Forever Doon

by Carey Corp

  “In battle, you can’t afford to be impulsive,” he snapped, spit flying from his mouth. “If I’m injured, ye canna drop everything and come rushin’ to my side.”

  “You’d do it for me,” I insisted.

  Suddenly all the rage drained from his face and the coldness that replaced it terrified me in a way his anger never would. “Winning the battle and saving the kingdom is more important than any single life—even mine.”

  “This is about more than the battle for Doon—and you know it. You never answered my question, back in the garden. Do you blame me for being stranded in Alloway? For not being able to go after your brother?”

  His face was granite, features taut like he was keeping himself together through sheer force. “I should’ve been part of the rescue party. Then I’d have the certainty of knowing that Jamie was alive, or we’d both be dead and it wouldna matter.”

  Hearing the truth of his confession rocked me on a cellular level. “So you’d rather die with him than survive with me?”

  Duncan ducked his head. “Tha’s no’ what I said.”

  “It’s exactly what you said. Now please answer the question.”

  “I dunno,” he admitted, unable to meet my gaze. “I mean, maybe . . .”

  I searched his face. “What happens when we return to Doon, if he’s—gone.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “How dare you.”

  But I could see the truth of it in his eyes. “You’re thinking it too. How could you not be? Let’s talk about it.”

  “No.” He released my elbow so swiftly that I lost my balance and fell to my knees—the action seemed almost intentional in its violence. For a moment, I just stared at the small puddle of blood in the grass. When I finally found the presence of mind to get up, Duncan was gone.

  I lay in bed, tossing and turning. For hours I’d tried everything in my power to fall asleep: counting sheep, lullabies, even reading. Nothing worked. Every time I closed my eyes, my humiliation and disappointment boiled over in a toxic burst of anger.

  I was furious with Duncan for refusing to talk to me—and for walking away. Again. I kept replaying our fight over and over in my head, realizing too late what I could have said and done differently. It was Elaine Stritch all over again.

  My final summer at drama camp had been highly anticipated for a couple of reasons. First, I got to pick my own monologue and song for the soloist showcase. Second, Elaine Stritch was coming as the showcase mentor. I’d spent most of my junior year preparing. Choosing Nina’s monologue from The Seagull had been a no-brainer—it was my best material, but the solo had been difficult. I’d driven Vee crazy testing songs on her before finally choosing “Still Hurting” from The Last Five Years.

  Despite my nervousness, I knew everyone at camp had faith in me, and as their resident star, I couldn’t let them down. They were sure, as was I, that Ms. Stritch would fall in love with my performance—maybe even insist that I skip my senior year to study in New York as her protégé.

  After I finished my pieces, I walked downstage for the interactive part of mentoring, notes from an actual Broadway legend . . . Ms. Stritch regarded me with her critical eye and larger-than-life personae, asking, “What do you know about heartbreak, Ms. Reid?”

  “Uh, well . . .” I stammered, my face flushed from my performance and inability to form coherent thoughts. “Not a whole lot.”

  She nodded and said in her rasping drawl, “I could tell. Next!”

  I remember leaving the stage in a stupor, shame blurring my vision. She was right, of course. I’d picked performance pieces that I’d had no life experience for—I’d never had a serious boyfriend, let alone crippling heartbreak.

  Now, I could sing that song with enough heartfelt passion to make a cynic weep. Without warning I started to sob—dry heaves that racked my body from the inside out. Eventually tears began to gush, and gush, and gush. I cried until my nose stopped up, my eyes swelled shut, and my throat felt raw. Sometime shortly after, I drifted off to sleep . . .

  I followed the orange glow until I reached the campfire. Listening to the crackle and hiss, I sat on an old stump to bask in the heat and aroma of burning wood. Vee sat across from me, sporting her favorite fleecy sleep pants and a tank top. Her upper half was wrapped in her Hogwarts blanket.

  Compared to my typical dreams involving Vee, this seemed so chill. “No wacky escapades tonight, Buttercup?”

