by Carey Corp
“A little.” She burst into a wide, earnest smile. “But, you see, I’m addicted to this video game, Tussle of Tribes. It’s set in this medieval/Middle-Earth-type fantasy world. The first time I played it, I knew I was destined for something great. This is it. I can’t explain how I know, but I am certain.”
The force of her conviction helped to alleviate my concerns. After all, Mackenna and Queen Veronica had arrived in Doon much the same way—suddenly, but with a sense it was where they were supposed to be. If Cheska Santos had been called here, then she had an important role to play in saving our kingdom. As to what that role was, hopefully the Protector would show us in due time.
In the pause that followed, Mackenna looked from Cheska to me to Fiona and then to Caledonia. “What do we do next?”
“I’d like to get Ches settled,” Fiona stated. “At Rose Petal Lodge.”
Upon our arrival in Alloway, Fiona had readily taken up the tasks of feeding and sheltering our group. Using funds from the MacCrae trust, she’d rented several cottages in the vicinity, a paddock and barn for Mabel, a patch of land for a garden, and a large dining hall where the people would take their meals. She’d also made a roster of the Doonians who had managed to cross the Brig o’ Doon before the collapse, complete with an inventory of skillsets—not that there was much useable among the forty-odd group of mostly children and elderly citizens. Still, Fiona made the best of what we had, dividing countrymen into groups for cooking, cleaning, and laundry.
Not only did she run things, she also pitched in at every opportunity, often engaged from sunrise until well past sunset. I recognized the avoidance tactic all too well. I’d used it when Mackenna had abandoned me on the Brig o’ Doon to pursue her career in the modern world. I’d erroneously thought if I stayed busy enough, I wouldn’t have to think about the possibility of never seeing her again. It was the same way now with Fiona in regards to Fergus.
I wanted to tell her it wouldn’t work. But from the determined gleam in her green eyes, I suspected she already knew. Instead, I rose and thanked my dear friend for her service.
As Fiona and Cheska prepared to leave, Caledonia, obviously reluctant to abandon her new charge, hesitated in front of me. “By your leave, Your Highness, I’ll go with them. Help the lass settle in.”
It took me a moment to comprehend that Caledonia Fairshaw had addressed me, as unaccustomed as I was to thinking of myself as a ruler. As the second son, I’d made peace long ago with a life of military service. But with things in Doon unsure, the people looked to me for guidance. To lead them.
“Of course,” I replied, hoping the preceding pause hadn’t been as awkward as it felt.
As the two women led Cheska from the library, the small girl halted at the doorway. She turned back to regard Mackenna and me with her unwavering gaze. “There is one more thing you must know. The unseen voices . . . The angels weren’t just wailing. Their sound of warning and thunder—it was a battle cry. War is coming.”
Cheska set her shoulders and, with a nod of parting, left Dunbrae Cottage. Despite her size, the newest addition to our group possessed the heart of a lion . . . of a Doonian.
Once they were out of earshot, Mackenna frowned. “What do you think about Cheska? I know that video game she’s talking about—it’s got castles and witches and stuff. What a crazy coincidence.”
Before I could reply, she continued. “Do you think Fiona told her about Doon?”
“Fiona wouldna. She’d defer to me,” I replied. “The girl does tell a compelling story, but even if we believe her, we should figure out what’s going on before we reveal the secrets of our kingdom.”
The Doonians who had been watching the exchange began to disperse. Some went to market, some to oversee the progress of the bridge, while others tended to the planting of a garden. The dozens of children who’d crossed the bridge before its collapse settled in for their lessons, which were held at Dunbrae Cottage under the astute tutelage of Mrs. Alsberg, the baker’s wife. She had managed to escape with her twin daughters, but the fate of her husband, who’d been a few paces behind, was still uncertain.
As Mackenna and I stepped into the mottled sunlight of the cottage garden, I remembered the other stranger the day had brought us: Alasdair. Were both the auld man and the foreign girl the signs we’d asked for on the beach? Or was one of them a decoy sent by our enemy to confuse and distract us from our purpose?
