Doon

by Carey Corp

  “Wow!” Okay, so maybe it was worth it.

  “Did I not tell ye?”

  I ignored his “I told you so” and drank in the wild, unexpected beauty of this secret field. A view-inspired soundtrack—mostly The Sound of Music—played in my head.

  At the far end of the meadow, I spotted Vee and her very nice prince slipping into the woods. Fabulous! Just what I wanted—more hiking. In hopes of convincing Duncan that we’d gone far enough, I turned to catch him staring at the other half of our little group. The wistful, unguarded expression on his face caused my heart to wrench.

  When he caught me staring, he flashed me a sheepish grin. “I think my brother likes your friend.”

  And my friend loved his brother. But that wasn’t my secret to tell, so instead I answered with a casual shrug. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “He’s just reserved. What lad has confidence enough to go after what he wants without a little encouragement?”

  “If you say so.”

  “What say you to giving them a bit o’ alone time?”

  I was for anything that didn’t involve traipsing through the forest like a Sondheim character. When I agreed, Duncan spread a green and blue plaid quilt in the shade of a giant tree and bade—there was no other word that quite captured the courtliness of his action—me sit. After our grueling hike, I eagerly complied, collapsing next to him on the soft blanket with a sigh of relief.

  “Comfy now?” As he set the picnic basket off to one side, his cheeks pulled the corners of his mouth in a lopsided tug-of-war.

  “I guess.” I ignored his self-satisfied smirk and straightened my skirt. “I’d feel better if I were wearing pants.”

  Duncan reacted to my words as if he’d swallowed a nest of bees. “You’re—not—wearin’—any pants?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m wearing this skirty thingy.”

  He made a croaking noise. His eyes looked about to pop out of his head as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “And what about underneath?”

  “That’s none of your business!” The words came out with a squeak as I smoothed my skirt protectively over my thighs. What a perv! Did he really just march me all the way up here in the hopes of getting lucky?

  Expression still aghast, he pointed at me. “You made it my business, just now, with your little announcement. Didn’t you?”

  Prince or no prince, this was going too far. Duncan crossed a line and I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. “I don’t see why you feel entitled to have a say in whether a girl prefers pants or a skirt. Is there some royal decree I’m missing?”

  “Hold up for a moment.” He furrowed his features, thinking hard. “When you say ‘pants,’ what exactly are ye talking about?”

  With a frustrated roll of my eyes, I explained as patronizingly as possible. “Cloth that covers up your legs. It goes from your hips to your ankles. Like what you’re wearing.” I indicated the form-fitting clothing Duncan seemed to prefer over the traditional Scottish kilt. Not that I had any complaints.

  “Oh.” His wide eyes blinked rapidly as he processed my description. Then he looked at me with a broad smile that dissolved into gut-wrenching laughter. “Tha’s a relief. I thought you were talking about not wearing any knickers.”

  Knickers, pants—same thing. I failed to see what was so hilarious. “So?”

  “Do me a favor—” He paused as he shook back and forth, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled from the corners of his eyes. “Next time you have the urge to talk about your ‘pants,’ please use the word ‘trousers’ instead. Even ‘breeches’ would serve. Here in Doon, your pants are what’s worn under your trousers.”

  Translating in my head, I tracked my way back to Duncan’s overblown reaction and the origin of our misunderstanding. If pants were the Doonian equivalent of underwear, and I’d just insisted—loudly and repeatedly—I wasn’t wearing any …

  “You thought that I …? Agwk!”

  I flopped face first onto the blanket and willed a gaping hole to swallow me up. It didn’t matter where I ended up—China, Wonderland, a turnip truck—anywhere was better than being forced to stay here and wallow in humiliation.

  “It’s okay, woman. In Doon, any conversation about one’s knickers is strictly confidential. I wouldna betray your confidence.” Duncan tried to sound sincere, but tiny guffaws punctuated his speech.