  “Nah.” She smiled at me, the firelight causing the planes of her face to move. The shifting shadows reminded me of Vee’s favorite quote from J.K. Rowling. The one about everyone having both light and dark inside. “No energy for hijinks tonight.”

  I chuckled. “Tell me about it. Even the Scooby gang needs a night off now and then.”

  “Exactly.”

  The breeze picked up slightly, and I pulled my Les Mis blanket tighter around my shoulders to offset the chill. Outside the fire circle the night was pitch black, making it impossible to decipher my surroundings. “Where are we?”

  “In Doon.” Shutting her eyes, she stretched her slippered feet toward the fire.

  I gestured to my Playbill pajamas. “Why does it feel like drama camp?”

  She opened one eye to peer at me. “Because it’s a dream, silly.” Closing her eye, she wiggled her toes in the heat. “But you can sing camp songs if you want to.”

  Where I went, camp songs equaled show tunes. Nothing against “Kumbaya,” but it couldn’t touch “Seasons of Love” for building unity. But this wasn’t the time for songs. If this really was a Calling, we had important information to discuss. “I don’t think so.”

  Her eyes popped open and she leaned in to gawk at me. “Mackenna Reid doesn’t want to sing show tunes?! Who are you and what have you done with my Ken?”

  Another gust of wind ripped through the fire circle. Strands of hair whipped around my face, obscuring my vision. Projecting my voice over the elements, I said, “No. I don’t think this is a dream.”

  “Of course it is.” She stood and walked toward me. “Why else would we be in our sleepover jammies?”

  But this wasn’t a middle school slumber party. I rose to meet her. “Vee, I need to tell you something.”

  Her smile faded as her eyes widened in concern. “Sure. Anything.”

  The wind sprang to life, howling like a beast and ripping at our clothes as it sought to tear us into pieces. “We’ve rebuilt the Brig o’ Doon and we’re training an army in Alloway. Duncan and I are going to cross first so that we can make a plan.”

  Shouting to be heard, I grabbed Vee’s shoulders and leaned in toward her ear. “We need you to use Aunt Gracie’s ring so that we can open the portal on the bridge.”

  Tendrils of hair escaped her braid. They lashed her face like tiny whips. “When are you coming?”

  “Soon. Hopefully tomorrow night. Can you meet us at the bridge?”

  She nodded.

  Rain started to pour from the sky, assaulting our skin in pellets of icy water. The downpour doused the campfire, plunging us into turbulent darkness. Suddenly my bestie threw her arms around me in one of her trademark bear hugs. “I miss you.”

  The raging storm snatched her blanket so that it went sailing through the air. When it attempted to take mine, I let go of Vee to hold it tight. “Do me a favor,” she yelled. “Next dream, let’s envision someplace serene and tropical—like Hawaii.”

  “I told you,” I sputtered as I attempted to speak above the howling wind and salty water coursing down my face. The wind had given up on stealing my blanket; instead it began to wind it around my body like a fuzzy python. “This isn’t a dream. This—”

  Vee’s brows knit together in confusion. “I can’t hear you.”

  “This is—a—”

  “What are you saying?” The storm swallowed her words.

  I mimed dialing a cell phone and holding it to my ear. “It’s a Calling!”

  She answered with a helpless shrug. “I can’t hear you.”

 
I sat up in bed, face drenched; my body tangled in my sheet.

  “A Calling . . .”

  CHAPTER 22

  Duncan

  Training Mackenna had revealed to me that I was both sadist and masochist. I’d promised her I’d never ask for my heart back, and now I was taking it by force—bit by bit, shard by shard. Inflicting emotional and psychological wounds in the attempt to toughen her up. My fear was that by the time I was finished, the damage would be irreparable and the remaining mutilated fragments wouldn’t do either of us any good, ever again.

  Yet the sacrifice of my heart was a small price to pay in order to give Mackenna her best chance at surviving the upcoming battle. Again, I was possessed with the overwhelming desire to leave her in Alloway, where she would be safe. But my intuition told me that in addition to refusing to stay behind, she was also the kingdom’s best chance at survival. The Rings of Aontacht had chosen two American girls for a reason; their destinies and that of Doon were intertwined.

