Shades of Doon (17 page)

“Are you really suggesting that we expose ourselves to more of Stephanie’s ridicule?”

I looked up to see my best friend giving me the look I had dubbed the Evil Highney: arched eyebrow, flat mouth, lifted
chin. “That’s the look you should have given Steph at the thrift store!”

Her features immediately softened. “What look?”

“You know, that condescending look you give someone who isn’t obeying you. The one that makes you look like a villain in a Disney film.” She continued to stare at me blankly so I did my best to imitate the expression, but could only hold it for a second or two before I cracked. “The Evil Highney.”

“You have a name for it?” she asked incredulously.

“We all do . . . behind your back, Your Highness.”

Vee looked seriously injured so I scooted up the bed and put my hands on her knees. “It’s a good look. Effective. I wish you’d used it on Stephanie — that would’ve shut her up.”

With a rueful shake of her head, Vee confessed, “I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wouldn’t make me sound like a lunatic. I felt like I was in high school all over again.”

“I wish you had one of your gowns from Doon. Then you could go to that charity ball, and put her in her place — ”

With a regal wave of her hand, she cut me off. “None of that matters. What’s important is getting back home.”

The word “home” slithered across my skin. Where was that, exactly? Not Bainbridge or the apartment in Chicago — and although my heart missed Duncan fiercely, I found myself in no rush to return to Doon with its constant threat of evil seeking to devour that world. Why couldn’t it just be a normal place without all the life and death intrigue?

Rather than vocalize my thoughts, I asked, “What are we going to do?”

Vee shrugged, seemingly at a loss. “Get jobs. Wait for your dad. Try to track down the MacCrae solicitor.”

“I suppose robbing a bank is out?” Rather than dignify me with an answer, she rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” I replied. “But we should at least go through the couch cushions and see if we can scrounge up enough money to buy a lottery ticket.”

For some reason,
this
— out of everything we’d had to deal with in the past twenty-four hours — caused Vee to snap. “Why? Are you feeling lucky? ’Cause I’m not.”

She clutched a pillow to her stomach. “If I was lucky, I wouldn’t have run into Steph on one of the most humiliating days of my life. If I was lucky, I would’ve figured out that Adam was Team Addie. If I was
lucky
, I’d still be in Doon with Jamie!”

Yes, the situation sucked, but I knew deep in my soul that we’d eventually be okay. “Hey, it was just a joke.”
Sort of.

“And for the record,” she said, “I don’t really believe in luck.”

I wrapped my arms around my bent knees. “Do you think Jamie and Duncan know what happened with Adam?”

“Depends on how much time has passed . . . there and here.” After another pause, she said, “They’ll come for us.”

In a voice pitched so low that I could barely make out my own words, I replied, “What if they don’t . . . or can’t?”

She took my hands, waiting until I lifted my gaze to hers. “Then we’ll go to the bridge and find a way across. We’ll figure it out
together
.”

“Okay.”

I could already see the gears in her head churning with the lists of potential obstacles needing to be faced and conquered in order to achieve our goal.

As we settled in for bed, I couldn’t help but envy Sleeping Beauty in the tiniest of ways. She didn’t have to wake up in somebody else’s bed. Her happily-ever-after didn’t depend on fighting the evil Maleficent or hacking her way through a barrier of thorns. All she had to do was sleep and awaken to true love’s kiss. I didn’t know which was more unrealistic: getting
saved by the handsome prince or waking up after years of sedation fresh and lovely as a rose blossom. But I guess even the slumbering princess would eventually have to reconcile her past and her present. When you wake up altogether different, there must always be a reckoning.

The night was filled with garbled fairy tales — half fantasy, half nightmare. Nothing unfolded as it had in the stories. I was in the middle of it all, somehow at fault for the deviations. And no matter how much I assured the characters — in song, of course — that things would work out in the end, they didn’t believe me.