  Hyper aware of the blush creeping over my skin, I burrowed deeper into the quilt. Soon I would resemble a sunburned lobster. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  “Suit yourself.” Duncan reclined on his side until his head was level with mine.

  I tried to shut him out and focus on the quiet peacefulness of the glen: dappled sunlight caressing my skin, the soft musical chimes of the distant waterfall, birds calling back and forth in cheery chirps. But I couldn’t ignore the warm air that tickled my hairline each time he exhaled. Heat coaxed the clean scent of leather from his skin. Vibrancy rolled off him in waves and bathed me in undeniable awareness … so much so that I began to tremble.

  I turned onto my side and opened my eyes to find him considering me with a half-smile. Determined not to be intimidated by his unwavering gaze, I stared back … for all of ten seconds. I’d always sucked at staring contests, undone by the urge to blink or laugh, or in this case the desire to kiss my opponent. Instead, I looked everywhere but his sincere brown eyes, and tried to pick apart his nearly flawless features.

  Were his ears too big, and his slightly stubbled chin too square? Maybe his lips were too full, too perfectly shaped? And his eyes, were they too expressive? The only true imperfection I could find was a slight crook in his nose, a tiny defect that, unfortunately, only enhanced his appearance by proving he was, indeed, human.

  Captivated by his striking features, I didn’t realize how long I’d been looking until he squirmed. “Och, you’re makin’ me uncomfortable with your staring.”

  He chuckled self-consciously, and that little bit of vulnerability made me bold—that and the memory of how it felt to be in his arms at the dance. So many times the previous evening, I’d ignored the urge to touch his beautiful face. Unable to resist now, I reached out and traced the line of his nose from between his brows to the tip.

  “How’d you break your nose?”

  Duncan nipped at my finger and I pulled away. His voice when he spoke was so quiet that I leaned toward him to hear. “I’ll give ye one guess.”

  “Jamie?” I had a hard time believing his brother would hurt him so deliberately, until I remembered the sword fight the morning Vee and I’d arrived.

  “Aye.”

  “Do you and your brother often try to kill each other?”

  It took a moment for him to grasp my implication, and when he did his eyes widened in shock. “No. My nose was an accident.” He rubbed the crooked bump thoughtfully. “At least I think it was an accident. ’Twas a long time ago.”

  Propping myself on my elbows once more, I challenged, “What about the tournament? The day I arrived?”

  Duncan shrugged, a masculine yet elegant gesture that threatened to derail my train of thought. “What about it?”

  “Jamie cut you—more than once. You looked like something out of a horror movie.”

  His dark brows lifted in confusion. “Horror movie?”

  I tried a different analogy. “You were bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  In the face of my genuine concern, Duncan MacCrae tipped his head skyward and let loose a gut-busting laugh. It was so infuriating that I wanted to tackle him and—and—Bad idea! So I waited for him to get over his hilarity, doing my best to hold on to my indignation and hold back the rising heat that’d started at the mental image of me on top of him.

  Once he could manage to talk again, he grinned. “I wouldna go so far as to call me a stuck pig.”

  “Well, I would. It was like you were trying to get him to kill you.”

  Duncan reached out and captured my chin. “Look at me, Mackenna.�
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  Instead, I clamped my eyes shut out of spite.

  “Look at me, please.” He waited quietly until I complied. When I did open my eyes, the soft look on his face made my insides go gooey. “It was just a bit o’ blood. I’m fine. My brother would never intentionally hurt me. He loves me.”

  I struggled to reconcile Duncan’s words with the images burned into my brain. As we stared at one another, his pupils expanded to become deep, dark wells. The intensity of those fathomless eyes reached into the secret places in my soul. Unable to stand the magnetism of his gaze, I pulled my face away and traced the plaid pattern of the blanket with my eyes.

  He continued as if our conversation had been going on the whole time. “Jamie has a lot of pressure on him. He’ll be our king—soon—and combat is the only way he seems to be able to blow off steam. That’s why I provoke him sometimes. I’d rather he take his aggression out on me than one of the other lads. And he means no harm. Truly.”