  Alasdair and I walked toward the bridge after tending to Mabel. “Yer mighty gloomy for someone about ta go home. If I might say so, Yer Highness.”

  Yellow tape roped off both sides of the Brig o’ Doon to keep people off. Tomorrow was to be the grand opening, during which my solicitor would represent the anonymous benefactors at the ribbon cutting. Hopefully by then, Mackenna and I would be back home.

  “Thank you again, m’Laird, for taking me with ye. I can scarcely believe that by tomorra’ I’ll be laying these weary eyes on our homeland once again.”

  Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I asked, “So you’re ready to go home?”

  I still didn’t fully trust the auld man, but since he claimed to have information he would only divulge to the queen, I had little choice in the matter of bringing him along. Plus, until his loyalties were revealed, he needed minding.

  “Aye.” He stared wistfully at the bridge. “You, m’Laird?”

  “Yes. I’m excited to see my queen and be reunited with m’ brother.” The words sounded hollow as I spoke them aloud.

  “You think Prince Jamie lives, then?”

  Given his familiarity with the matrons of our camp, it shouldn’t have surprised me that he knew about my brother’s capture and death sentence, yet it did. “I believe he lives.”

  He cleared his throat. “With all due respect, couldn’t Miss Mackenna have used her Calling ta find out for certain if your brother survives?”

  “You know about that as well?”

  The auld man shrugged. “Miss Fiona might have said somethin’ ta her mum, who in turn may’ve mentioned it to me.”

  The fact that he possessed such intelligence irritated me, but I did my best not to let it show. “It doesna matter now. Tonight I will see Jamie for m’self.”

  “Aye, m’Laird.”

  Truthfully, I’d contemplated the same thing about Mackenna and Queen Veronica’s Calling. But it was like holding tight to the lid of Pandora’s Box. Once the truth was unleashed, it could never be put back. And I wasn’t ready to know for certain.

  My energy was better spent in planning for the return home . . . I just prayed that all our planning had not been in vain. We’d rebuilt the bridge and confirmed that Queen Veronica was in possession of the gold and ruby ring—but we had no assurance that the portal had been reestablished. Perhaps the Witch of Doon’s destruction could not be undone so easily.

  When I voiced as much to Alasdair, he chuckled. “Dinna worry, Yer Highness. The portal is ready and waiting fer us.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Have ye not noticed that the Destined stopped arriving in Alloway?”

  Honestly, I’d been so consumed with the completion of the bridge and Mackenna’s training that I’d thought of little else in the past fortnight. Rather than confess my preoccupation, I asked, “What do you think it means?”

  “That the portal’s restored. By my figurin’, the final Destined arrived the day before last at the same moment the final stone was laid fer the bridge.” The auld man turned to regard me with his pale, watery gaze. “I know yer still forming yer opinion of me, lad. But I swear ta ye, I would stake my honor and my verra life on the portal being ready fer us ta cross.”

  He might be willing to stake his life—and I could agree with that—but was I willing to stake my life or Mackenna’s?

  As if being my kinsman made him aware of my innermost thoughts, Alasdair placed a veiny hand on my arm. “Dinna fret, Yer Highness. Go get yer things and yer lass. I’ll fetch Eòran. We’ll meet back here after sundown.”

  The auld man headed off in one direction while I went the opposite way to Dunbrae Cottage. Things being as they were, I had no choice but to believe Alasdair knew what he was talking about—the alternative was bleak. If the portal didn’t work, then the rebuilding of the bridge, the training of the Destined army, the wedge that had grown between Mackenna and myself would all be for naught.

  I knocked on the door to Mackenna’s bedroom. We hadn’t spoken since the training disaster the previous afternoon.

  After a moment, she said in a tight voice, “Come in, Duncan.”

  There was so much that I wanted to say to her—to help her understand, to make things right between us—but I found myself at a loss for words. I stood silently in the doorway as Mackenna stomped about the room tidying it up—something she only did when she was beyond angry.

