Forever Doon (5 page)

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.

K
issing 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 natural 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.

In a weird way, the journey reminded me of summers between seventh and twelfth grades spent at drama camp. Those six weeks were the longest, most exhilarating weeks of my life. Exhilarating because I got to perform in the camp showcase, first in the ensemble then as a soloist; long because I missed Vee every minute of every day.

Each time I made the trek, the construction of the new bridge reemphasized the absence of Vee, as if the two things were one and the same. I guess in some ways they were. They both symbolized Doon and both were inaccessible. Although
restoration work had begun simultaneously on both banks, the construction had been cordoned off with police tape to keep the gawkers and everyone else back.

The media had attributed the disappearance to a freak earthquake that broke the bridge apart and caused a river surge that carried off the debris—which, to me, sounded more preposterous than an evil witch making it vanish.

After another dozen steps, I veered away from the river, following the trail that would lead me to the cottage's back door. Before I could knock, Greta flung the door open, nearly running me over in her rush to get outside.

“Whoa! What's the rush? Is it SpaghettiOs day or something?”

“Sorry,” she chirped as she skidded to a halt with an infectious smile. “Canna be late fer afternoon lessons.”

Without Lachlan, Greta had stepped up as the leader of the Crew—the Doonian equivalent of a mini-me service organization sponsored by Jamie himself. Her number-one responsibility was getting the other members to attend our improvised school. Which was easier said than done, especially when it came to those over the age of nine. Although the lure of SpaghettiOs did wonders to keep them in line.

“Do you need some help rounding the others up?” Tween wrangling had become one of my unofficial tasks.

“Nay, ma'am. Everyone's in attendance. We canna wait to start the new course after dinner.” Despite her throat nearly being slit by Adelaide's henchman when the witch had overtaken Doon, the girl had bounced back from the near-death experience without any discernable scarring. She beamed at me, waiting for me to take the cue and ask what had her pantaloons in a bunch. I knew what would do it for me—Broadway karaoke—but Greta was not a drama geek.

“What are you learning this afternoon?”

“Well,” the girl drawled as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Missus Alsberg said we were unmanageable in the classroom, so Prince Duncan suggested we take up physical education in the afternoons.”

Really? That's what all the fuss was about? PE? In my world, PE had been a punishment straight from the pits of Mordor.

“Okay. You'd better hurry then.” I swallowed a laugh as Greta bolted past me. “Have fun.”

“I'm sure we will, ma'am,” she replied as she jogged down the path toward the river. “We're learnin' combat trainin' with actual weapons!”

What? By the time that little grenade registered in my consciousness, Greta was long gone. Had I heard her right? Had Duncan suggested teaching children to fight with
real weapons
? Prince or no, the boy had some explaining to do. Deciding Cheska could wait, I set off to find my boyfriend.

As I backtracked along the river, I saw them—two boys, sitting on the bench at the mouth of the Brig o' Doon where Vee and I had sat just moments before we'd crossed over for the first time. I can't say what first captured my attention, perhaps it was the way these two sat huddled: close and woefully underdressed for the temperature, their dark complexions ashy from cold.

As I moved closer, I noticed one boy was older than the other. His feet were bare, while the younger one wore discolored slippers. Their clothes appeared to be a hodgepodge of mismatched, threadbare hand-me-downs that were either too big or too small. Nobody dressed that way unless they were homeless, not even in the Midwest.

“Excuse me—” I began, and then paused as two dark heads slowly turned to stare at me, their bloodshot, ebony eyes wide with amazement. “Are you guys okay?”

The older boy swallowed so that his Adam's apple bobbed against his chalky throat. “Please, miss, is this heaven?”

“Heaven?” For a moment, I was dumbfounded by the oddness of the question. “No, you're in Alloway.”

The same boy, whom I deduced was the spokesperson for the duo, frowned. “Is that in Africa?”

Something clicked. The clothes, the odd cadence to their English—these boys were definitely not from these parts. “No. Scotland.”

The older boy turned to the younger one, his eyes and smile bright. “Did you hear that, Jeremiah? We are no longer in Africa. We are saved.”

W
hen I was ten years old, we were forced to move from the candy-colored Victorian home I'd lived in all my life—forced because my father had lost his umpteenth job. As we packed, Mom and I agonized for weeks over which belongings to sell, keep, and store, wrapping each treasured possession with special care, only to find out months later that Dad had sold them all to feed his escalating addiction. I'd mourned for weeks, not for the loss of our things, but the life I knew we'd never get back.

This
move was nothing like that.

In the dead of night, as quickly and quietly as three hundred men, women, and children could manage, we threw things into crates, wagons, and animal skin bags strapped to our backs. When we were packed and ready, I climbed atop a flatbed wagon and called our caravan to gather round.

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. I had no crown and no royal regalia; in fact, I still wore the baggy tunic and leggings Kenna had scavenged from the Brother Cave before
we went our separate ways. Fiona would've been appalled. But when the people clustered around my makeshift podium, I lifted my chin and addressed them as their queen.

“Earlier today, we crossed paths with one of the witch's patrols. To avoid splitting up or moving continuously, we will camp in a place she will never expect to find us. Behind the old Blackmore cottage.”