The more I thought about it, the more certain I felt that Cheska was who she claimed to be. But Alasdair was a puzzle that needed solving before any more lives were placed at risk. As if Mackenna was privy to my thoughts, she tugged my arm so that I stopped. Leaning into me, she whispered, “What are we going to do with the mysterious man? I think we should keep him on lockdown until we figure out what his agenda is.”
“Agreed. I’ll assign a couple of the guard to watch o’er him.” I mentally reviewed the handful of auld yet able-bodied men who made up my new guard and choose two that would be conscientious and discreet.
Incapable of hiding the eagerness in her voice, she suggested, “You could ask Eòran to do it.”
“I could,” I replied, pretending to consider the request. “But he won’t.”
She snorted. “A girl can dream.”
Since coming to Alloway, this was the longest the guard had let my girlfriend out of his sight. If he’d been a wee bit younger and taller, I might have been suspicious of his motives. However, Eòran’s diligence as self-appointed protector, while it annoyed Mackenna to no end, provided me with immeasurable comfort.
Toward the end of my musing, I realized Mackenna was waiting for me to look at her. When I did, she searched my face, her fathomless gray eyes boring into me as her features twisted into concern.
“Duncan,” she began, “we haven’t really talked about what happened before we crossed the bridge. Are you still mad at me?”
“What for?” I asked cautiously.
Letting go of my arm, she paced toward the stone bench in the center of the garden and stopped, facing away from me. The wind buffeted her motionless body, tugging at her shawl and hair. “Because you couldn’t go after your brother. Because Vee forced you to lead the people out of Doon.”
She turned to face me. There was a question in her eyes—the same one that was there every time she’d looked at me since our arrival in Alloway, the one we were both afraid to speak. Do you think Jamie is alive? The truth was, until I saw his grave with my own eyes, I could not afford to believe otherwise.
Other unspoken questions tumbled into the space between us. What of Veronica? How many people had died trying to escape? Would we ever return home, and if so would there be any Doonians to greet us?
I had no answers to give, only questions of my own . . . about the strength of my faith and the purpose of this new trial.
My stomach twisted, tangling my insides. I stuffed my reaction into the hole in my spirit—I didn’t want to think about this. Not now, not ever.
Instead I watched as a shiver trembled its way up Mackenna’s spine. Going to her, I pressed my chest against her back. My heartbeat synchronized with hers as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and brushed my lips against the side of her neck.
After a moment, Mackenna discarded her unspoken questions with a small sigh. “So we’re okay?” She twisted in my arms so that we were toe to toe.
“Aye, woman. We’re okay.”
Her enchanting lips curled into a half smile. “Prove it.”
My pulse stuttered as she reached for me. Although her hands were perpetually cold, her fingers inflamed my body as she wound them around my neck.
I caressed the downy skin of her jaw with my hand. Mackenna was so soft and elegant, at times I felt overlarge and awkward when I touched her with my rough, fumbling hands—like the giant who went about grunting fee-fi-fo-fum. But each time my mouth pressed against hers, the self-awareness drained away as I dissolved into her, evaporating into nothing so that her love could rebuild me one a
tom at a time into the best version of myself.
Maybe this version would be able to let go of his secret resentment. If not, the least I could do was lose myself in what she offered.
Sometime later, after my universe had been decimated and rebuilt multiple times, she pulled back with a contented “Holy Hammerstein.” Her glorious eyes were large and shining as she rested her hand against my pounding chest. “I love you.”
It was a sort of miracle, that this vibrant, talented lass had accepted my heart and given me hers in return. I’d been seeking her for nearly the whole of our lives. I still remembered the first time I saw her, not as part of the Calling but in the flesh at Castle MacCrae. I’d heard that two foreigners had been apprehended near the coliseum, a dark-haired lass and her brash, ginger-haired friend. I instantly knew it was her. I’d been planning to go find her at the Centennial, but somehow she’d come to me first. Perhaps our love had been too strong to wait for the opening of the Brig o’ Doon . . .
I barely recalled rushing down the castle corridors to the antechamber where Jamie was interrogating her.
