareness and my cheeks began to overheat. Finally, the minister switched to English for the exchanging of rings, and Duncan’s focus shifted to his friends. After reciting traditional vows, the couple was pronounced husband and wife.
When it came time to kiss the bride, Fergus lifted Fiona up to his level. The crowd whooped and hollered while she dangled more than a foot off the ground for the big smooch. The bagpipes began to play and Fergus set his new bride back on her feet so they could follow the pipers down the aisle. The wedding party and all the guests would accompany the happy couple into the village for the reception at Rosetti’s Tavern.
As Vee and I passed Analisa, she gave us a discreet nod. Once the reception got into full swing, she would sneak away to the Brother Cave for the Arm o’ the Bruce, then stash it and blend back into the party as if she’d never left. Even though I didn’t trust her in general, I had no doubt that if anyone could accomplish this task without detection, it would be my criminal-minded nemesis.
“What’ll ye have, dearie?”
Feeling totally out of my element, I stared helplessly at the girl behind the counter. Lounging against the bar at Rosetti’s Tavern seemed the best way to blend in. I didn’t count on there being an actual barmaid at Fergus and Fiona’s reception.
“I don’t suppose I could get a diet soda?” I asked, flashing her my best disarming smile.
From thin air, Fiona’s radiant face materialized next to me. “She’ll have ginger wine, if you please. Make that two.”
I angled myself toward my friend. “But I’m not drinking.” Legal or not, Duncan’s recent alcohol-induced shenanigans reaffirmed my love of sobriety. The last thing I wanted was to make a spectacle of myself.
“Relax. There’s no actual wine in it.” She clasped my arm and turned me around so that I faced the room. “See. Even the bairns like my wee cousin Ewan are drinking it.”
I watched dubiously as four-year-old Ewan took a large swallow from a mug and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Although Doon was a magical, somewhat enlightened place, it was still more medieval than not. I wouldn’t be surprised if the wee bairns here were weaned on ale.
Case in point, at the opposite end of the room people were passing around a three-legged bucket called a cog filled with some mysterious concoction “guaranteed ta put hair on yer chest,” or so it had been explained to me by Mutton Chops. I watched as Duncan waved the communal cog past without the slightest interest. Good — perhaps we would both keep our wits about us tonight.
“Why don’t ye go ask him ta dance?” Fiona asked. Only then did I notice that the music had started back up.
Embarrassed that she’d caught me staring, I stammered something about later. To my great relief the barmaid set two giant mugs next to us. I handed one to Fiona and then raised the other in a toast. “To the new Mrs. Lockhart.”
“Fairshaw-Lockhart,” she corrected, yelling to be heard over the lively tune. “I quite fancy your modern tradition of hyphenating names.” She clinked her mug to mine and took a huge gulp. Following her example, I took a tentative sip of my own drink. It tasted like burnt ginger ale, but without the fizz.
Fiona sighed contentedly. “I do love ginger wine. It brings me back to when I was a young lass. My da would make a batch every Hogmanay.”
“Hog-ma-what?”
Her eyes lit up. “I believe you call it New Year’s Eve. You’re going ta love Hogmanay in Doon. The whole village is lit up with lanterns and we make a procession from the kirk ta the square for the Fire Ceremony. And then Duncan . . .” Her explanation dissolved into giggles. “He has ta — visit — every house in the realm . . . before sun-up.”
“Why?” In order to do what she was suggesting, he’d have to run nearly the entire way.
“It started as a MacCrae brothers wager,” she replied with a snort. “Now it’s tradition. Oh, Mackenna, there are so many wonderful experiences ahead of ye in Doon.”
I considered reminding her that I wasn’t really here because of any Calling, but decided it was better to avoid that conversation — especially with the girl who seemed to possess classified information about one’s destiny. Instead, I nodded toward the groom milling through the crowd, undoubtedly in search of his bride. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
Fiona frowned. “I’ve got something in my shoe.”
Without warning she pulled a classic bend and snap. After a moment of digging in her shoe, she shot precariously back up with the offending object pinched between her thumb and index finger.
“Blasted Bawbee!” she complained as she tossed the offending silver piece across the room. It rotated through the tavern in slow motion, striking a middle-aged guy with a beard.
Beardy turned angrily in our direction. His movement j
ostled a couple of partyers who’d just tipped the cog into the air. The potent punch slopped over the brim of the bucket onto Vee, drenching her bodice. She gasped and at the same instant I recognized Beardy as the ringleader of the mob that attacked us when we first visited Doon.
The room fell silent as Fiona whispered, “Whoops!”
I rushed toward Vee only to be blocked by Duncan who deliberately stepped in my path. As I tried to maneuver around him, he hissed, “Stay back.” His hand clamped onto my arm, forcing me to remain behind him.
I peeked around in time to see Fergus take the cog away from the partygoers.
Fergus handed it off as Jamie stepped between his soaked girlfriend and Beardy. His face was as dark as I’d ever seen it. “Apologize to your queen,” he ordered.
“She’s no’ my queen,” Beardy sneered.
Jamie balled his hand into a fist and reared back. But before he could throw a punch, Vee grabbed his hand in both of hers and said, “Stop!”
He looked at her in rage and confusion as she calmly lowered his fist. “This is between Mr. MacNally and me,” she said quietly. “Give me a chance to handle it before you go all William Wallace.”
Jamie hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping back. “Yes, Yer Highness.”
Vee turned to Beardy and addressed his last comment. “I am sorry you feel that way. Should you change your mind, I am here to support you in any way I can. In the meantime, how about we put away our differences to celebrate this wedding. Would you care to dance, Mr. MacNally?”
Beardy’s eyes narrowed at Vee and then flitted to the three huge guys — Jamie, Fergus, and Duncan — who had her back. Without even another glance in Vee’s direction he stormed out of the tavern followed by a dozen of his cohorts.
Growling something about manners, Jamie started to follow them — until Vee called his name. “Let him go,” she pleaded. “They have a right to their opinions. And I’ll never win them over if my boyfriend beats them into submission.”