Cries of outrage rose up, but I was prepared for such a reaction. I lifted my fist high above my head and the Ring of Aontacht shone bright, silencing their exclamations.

“The Protector has brought the ring of your ancestors back to us! It sheltered me from the Eldritch Limbus and it will guide us around the cursed ground.” I didn't share that the ring had also protected me and Kenna when we'd entered the witch's cottage and retrieved Addie's spell book.

I lowered my arm. “I know many of you do not wish to leave this spot. That it makes us feel closer to those we've lost, across the bridge and to the quake. But a wise woman once told me”—my eyes searched the crowd and found the bright gaze of Sharron Rosetti—“that we must go on. Not despite the loss of our loved ones, but because of them.”

I swallowed hard as Jamie's face filled my vision. But instead of letting his memory overwhelm me, I chose to draw strength from it—his charisma, confidence, and empathy were what had made him a great leader. I would work hard to follow in his footsteps. Straightening my shoulders, I raised my voice. “Because of the gifts they have given us, we will choose to live, to fight, and take back what is rightfully ours!” A cheer rose up, the cry so loud that snow shook from the branches overhead. Fergus jumped up beside me and pushed his palms through the air in a shushing motion. The Doonians quieted, but the determination shining from their faces didn't wane as I
continued. “What we must do will be uncomfortable and difficult at times, but if we work together and follow the Protector's guidance, the witch cannot stand against us!” The cheer was subdued, but fists rose into the air, pumping in unity. Grime-coated faces mirroring my own exhaustion, beamed with new purpose.

Now, if I could just figure out how to accomplish that purpose.

Determining I could only take it one step at a time, and right now that step was to guide my people to safety, I jumped down from the wagon and led the way on foot with Fergus and two of my remaining royal guards flanking us on either side. The journey wasn't far, but we would need to tread carefully. Keeping to the borders, we tromped through the snow, the soft powder muffling our movements, its relentless fall covering our tracks.

Almost an hour later, I swiped snowflakes from my lashes as we sloshed through a recent fall of slippery sleet, and excused Fergus to check the line. He'd known most everyone here his entire life, and they trusted him implicitly, so I'd tasked him with ensuring no one was left behind.

“Yer Majesty.” Lachlan stumbled up beside me, tugged by the ever-growing Blaz, whose head now reached my thigh. I ruffled the pup's ears and he rubbed against me.

I missed having Blaz at my side, but Lachlan needed him more. The boy who'd once won a mock sword fight against Jamie to win my favor had ended up stealing a piece of my heart. Both of his parents had gone missing during the quake, but Lachlan refused to believe they were dead. Even with his brave face, I knew the dog brought him much-needed comfort and companionship. In fact, he'd given up a chance to escape to Alloway when he chased Blaz down during the quake.

“What's up, Lachlan?”

His head slanted and his moss-green eyes reflected in the moonlight, taking on an amused look that said he didn't quite understand what I'd said. “I was wonderin'.” He paused in thought. He couldn't be more than ten years old, but he had the natural confidence and maturity of a born leader. “Perhaps hoverin' near the dragon's lair isna such a brilliant idea.”

I tilted my chin in his direction and arched a brow. Not the look Kenna had dubbed the Evil Highney, but close.

Wisely, he backpedaled. “I dinna wish to question yer judgement, 'tis just that the Crew wanted me to ask.” He shrugged and his voice trailed off.

I looped my arm through Lachlan's and tugged him close, our joined momentum making our progress a bit easier. “Thank you for being my ambassador, Lachlan. Every member of the Crew is important to me. So you can tell them that because it's forbidden by Doon law to approach the witch's land, it's the safest spot in the kingdom at the moment.”

“Will we use the old cottage for shelter, then?”

“No. There are artifacts inside that hold dark power.” As I'd learned the hard way when I'd removed a royal amulet and worn it for courage, not realizing it was slowly poisoning me with the remnants of an ancient curse. “But if we stay clear of the witch's cabin, we'll be fine.”

“But how will we know where her property starts? What if we accidently walk into it?”

Such a smart boy. “First of all, you'll feel it. Dark magic is very heavy and there are wards surrounding the cottage. But there is also a border of enchanted black petunias. I'll be sure to have them uncovered every morning so there is no mistake.”

“Right-o.” He lifted his hand in salute. “I'll tell the others!”

I grinned at his use of slang. Clearly he'd been spending
time with our resident Australian, Oliver Ambrose. Lachlan unhooked his arm from mine, and while tugging Blaz behind him, called over his shoulder, “Thank you, Yer Majesty!”

My hood flew back off my head, whipping strands of hair into my mouth and eyes, but I didn't reposition the cloak. The air was still hard with cold, but the snow had softened to light flakes that melted like butter on my skin. “Ewan.”

The boy appeared at my side seemingly out of thin air, his hair swept off his narrow face in damp auburn waves, his slightly turned-up nose red from cold. Odd that I hadn't had to look behind me to know he'd be there.

“Yes, my queen?” The left side of his top lip hitched up in a smirk that would've appeared cocky on someone else, but Ewan only conveyed good-natured mischief.