Pausing at the doorway, I tried in vain to collect myself. It was then that I heard Jamie’s accusations of witchery. A strange female voice challenged him and Jamie ordered the lasses back to the dungeon. Next, I heard her voice—a voice I would recognize in any world, in any age, and in any circumstance. My love.
Mackenna hadn’t come to Doon as an agent of the witch; she was here because she was mine.
I burst into the antechamber—“A word, brother”—intent on setting Jamie straight and fully expecting Mackenna to make a gesture of recognition, to gasp or call out “Finn,” the name she knew me by as a child, but she remained mute.
My brother did not. “Not now, Duncan.”
I wasn’t fooled by his expression. He’d been practicing his impassive face ever since he understood he was to be the future ruler of Doon. “These wee lasses are—”
Jamie’s face turned as dark as a thundercloud. He shot to his feet and grabbed me by the arm. For an instant I imagined punching him in his sanctimonious face, but my second thought, that of Mackenna, enabled me to control my temper and allow him to pull me into the alcove.
As soon as we cleared the room, Jamie leaned in, hissing, “What are ye doing, Duncan?”
“They’re no’ who you think,” I whispered back.
“Who are they, then?” He glared at me impatiently. “If ye know, speak.”
I opened my mouth to explain, but words failed me. As boys, Jamie had made fun of the wee friend I played with at every opportunity, who was not only invisible but also female. I never questioned why I was the only one to see her, or why, when she appeared, the small creek and bridge in the Royal Gardens seemed to transform into a raging river and the Brig o’ Doon.
“Well?” Jamie barked.
He didn’t believe in Callings—our belief that your true love could be called to you across the portal that hid our kingdom from the rest of the world. During lessons in Doonian history, he’d been very vocal about his thoughts on the matter. Why would he put any credence in my Calling? “Well,” I hedged, careful to keep my voice low. “I’ve a feeling those lasses are not in league with the Witch o’ Doon. I think they were sent here on purpose.”
“Duncan, I can’t risk the safety of our kingdom based on your feelings.” He moved to brush passed me, but I blocked the doorway. There were advantages to being the little-yet-big-in-stature brother.
Jamie sighed. “Get out of my way.”
“Please dinna send those lasses to the dungeon. I’ll be responsible for them. Remand them to my care—and to Fergus’s. Please, brother.”
He hesitated. The only thing I did more infrequently than oppose him was beg. I was content to serve my older sibling and future king, and was loyal beyond measure. Jamie knew this.
With a nod, he waited for me to give way and let him pass. Reassembling his impassive expression, he stepped into the antechamber, stating, “I’m releasing you both into the custody of Fergus and my brother, Prince Duncan, until such time that your trial can be conducted.”
“But Laird—” Gideon sputtered.
Jamie’s gaze shut him up. “Gideon, I require your assistance with the king.” He strode from the room with Gideon following obediently at his heel. True to his word, he’d handed the lasses over to Fergus’s and my care. My heart began to thunder with anticipation. Suddenly I was so nervous that I had to approach the dark-haired girl first to give my nerves a chance to settle. I extended my left arm to her before turning toward the lass with the glowing red hair.
“Fear not, m’ladies. You are under the protection of Duncan Rhys Finnean MacCrae, Prince o’ Doon, and no harm will come to you. I swear it on m’ life.” I reached for Mackenna, who swatted my arm away.
“Ugh. Get away from me, you big ogre.” Rather than gratitude, she surveyed me with contempt. For a moment I just stared at her luminous gray eyes searching for some sign of recognition, no matter how small. But alas, she had no idea who I was. I wasn’t sure if she had truly forgotten me or if some aspect of her stubborn memory refused to see what was right in front of her.
As I led her and her friend away, I realized that it didn’t matter. We were destined to be together and, therefore, I would make her fall incurably in love with me. Soon, she would look at me, her eyes shining with affection as she confessed her love. And we would live happily ever after, just like in the best of stories.
Mackenna’s cool hands clasped the sides of my face. “Hey. Where’d you go?”
I gazed into her shining eyes and chuckled. “I was thinkin’ about the first time I saw ye in Doon—before I escorted you to my chambers—when you swatted me away and called me an ogre.”
