Destined for Doon (9 page)
It certainly didn’t feel like we were in this
together
. “Let me go you . . . you brainless Neanderthal!” I pounded my fists against the solid wall of his back, but he didn’t even slow. “I’m not a child!” Despite my statement, tears of helplessness and anger burned in my eyes as he carried me through the steamy kitchen.
“Act like a baby and I’ll treat ye like one. There will be a time and place for you to address your opposition. But not if you’re dead.”
The still-functioning part of my brain found the warped logic in that statement, and I stopped fighting him, which made the hard shoulder digging into my stomach marginally less uncomfortable. As we passed the huge stone ovens, whoops and cheers from the kitchen staff made it clear they thought we were off on some lovers tryst. Perpetuating their assumptions, Jamie raised his free arm in a fist pump of male solidarity.
The blood that had rushed to my face burned even hotter.
Obnoxious git.
Using all my strength, I worked my legs against his torso, trying to give him a good kick-ball-change. But his hold was too tight.
We pushed through the back door, and the angry chants reached us through the cool night air. From the sound of it, the small group had grown into a mob. I felt the thump of Jamie’s heart escalating against the palm I had pressed to his back. “Not our queen!” “Down wit’ the American!” “She’s brought evil here!”
A hard shiver racked through me, causing Jamie to grasp me tighter and quicken his steps. These men didn’t even know about the deteriorating borders.
Hearing the dissention and even fear in the protestor’s voices, I had to wonder what they would do when the truth came to light. Storm the castle and remove me from the throne? Tie me to a pole and dunk me in the loch to see if I would drown?
The musky scent of horses mixed with sweet hay told me we’d reached the stables. Jamie stepped into the dim interior, and I could feel his indecision.
“You can put me down now. I won’t go back.”
He hesitated.
“I promise.”
Slowly, he guided my body down the length of his until my feet touched the ground. I pushed the riotous waves of hair out of my face and rubbed a palm against my aching stomach muscles as I backed away from him. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
Jamie’s face was set in hard, determined lines, the torch light casting shadows beneath his cheekbones, making them appear white against his skin. He crossed his arms and spread his feet, clearly preparing for a fight.
Our gazes locked. Then a trace of remorse lightened his eyes and his shoulders slumped.
“Vee, I’m sorry. I’m no’ sorry I protected you, but back in the kitchen . . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “I dinna want them to know we were fighting.”
So he cared more about people’s perceptions than my feelings? An icy wave of detachment swept through me, leaving me empty. I was too tired for his Heathcliff routine tonight. What I needed from him was comfort and support, things he couldn’t seem to give me. Turning my back, I found the beautiful mare he’d gifted to me what seemed like years ago. I reached up to stroke the white diamond of silky fur on Snow’s head, and she nuzzled into my hand. My chest ached as I slipped inside the
stall and pressed my face into her warm neck. Jamie was so close that I could hear him saddling his horse beside us, but it felt as if we were worlds apart.
Begrudgingly, I admitted that even if he was a cretinous jackwagon, he’d been right — at least about
one
thing. It was best to keep the limbus a secret, for now. At least until Kenna and Duncan arrived, and we could find some answers. The thought of Kenna made me want to collapse in a heap of tears.
If Duncan hadn’t run into any snags, they should’ve been back by now. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe Kenna had refused to return. I needed her desperately, not only because in my vision she had a role to play in protecting the kingdom, but because she was my best friend — my strength.
And I didn’t know if I could do this without her.
B
ack in my choir days we sang an old Scottish song that debates taking the high road versus the low one — like there’s always a choice. Maybe in a world without zombie fungus that was true . . . but not in Doon.
The path to the high road had been overrun by the limbus. And when I suggested taking the low road, Duncan pointed out it was not parallel but clear on the other side of the kingdom — so nice of the composer to leave that part out! Which meant our only option was
off
-road, and that turned out to be far worse than it sounded.