“I have a mission for you.”

“I'll do anythin' you need.” His eyes met mine, radiating eager energy. If he'd been born in the modern world, I could picture him as an extreme sports fanatic; snowboarding down a mountainside, carving up a half-pipe, hang gliding at six-thousand feet. Just the kind of throw-caution-to-the-wind person required to help me.

“I need to learn to protect myself.”

He gave a quick nod.

“Fergus refuses, and my guard—” I lowered my voice. “My guards placate me by saying they'll keep me safe, but I want to do more than hide behind them.”

Ewan gave an appreciative nod, so I continued, “Darkness is coming, a great battle that the Protector has shown me in a vision.” If the undead monster Kenna and I had faced inside the limbus was any indication, it would be a horrific battle indeed. “I want to fight
alongside
my people.”

The angular plains of his face fixed in sharp determination.

“I'm small and have no training.” I gestured to my petite stature. “I need weapons I can handle. Something that won't slow me down or take me months or even weeks to learn to use.” A memory of coming upon Jamie working out in the Brother Cave caused me to falter—dark-gold hair flying, powerful muscles glistening with sweat as he wielded his massive sword through a labyrinth of obstacles he'd designed himself. I'd thought him invincible.

With a colossal effort, I kept walking. My prince hadn't just been a figurehead who spoke eloquently and looked gorgeous in royal regalia; he'd trained every day for hours, building his skill and stamina, mock fighting with the guards or anyone who would take him on, all to prepare himself to protect his kingdom. That was the kind of leader I wanted to be, but I didn't have time to gain that level of skill. An attack could happen any day, any hour.

I focused back on Ewan's expectant face. “Can you help me?”

His lip quirked up again, this time showing a line of straight, white teeth. “Aye. I know just the thing.”

After this was all over, I vowed to find an occupation better suited to Ewan Murray than farmer.

The following morning, I awoke with the dawn lighting up our teepee like a flame. We hadn't seen the sun in days. With a stretch and a yawn, I soaked up the warmth like a budding flower, careful not to wake Sofia sleeping close by. Eager to feel the naked rays on my skin, and find Ewan to get started on my training, I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders and slipped on my boots. When I opened the flap and ducked through, the air was clear and bright.

Just beyond the trees, the white expanse of a snow-crusted field reflected the sun's rays, melding from buttercup to gold
to russet. I blinked and then blinked again, looking up at the clear sky. The snow had stopped for the first time in weeks.

Voices and soft laughter pulled my attention to the center of camp, where a group of early risers had gathered around the fire pit. I recognized Lachlan and Gabby Rosetti, with her shiny blonde waves, along with the other new members of the Crew. They sat with the Seanachaidh, Calum Haldane—Doon's resident storyteller. The balding man's movements were exuberant, his face animated.

I wandered over, my boots sinking into the squishy, half-frozen earth. The entire encampment had been cleared of snow and ice. As I approached, Lachlan let out a wide yawn and rubbed his eyes, and I knew. The Crew had stayed up all night to clear the grounds—just as Jamie would've expected them to.

“Yer Majesty! Do join us!” The storyteller made a beckoning motion. “I've just begun a new tale.”

I approached, noting the slumped shoulders and red eyes of the teens and preteens gathered around the circle. Deciding not to embarrass them by making a big deal of their sacrifice, I determined to find some way to reward their efforts later. As I stepped into the circle, a soft breeze caressed my face, the first one in weeks that didn't hurt my skin. “Mr. Haldane, do you understand this sudden change in the weather?”

His gaze met mine, his eyes conveying something I couldn't read. Then he grinned. “Nay, Yer Majesty. But let's enjoy the respite whilst we may, eh?”

Unsatisfied with his answer, I sat on the log next to Lachlan and gathered my cloak around me. Despite the lack of snow, the sun hadn't yet reached the fire ring and the air was cool enough for me to see my breath.

Gabby, more subdued than usual by her obvious fatigue, handed me a steaming mug and offered a smile. “Tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” I gathered the heat of the cup in my palms and inhaled the fragrant steam. Blaz, who rested near the fire with his head on his front paws, cocked one eye, and then stood up and stretched his long body. As he walked around the circle, every person he passed ran their hands over him, until he stopped and laid down on top of my feet.

“Now where was I, then?” Calum began.

“Saint Sabastian arrived on the Isle of Skye,” a brown-haired boy suggested, who I recognized as one of the young Rosetti twins.

“Nay! He's past that part, Fabi. Sabastian had just found the Fairy Pool.”

My gaze bounced between the brothers. The second one must have been Luciano. I studied him; his hair had more of a wave and red spots of acne dotted his forehead.

Fabrizio, whose face was slightly leaner, narrowed his eyes at his brother and opened his mouth, but Calum silenced him with a raised hand. “Yer both right.” His gaze darted between the twins. “Shall I continue?”

There were affirmative responses all around as a warm body sat down next to me.

Ewan's eyes danced, his hair a tousled shock of red sticking out all over his head. “I found the . . . items we discussed. When do ye wish to start?”

“Right after breakfast.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Aye, my queen.”