I awoke, startled out of my dreams, and feeling like Sleeping Booty. Drool oozed from the corner of my mouth, my eyes were crusted up, and my hair — I couldn’t even go there without copious amounts of caffeine.

Blinking into the weak light of morning, I heard the garbled chime of the doorbell, realizing that’s what had jerked me from my fitful sleep. I could also hear water running and vaguely remembered Vee saying something about a shower before I dozed off again.

The dying doorbell sounded again. From Vee’s room, I could clearly hear Janet as she opened the door. “What do you want?”

“Pardon me, madam. I’m o’ the hope that Verranica is here.”

“And Mackenna.”

The deep Scottish brogues had me on my feet, sprinting down the short hall, and pushing past Janet before I fully comprehended what was going on. The minute I saw Duncan, I hurled myself at him. His arms crushed me in an iron grip as I buried my face into his chest.

Duncan’s lips brushed the top of my head, punctuating his words. “Shhh, woman.”

Belatedly, I registered that his body shuddered between each shaky kiss. I pulled back slightly to look in his gorgeous, tortured face. His velvety-chocolate eyes shimmered with equal parts horror and relief. Readjusting his grip, he clutched my body with one hand while the other touched my cheek. For a second his hand rested against my skin as if to reassure its owner that I was indeed real, then his trembling fingers swept at the wetness under my eye.

That was the moment I realized that I was weeping — and not just a couple of relieved tears, but full-on ugly crying. Salty tracks and snot marked the spot over his heart where my face had been pressed against his shirt.

Beside us, Jamie fidgeted. “Excuse me, but is Verranica here?”

“Who’re you?” Janet demanded.

“I’m James MacCrae,” he stated with the practiced air of someone who’d been well rehearsed. “And this is my brother, Duncan.”

Janet grasped the collar of her ratty nightgown closed as if the expensively-dressed guys with the cultured accents were home invaders intent on robbing and pillaging. She lifted her chin toward a man dressed in black standing at attention next to a small but impressive looking limousine. “Who’s that?”

Without bothering to turn around, he grunted. “Stevens. Please, may I see Verranica?”

Janet turned her attention toward the stunning oldest MacCrae brother. Even in a fitted T-shirt and hoodie, he exuded power. “How do you know Ronnie exactly?”

Knowing how much Vee hated that nickname, I flinched inwardly while Jamie took a beat to connect that he and Janet were speaking about the same girl.

“I’m her betro — ” Recognizing the odd word choice, he halted. I interjected “boyfriend” at the same time Duncan said “fiancé.”

Janet’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you knock her up? Is that why you’re here?”

Brows puzzled, Jamie glanced at me impatiently. I was
not
about to translate that for him. He was already a bundle of barely contained anxiety. If he knew what Vee’s mom was implying, he’d lose his composure for sure. To Janet I said, “No. She’s not.” And then to Jamie, I explained, “Vee’s in the shower.”

Jamie made a move to go inside and then realized that he’d not officially been invited. Using more restraint that I would’ve thought him capable of, he asked Janet, “Might I wait for her in your parlor?” As he spoke, he looked as if he was in pain, causing images of Edward and Bella in Biology class to flash through my head. Too bad Jamie wasn’t a sparkly vampire — that would shut Janet up.

Still clutching her collar while taking a wary step back, she replied sullenly, “Suit yourself.”

I expected Jamie to barrel into the shabby house, but he surprised me again by turning to the uniformed driver standing next to the car. “We might be a short while, Stevens.”

“As you wish, Your Lordship.”

At the word “lordship,” Janet’s eyebrows lifted toward her Clairol-tinted hair. Modesty forgotten, she let the edges of her collar fall open as she dropped into a wobbly approximation of a curtsy. “Please come in, Your Lordship.”

Jamie entered first, with Janet scurrying close behind. When I made a move to follow, Duncan placed a restraining hand on my arm. When the door shut between them and us, he spun me around. The intensity of his dark eyes caused a ripple of goose bumps to shoot from my fingertips all the way to my
toes, making me aware that I was only wearing sleep pants and a cotton top.