We picked our way down the wooded mountainside on an improvised trail that was barely fit for cliff goats. Duncan kept mostly to himself as he led the way. Occasionally he pointed out a particularly helpful foothold or a patch of loose rock to avoid. Even when he held back branches, he was careful not to make any physical contact.
At least we seemed to be making good progress — until Duncan stopped in his tracks. Directly in front of him a deep
ravine cut through the hillside. He stared at it in equal parts shock and frustration. “This shouldna be here.”
“Are you sure? I mean, how well do you know these mountains?”
“Well enough not to lead you inta a dead end.” His irritation came out in a sharp huff. “Jamie and I have played capture the flag all throughout this area. I can assure ye that this ravine wasn’t here.”
“But that was a long time ago, when you were kids, right?”
“Nay. We were on this range just a fortnight ago.”
I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Playing capture the flag?”
“It’s a practical application exercise in strategy for the troops. It’s also good to learn terrain, in case of . . .”
“In case of what?”
“Just because we’re protected from the witch under a divine blessing, that doesn’t mean we shouldna be prepared. We honor our Protector by remaining vigilant.”
To me it sounded like an excuse for grown men to smear mud on their faces and play war games. “So what do we do now?”
Duncan looked to the south. The ravine got wider in that direction. To the north it began to narrow, but we’d be heading back toward the zombie fungus. Duncan nodded in the direction of the latter. “Perhaps we can find a way to traverse the chasm if we head that way.”
“Toward the limbus?”
“Aye. Unless you want to turn around and climb back up to Muir Lea?”
Both options sucked. Now would be the perfect time to have Glinda the Good Witch’s skill set. Travel by bubble the rest of the way and gently float into the courtyard of the Castle
MacCrae.
Ta-da!
When I hesitated, Duncan regarded me with somber, brown eyes. “I vowed I would get ye back to Chicago, and I mean to keep my promise.”
For the love of Lerner and Loewe! Did he have to remind me at every opportunity that he couldn’t wait to get rid of me? Still, his determination to deliver me back to the modern world gave me an ironclad confidence that he’d keep me safe — but I was not about to underestimate the limbus either. I’d witnessed the devastation it could cause. All things considered, with my chaffed skin and aching muscles, the option of hiking back uphill held even less appeal than being zombified.
Decision made, I gave him a small nod. “Lead the way.”
We continued downward, tightly following the ravine as we angled back toward the limbus. Even using my scarf to cover the lower part of my face, the stench of decay burned through my nostrils. My eyes watered, making it hard to focus on the treacherous ground. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the darkening skies started to drizzle.
Grateful I had thought to pack my favorite umbrella, I called for Duncan to wait. When I caught up to him, I rummaged in my bag until I found what I needed. Just as the rain picked up, I popped it open.
Duncan quirked his eyebrow at my umbrella and then at me. “Wicked?”
“It’s the name of the play,” I explained. The umbrella had alternating panels, two depicting Elphaba and Glinda separated by the name of the musical. I’d bought it with my allowance after seeing the show for the first time. “It’s about the witch from the
Wizard of Oz
, and it has all these great songs in it. It’s one of my favorite shows.”
Duncan nodded curtly and resumed hiking. I followed along behind, suddenly seeing things through Doonian eyes.
The last time I’d visited his kingdom, I’d been accused of being in league with the witch trying to destroy their world. Of course, it didn’t help that Vee and I had brought a cursed journal into Doon and nearly destroyed the land ourselves. Now I was returning with a statement umbrella that proclaimed me as “Wicked.”
I envisioned trying to explain to the Doonians a story that had a misunderstood witch as the main heroine — that would go over well. I might as well wear a matching raincoat with “Please burn me at the stake” printed on the back.
On impulse I collapsed the umbrella and tossed it into the ravine.
The commotion drew Duncan’s attention. He turned just in time to see my favorite accessory go tumbling down the side of the chasm. Water flowed down his face in little rivulets and he swiped his eyes, before demanding, “What’d ye do that for?”
What could I say? The umbrella was a mistake, just like bringing the journal into Doon . . . and abandoning him on the bridge. Instead, I shrugged. “I just didn’t want it anymore.”