  “It must be a lot—having to become king and settle on a bride in such a short time.”

  “Aye.”

  “And he plans on marrying Sofia?”

  Clearly surprised by my knowledge, he blinked several times. “You’re better informed than I thought.”

  I shrugged and risked a peek in his direction. “What else is there to do but talk?”

  “Aye, ’tis true. The village expects his engagement to Sofia.” His eyes turned suddenly soulful, and he flopped on his back to stare at plump clouds marring the perfect summer sky. “The truth is, I envy my brother. He struggles over the simple things—things I’ve always wanted. To carve out a life here. And …”

  His dramatic pause irritated me. “And …”

  “To have a Calling.”

  It appeared that here in Doon, receiving a Calling was like winning the romance lottery. For a medieval land, they appeared surprisingly enlightened. So why was everyone absorbed with getting hitched? “What’s so great about a Calling, anyway?”

  Duncan turned his attention back to me. His eyes blazed with a light that matched his impassioned words. “It’s divine confirmation of your partner—that you’ve found your perfect match in every way. No uncertainty. And that love will only grow. It will never fade, never die. It lasts forever.”

  “You believe Jamie’s had a Calling?”

  “Aye.”

  “What does he think?”

  “He thinks it’s complicated. He’s confused. But in my opinion, the problem is he’s busy thinking when he should just trust his heart.”

  Somehow Duncan and I had drifted closer together during the last bit of conversation, and my face was now inches from his. When I glanced at his mouth, he angled his head and parted his lips in an unmistakable invitation.

  What were the implications of kissing in Doon? Did they have such a thing as hooking up? Or would a little lip locking send Duncan scurrying to the imperial jewelers for a diamond ring?

  Uncertainty caused me to roll away from him and sit up. “Aside from finding true love, don’t you have things you want to do with your life?”

  He pulled himself up beside me and rested his forearms on his knees. “All I’ve ever wanted since I was a wee lad was to serve the citizens of Doon, my kingdom and my king.”

  “Even if that king is Jamie?”

  “Aye. He needs me.” I sensed Duncan would be satisfied to play second fiddle. His loyalties ran deep—he’d have no problem seeing Jamie as a king first and a brother second. As if he read my thoughts, he smiled impishly. “Though he still might need takin’ down a notch now and then.”

  I imagined the big ogre beating the new king of Doon playfully across the butt with the flat of his sword and the royal outrage it would cause. That would nearly be worth staying for.

  A flock of birds shot from the canopy of the forest like they were bent on avenging their stolen eggs. Duncan pointed to them. “Crossbills. They’re a type of finch.”

  We watched as they disappeared into the thick gray clouds rolling our direction. I wondered how much time we had until the rain came.

  After an eternity, Duncan cast me a sidelong look. “What about you? What do you want to do with your life?”

  Resisting the urge to lose myself in his brown eyes, I struggled to put my aspirations into a context he would understand. “It’s always been my dream to become a professional actress. I have this amazing theater internship in Chicago.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then I conquer Broadway and win a Tony.” Duncan’s brows pinched together and I clarified, “Tony’s not a person. It’s an award—an accolade. It’s like the Calling of the theater world.”

  He nodded in understanding. “And after Broad Way?”

  “I die happy?” That was such a long way off. I always imagined I’d be like Betty Buckley, performing way into the sunset of my life.

  With a hint of frustration, Duncan demanded, “What about love and a family?”

  “Maybe … someday. But neither one is at the top of my to-do list. Your culture might be fixated on Callings, but for me, true love is one of the worst things that could happen. I can’t have my heart getting in the way of my dreams.”

  Duncan regarded me impassively. “I see. Thank you for clarifying your position.”

  As he began unpacking our picnic basket, I told myself it was better this way. The last thing I needed was to let some romantic entanglement get in the way of me leaving at the Centennial. And if flirting was the first step on the Doonian path to matrimony, better not to venture down that road at all. Perhaps if I were really lucky, Duncan Rhys Finnean MacCrae would get his Calling and turn his charms toward some nice local lass. Then I’d barely even regret not kissing him when I had the chance.