I shifted self-consciously as Duncan closed the distance between us. His solid chest pressed into mine, trapping me against the closed door. “Wait,” I hissed. Not into PDA, I glanced over his shoulder. Stevens had tactfully retreated into the driver’s seat and was reading a book.

An instantaneous flash of heat ignited my skin as my gaze returned to that of the boy who’d traveled halfway around the globe for me — again. Between one heartbeat and the next my arms reached for his neck as he braced me against the door. His forehead dropped to mine and for a moment we shared the same breath.

“I’m never going to let go of you,” Duncan whispered.

“Okay.” I could feel the hysteria building in my chest again.

Then Duncan’s lips were on mine and there was no more thought of anything but his kisses. His arms bracing the door on either side of my chest kept him from crushing me, but my heart and soul were already flattened by the devastating weight of loving him.

The door’s peephole dug into the back of my head, but I barely felt it. Nothing could hurt me now. Not even the heavens, which anointed our reunion with a fine, misty drizzle. We were together at last. A little fall of rain could hardly touch us under the circumstances.

Several minutes later, we came up for air, foreheads pressed together, panting in unison. I returned to myself in degrees, first aware of my own body and then my surroundings. The rain had increased in force. The back of Duncan’s pale blue button-down shirt and jeans were soaked. Wedged against the door, sheltered by a tiny overhang and my giant Scottish boyfriend, I remained relatively dry.

As I regained my wits, Duncan’s eyes fluttered shut. His trembling hand caressed my cheek as he murmured something over and over. So low that I had to strain to hear, he whispered, “I found ye. I found ye. I found ye.”

“Yes,” I replied, breaking his reverie.

He opened his agonized eyes. “Can ye forgive me, Mackenna?”

“For what? Coming to my rescue?”

“Nay,” His voice hitched. “For failing you.”

“Failing me? How?”

“I didna protect you . . . from Adam . . . from disappearing.”

“You know about Adam?”

“Aye. He’s now in the dungeons of Castle MacCrae under constant guard. He’ll no’ harm ye again.”

I started to ask for more details, then realized I didn’t want to think about that yet. I wanted to be in this moment. “How did you find me?”

“The lass from Chicago, Jeanie. She looked up your route on her wee phone.” He smiled his bone-melting, lopsided grin. “Are you ready to go back to Doon?”

Was I?
Rather than answer directly, I stated, “Vee and I don’t have money, or any ID.”

“Vee’s rich, as are Jamie and I. We’ve money enough for all.”

“We still need identification. Birth certificates, social security cards, drivers licenses, and passports. All that takes time.”

“No’ if you have the kind of money that we do. It buys private jets and pilots who pay no mind to papers. Plus, I’ve got ID.” I remembered the fake ID that Duncan had used on his last trip into the modern world. He was right, as usual — with his credentials and an unlimited bank account, we could go back to Scotland right away. But the news of Adam’s capture eliminated any urgency I’d felt about returning.

Regardless of how I felt, I knew Vee would be anxious to get back. Anticipation of her reaction caused me to push lightly at Duncan’s chest. “Let’s go round up Vee and Jamie then.”

I stepped into the living room just in time to see Jamie perched on the end of the couch next to the dubious afghan. Janet handed him a chipped coffee mug on a small plastic plate doubling as a saucer. “Your tea, Your Lordship.”

Looking as uncomfortable as his hostess, Jamie accepted the drink. He sipped awkwardly as the sound of the running shower underscored the tension in the otherwise silent room. Between sips, Jamie glanced down the hall like he was one swallow away from ripping the bathroom door from the hinges.

Taking pity on him, I said, “Vee should be finished any moment.”

“I hope so,” lamented Janet, sounding more like Jack’s beleaguered mother from
Into the Woods
than her usual self. “I can barely afford to pay the water bill as it is, let alone with two extra girls in the house.”

Was she really trying to hit up her daughter’s boyfriend for money?