Duncan looked at me critically. After a moment he shook his head. “I fear I shall never understand you.”
“Then don’t try.”
“As you wish.” With that, he turned to continue our descent. But after two emotionally charged steps, he spun back around. “Why did you leave me?”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of you in my world.”
His eyes widened. In the heat of the moment, my hurried words had come out all wrong. I’d meant that he belonged in Doon. Even if he came to Chicago willingly, I couldn’t allow him to leave the kingdom he loved behind. But before I could clarify, he crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “Was it because of him?”
Although the timing wasn’t ideal, I needed to set the record straight about my director. “No. Wes and I did date a bit. I was trying to move on with my life. After you and I broke up — ”
“
We
broke up? We didna break up; you broke — everything.”
“I’m sorry. If you’d just let me — ”
“Tell me this. After you left me on the bridge, did you go to him straight away? Or did ye have the decency to wait a week?”
That wasn’t fair. I’d never have dated Wes if I hadn’t been desperately trying to get over the boy I actually loved. But if Duncan thought so little of me, why did I even care? A sob clogged my throat, but before I could fight my way through it, Duncan’s expression hardened.
When he spoke, his icy brogue bordered on haughty. “Thank you for clarifying your position. I shall make every effort to deliver you to Castle MacCrae posthaste so you will not have to endure me a moment longer than necessary.” This time as he turned away, I suspected it would be for good.
As Duncan launched himself forward, the ground crumbled beneath his feet. One moment he was there, the next gone. I rushed forward in time to see him sliding feet-first down the side of the steep canyon. His hands grasped at the wet, muddy ground, desperately seeking anything they could cling to.
Inside, I was screaming, my soul plummeting alongside him. On the outside, I seemed to be frozen, helpless to do anything other than watch him plunge to his death.
About twenty feet below, just before the ravine went vertical into darkness, Duncan hit a small ledge. His duffel strap snagged on a rock and stopped. But Duncan was sliding too fast. He arched over the side, only managing to grab a root at the last second.
Duncan’s dirty hands, clinging to the plant root, were clearly visible, but the rest of him disappeared over the side.
How far down did the chasm go? Would that lone root continue to support his weight or give way? And how could I help him before it did?
After a couple of false starts, I managed to find my voice. “Duncan?”
“Aye. I’m here, woman.” His grunted response was strangled by the exertion of holding on to something the size of an iPod cord, but other than that he sounded okay.
The rain intensified as I sank to my knees and crawled to the edge of the landslide. “Hold on. I’m coming to get you.”
“Nay! It’s not safe.” His hands wobbled, and I assumed he was scrambling with his feet for a foothold. The root that was his lifeline started to come free from the earth, and I screamed at him to stop. Thankfully he listened for once and his hands stilled.
I rolled to my stomach and scooted backward until my feet dangled over the edge. The descent to the ledge was at a steep angle. I would have to go slow, try not to gain momentum. My heart jackhammered against my chest, and I felt like I needed to barf. Pushing my fear aside, I began to make my way down the mud-slicked canyon at a turtle’s pace.
For the first time in my life, I was grateful for high school phys. ed. and the rotation on rock climbing. Clinging to the tiny bit of skill I had gleaned in those weeks on the wall, I managed to find footholds that allowed me to descend with some control. About a third of the way down, I called out, “I’m on my way.”
Duncan groaned before bellowing, “I said no! Stay where you are. Thas an order!”
“You’re not the boss of me, you stupid ogre!”
What did he think, that I’d just watch him die? I was supernaturally stubborn when I wanted something. Right now I
wanted Duncan MacCrae to live. Otherwise, what would have been the point of all this? Of abandoning him so that he didn’t have to choose between me and the kingdom he loved. If he didn’t go on to build a life rich with love and purpose, then all this agony would be for nothing.
I continued to pick my way downhill. Mud oozed between my fingers, around my ankles, and seeped into the rips in my pajamas. Tiny rivers rushed down the ravine, washing the ground out from under me. And to make matters worse, the stench of death grew as I descended.