  She picked up a castle figurine, began to cross the floor but then abruptly stopped to glare at me. (I readied myself on the off chance she decided to hurl it at my head.) “Did you want something?”

  “Aye.” I fidgeted in place. “We cross the Brig o’ Doon at sundown. Pack lightly. Take only what you deem absolutely necessary.”

  “I know. I’m not an idiot.” She crossed to the closet and rummaged around until she found a small knapsack. Opening her chest of drawers, she began sifting through the contents, being selective in the garments she chose. When her arms were filled with clothes, she dropped them in a pile on her bed. One by one she rolled them and stuffed them in the bag. Her packing abilities had come a long way since her flat in Chicago.

  Focused on her task, she sniffed, “I’m surprised you’re even telling me. I figured you’d try to sneak across the bridge without me.”

  When I didn’t say anything she paused, looking up. “You thought about it, didn’t you?”

  “Aye,” I admitted.

  Mackenna squared her shoulders as if she were bracing for the confirmation of her worst fears. “For this particular crossing.”

  “Aye.”

  “And the one before?”

  “That one too.” Now that I’d admitted part of the truth, the rest came bubbling forth. “I never intended to stay with you. After the people were safely across, includin’ you, I was going to turn back.”

  “And how exactly were you planning to do that? Pretend to go with me but then grab my ring and dash back through the portal?” The tightening of his jaw confirmed that I was right on the mark. “You jerk! You would have left me here—left us? How could you be so selfish?”

  “Selfish?” He barked. “I’m selfish? The queen made me choose between you and m’brother. An’ so did you.”

  “That’s not fair. Vee wanted to keep you safe—not just for me, for all of us. We need you.”

  “Jamie needed me! If he’s dead—if I could’ve saved him and I didn’t . . .” He took a slow breath. “Dinna ye see, Mackenna? I’ll never be able to embrace happiness with my brother’s death on my hands.”

  “Are you really blaming me for what happened to Jamie?”

  “I’m blamin’ myself.”

  “But Vee’s my best friend. Part of you wonders if the only reason she chose you to get the people safely to Alloway was because of me. You think if I hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have made you leave. Admit it.”

  “Fergus could’ve led them. Then he’d be here with Fiona. And Jamie would be alive.”

  “Or you’d be i
n the ground alongside him.”

  “Aye.”

  Although I seemed to make an unfortunate habit of hurting her, the degree of pain in Mackenna’s eyes was so much worse this time than anything I’d ever seen. I was deeply sorry to be the cause of it, which is why I’d avoided having this conversation.

  “You’re so deluded, Duncan. To me it sounds like you made your choice—you just didn’t get to act on it. You’d rather die with your brother than live with me.”

  “Tha’s not—”

  “Save it. I think it’s time for you to go. I’ll meet you at the bridge at sundown.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Veronica

  Soft mist peppered our cloaks as Jamie and I made our way to the Brig o’ Doon—or at least the spot where the bridge had stood for centuries. Something had prompted me to return. I’d dreamed of Kenna the night before, which was nothing new. She seemed to visit me every night now, my grief over her making the dreams more and more intense. But this was more of an urging. Almost as if Kenna had implanted the idea in my head, and like a fly buzzing around my brain, I couldn’t dismiss it.

  “This is a waste o’ time. We could be halfway to the mountain trail by now,” Jamie grumbled.

  “I need to check this out. I just . . . I know Kenna’s trying to get back to us.”

  He barreled on as if he hadn’t heard me. “According to Gideon’s intelligence, the witch’s guards left for the mountains already. If they reach our people first—”

  Jamie had sent Analisa to the royal cemetery at dawn to check for a message from Gideon. We were both shocked that the old captain had left news so soon. But not surprised to hear the witch’s plan. Jamie had explained she needed souls to power her magic in order to raise the undead army she planned to use to destroy us.

  He was right, we needed to get to our people before she did. “Kenna can’t cross the bridge without my ring. You should—”

  “The bridge is gone! You told me so yourself.”