  CHAPTER 19

  Veronica

  It felt good to stretch my muscles as I followed Jamie up the mountain path. But I couldn’t get the morning’s chapel service out of my mind. I hadn’t been to church since before—that is, before Dad went off the drug-induced deep end.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t believe. I’d always believed in the existence of God. It’d just been too painful to go back to the place where I’d sat sheltered between both my parents, listening to my dad’s smooth, tenor voice singing beside me. But seeing the Doonians’—and Jamie’s—united faith sparked a longing inside me to be part of something bigger than myself.

  At the close of the service, Jamie had stood in for his father and led the kingdom in song, his rich voice flowing into the darkest corners of my spirit. Then he’d smiled that smile of his, and I’d sensed half the population of Doon, young and old, swooning along with me. And how could they not be affected by someone possessing such internal and external beauty?

  Pebbles dislodged under Jamie’s boots and my focus shifted to the view directly in front of me—powerful legs, agile as a mountain lion, dashing up the path. Jamie was wearing a kilt. For the ten-thousandth time, I doubted the wisdom of this little outing. Really, I was setting myself up for an epic fall.

  As if in fateful confirmation, I stubbed my toe hard and fell to my knees in the dirt. “Mother cusser!”

  Dusting my hands off, I looked up, blew the hair out of my eyes, and saw Jamie hovering above me, one eyebrow arched, his lips wobbling with suppressed laughter.

  “Do ye need to turn back?”

  I glared up at him, refused the hand he extended to help me up, and attempted to get back on my feet. But as I moved to stand, my foot anchored the edge of my skirt to the ground and I pitched forward, right into him. My momentum pushed him back a step as he caught me under my arms.

  “I’m starting to think you throw yourself at me on purpose, lass.”

  The joke struck far too close to home. Getting my feet underneath me, I tried to pull away but his hands tightened around my sides, locking me in place.

  “Let go!” I grabbed his solid forearms, pushing back in a futile attempt to extricate my ribcage from his strong fingers. But he just stood there, unmoving,
a sort of dazed half-grin on his face.

  Gradually, I became aware of the steady pressure of his warm palms against the sides of my chest. Unwilling to acknowledge how our intimate contact affected me, I opened my mouth and said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you maul all the females in your kingdom? Or just those that will be gone in two weeks?”

  Jamie’s face turned to stone, and his hands dropped to his sides. Immediately filled with regret for my unkind words and the loss of his touch, I reached out and grabbed his hand as he turned away.

  “Jamie, I’m sorry … I didn’t mean it.”

  Slowly, he turned back toward me, his face an unreadable mask. I returned his stare for several long seconds, and then he squeezed my hand, his mouth tilting into a thoughtful closed-lipped smile before he replied, “Do you realize that’s the first time ye’ve used my given name?”

  “No, I hadn’t realized that.” I shrugged and stared at the toe of my boot as I made circles in the dirt.

  He was right, of course. I hadn’t once, since arriving in Doon, addressed him by his first name, even though he’d invited me to do so and I’d thought of him as Jamie all the time. But after having said it, I felt as if my two images of him, the unattainable dream guy and the real-life Jamie, were inexplicably merging into one.

  “I liked it,” he said, lifting my chin with his thumb and forefinger. His warm brown eyes swept over my face, lingering on each individual feature. Would he kiss me? Blood rushed in my ears—

  A thrashing sound behind us drew Jamie’s attention. Looking over my head, he dropped his hand from my face, his posture alert.

  I turned to see a fawn, its liquid eyes wide and unblinking, a cluster of leaves forgotten in its mouth. Half expecting it to trot over to us like an animal in a fairy tale, I held very still.

  “’Tis but a wee babe,” Jamie whispered close to my ear. “When I was a lad, I tried to keep one as a pet.”

  In a blink, the fawn whipped around, showing us the cottony underside of its tail as it leapt back into the forest.