“Oh, gosh.” She ducked her head, burying it against my chest. Her ginger hair smelled so strongly of strawberries that my mouth began to water. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Caressing her hair, I murmured, “Dinna let it trouble ye, woman. I love you too.”
Mackenna Reid was mine and there was nothing in any world, in any age, or in any circumstance that would break us apart.
CHAPTER 6
Mackenna
Kissing Duncan was like losing and finding myself in the same instant. The moment his lips touched down, the mysteries of the universe—like quantum physics and the intricacies of Sondheim musicals—were within my grasp. But as the kiss went on, his presence pushed all other thought away until there was just him and only this. The boy was seriously addictive.
I came up for air, my heart bursting with one of my favorite songs from RENT. “Can we just stay like this?” There’s only now. I brushed my mouth against his, once . . . “I’m not talking forever—” There’s only here. Twice . . . “Just today.” A third time . . . Give in to love or live in fear. “Maybe tomorrow too.”
“Aye.” Tucking me against his chest, Duncan rested his head on top of mine with a sigh.
Usually I tried to curb my PDA impulses out of respect for Fiona and the other Doonians, but we seemed to be plagued by an abundance of Scots and not nearly enough alone time. When we were newly stranded in Alloway, Duncan’s displaced countrymen had followed him around like a flock of theater intern newbs. Not that I blamed them. They were scared, wounded, separated from loved ones, and each coping with the trauma of the situation in their own way.
As the shock wore off, a few others, like Fiona, Caledonia, and Rabbie, stepped up to help bear the burden of leadership.
Raibeart MacGregor—affectionately known as wee Rabbie—had been the only other soldier to make it out. Although he’d been Duncan’s apprentice with the guard for less than a month, like most Scotsmen, what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. Wee Rabbie was built like a boulder—a super-nice, very conscientious boulder.
Said boulder cleared his throat loudly as he focused pointedly away from where Duncan and I were swapping saliva. Like many Scottish boys in their late teens, Rabbie’s natur
al complexion was a mottled shade of pink that had a tendency to turn scarlet with emotion. As someone who’d battled the curse of the ginger all my life, I took pity on the blushing guard and broke away from Duncan with a hasty apology.
“M’Laird,” Rabbie stammered, pretending that I didn’t exist. “Eòran sent me for ye. The gentleman in his custody is in need of relief.”
From the street beyond the garden’s privacy hedge, a voice clarified, “I’ve got ta see the wizard.”
Laughing, I explained the use of slang and the euphemism. Alasdair certainly had inherited the MacCrae wit.
With a sigh, Duncan ran his hand through his hair so that it stuck out at odd angles. It was longer than he typically wore it, but my boyfriend had more important things on his mind than a haircut—like being responsible for a hundred-plus people in a strange new land and finding a way to return home.
From across the hedge Alasdair’s voice whined, “I’m gonna wet m’ trousers if ye don’t get me to a privy, m’Laird!”
A nod to Rabbie sent him scurrying away to prevent Alasdair from doing something drastic. Still smirking over the old man’s cheeky response, Duncan captured a tendril of my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “What do ye think—should we leave Alasdair to wee Rabbie and pick up where we left off?”
Tempting as it was, we still had no idea whether the old man was friend or foe. Reluctant to transition back into real life, I leaned in for one final kiss. “You should go. Why don’t you take Alasdair to Oz, and then get him settled in the guys’ dorm. I’ll go check on Cheska.”
Duncan open his mouth, but was cut off before he could speak. “Unhand me, laddie,” Alasdair insisted. “I mean ta relieve m’self one way or another!”
With a groan of regret, Duncan jogged off. Not wanting to know if Alasdair made good on his threats, I waited in the garden until the guys were good and gone.
The girls’ dorm, Rose Petal Cottage, was in the opposite direction of the guys’ housing, Thornfield Lodge, with Aunt Gracie’s place right smack between the two. The journey to Rose Petal took less than five minutes. It was a lovely walk down the path that overlooked the river, but one I would forever associate with my best friend.
