by Carey Corp
Despite his dark vantage point, I could sense Duncan’s scrutiny. “I’m not opposed to a career woman. I believe women and men should follow their passions.”
“Exactly.” I began walking so Duncan would have no choice but to move out of the obscurity of the shadows. “And my passion—my dreams—are back in the States.”
He looked at me skeptically—like he knew more about my dreams than I did and was completely willing to argue the point. “My mum’s dream was to be a weaver. She loved spinning wool inta yarn and creating beautiful fabrics.” His eyes got a far off look as he continued, “When she fell in love with my father, the prince, she worried that she’d be forced ta sacrifice her dreams for the responsibilities o’ the crown.”
It was a valid worry. “Did she?”
“Nay. She realized her destiny was not to trade one dream for another, but to have both. A life more abundant than she could’ve possibly imagined. And she did …”
My heart tugged, suspecting we shared the same wrenching loss. “What happened to her?”
“She passed a few years back. I miss her o’ course, but it was even harder on my brother.” Duncan shoved his hands in his pockets. “They shared a special connection.”
I rounded the corner and bumped into Vee. Hard. “What the—”
Before I could get the words out, Duncan stepped in front of the both of us. Arms wide, he backed us up until we were flat against a wall. His hand moved automatically to his side, where his weapon should have been. But he was weaponless—both princes were. In an effort to be civilized, they’d left their daggers in the carriage.
An unfamiliar voice, thick and slightly slurred, curdled the half-digested meal in my stomach. “Just hand ’em over, yer highness, and we’ll be on our way.”
On my tiptoes, I peered around Duncan’s shoulder. Jamie, his posture taut and coiled like an overwound spring, faced down a half dozen men. They ranged from young to middle-aged and, unfortunately, were not defenseless. Each man held some sort of improvised weapon—branches, rocks, and even a metal poker.
Utterly fearless, Jamie stood his ground against the mob. “You lads have been drinkin’. I suggest ye go home and sleep it off.”
The bearded ringleader sported an official-looking blue tam, with a creased top and a bushy white feather that was identical to the one Gideon had worn in the throne room. He brandished a wooden club like he used it on a daily basis. “We dinna want any trouble, m’ lairds. Just hand o’er the witch’s emissaries.”
Duncan, our human shield, took a nearly imperceptible step forward. “These lasses are under our protection.”
Shouts of dissention assaulted us.
“But they’re consorts o’ the witch!”
“My son’s got the croup!”
“And my livestock died!”
“’Tis witchcraft, I tell ye!”
“Hand ’em over!”
The ringleader advanced on Jamie, edging him back toward his brother. “I’m afraid we canna do what ye ask, yer highness. People are missing. Roddy MacPhee, and Robert Ennis’s wife, Millie. The kingdom will no’ be safe until the evil is cast out.”
The princes could not prevail against six burly, drunk men. Under certain circumstances, they might’ve been able to handle three apiece, but without weapons—not to mention the burden of having to keep us away from the mob—it was impossible.
Then several things happened at once. The ringleader and Jamie leapt toward each other as a man my father’s age charged Duncan, who braced for impact and then propelled the man through the air—like a rag doll. The old guy landed in the street with an overly loud thud and writhed with pain. He wouldn’t be jumping anyone again for a long time.
Three others rushed Duncan so that he crashed between Vee and me. As one burly dude punched Duncan in the jaw while another guy kicked him in the gut, the third raised his club high into the air like a major league ballplayer. With a sneer, he swung squarely at Vee’s head.
Her scream pierced the night.
In the final second before contact, Jamie lunged toward her and shoved. The blow meant for her cracked against the side of the prince’s head, and he slumped to his knees.
An instant later, Duncan—still fighting two of the attackers—smashed into me. His elbow crushed my diaphragm, knocking me off balance as my vision blackened around the edges. The golden cobblestones rose to meet me as darkness swallowed them up.
I came to my senses on hard ground to the sound of running feet and the sight of Duncan standing over me like a grizzly bear. Four men, including the old guy, lay in a crumpled heap at his feet. Another took off as the first group of guards rounded the bend.
A short distance away, Jamie sat on his royal rump near the unconscious ringleader. A small trickle of blood flowed from behind his left ear and down his neck. Vee pushed herself away from the wall where she’d ended up and stepped toward Doon’s future king. With a shaky hand, she reached down to assess his injuries.
“Don’t.” He snarled the word through clenched teeth. Irritation oozed from his every pore as he jerked away and lumbered to his feet. He pointed toward Vee, who regarded him with wide-eyed shock. “Duncan, get her back to the castle. The both of them. And do not let them out of your sight!”
“Aye.”
As Duncan turned around, I forced myself into a sitting position. The throb in my shoulder informed me that I would have a wicked bruise in the morning. Catching my breath, I looked up and steadied myself once I met the young prince’s eyes.
He knelt and smoothed a lock of hair from my cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. “Are ye all right, Mackenna?”
His concern stole the air from my lungs, so that all I could do was nod and try not to focus on what his touch was doing to my body. Before I could get to my feet, Duncan reached out and scooped me into his arms. Instead of protesting, I sagged against him and listened to his heart beating away like a massive jackhammer.
Since arriving in Doon yesterday, he’d saved me from Gideon, the icky dungeons, and now violent death at the hands of a lynch mob. Rescuing me was fast becoming “our thing.” It would’ve been so much easier if “our thing” had been something normal and less life-threatening … like karaoke.
CHAPTER 14
Veronica
Feathers floated around my head, landing on my eyelashes and sticking to my lips, but I didn’t care. I hit the pillow again and again. Sure, Jamie’d pushed me out of the way and taken a club to the head in my place. But then the callous jerk had acted as if the attack were my fault. As if I’d begged for a bunch of drunk, tam-wearing thugs to jump us!
Why? Why did Jamie have to be such an incredible idiot? I pulled my arm back and punched with all my strength. My knuckles struck the solid wood of the headboard through the pillow. I leapt out of bed and danced in a tight circle, shaking out my aching hand.
“That’s cute, Vee. New dance move?”
I stopped spinning and put my knuckles in my mouth. Kenna stood in the bathroom doorway, swimming in a green velvet XXL robe, her damp hair piled on top of her head. Pulling my tender fingers out of my mouth, I said, “Ha, ha. Nice robe, but I think the circus elephant might want it back.”
Kenna giggled. Giggled? My best friend might hoot, snort, or even cackle with the best of them, but she never giggled. It must’ve been a delayed stress reaction or something.
“It was hanging in the linen closet, and I was cold after my bath,” Kenna said absently as she wandered around the room picking up random items and setting them back down, finally sinking into a chair in front of the fire with a heavy sigh. I watched her with narrowed eyes. She had the appearance of a girl who was completely smitten. And who could really blame her? Duncan was gallant and charming. Jamie, on the other hand, was a rude, egotistical pig!
Residual adrenaline coursed through my veins like a ricocheting pinball. Jamie’s harsh rejection of my help, and even my touch, had me ready to punch something other than my pillow. Preferably a broad c
heekbone or dimpled chin or—I cut my thoughts short.
Taking several deep, calming breaths, I swept my damp hair up behind my head, tied it in a knot, and then moved into a Warrior pose. I should have told that conceited jackwagon to go stuff himself. Instead, I’d let Duncan lead me back to the castle without saying a word.
Closing my eyes, I held the position and continued to breathe. I focused on my muscles elongating as I pushed negative thoughts out and drew in the positive.
Desperate to regain my freedom of movement, I’d shed my heavy skirts in favor of knee-length cotton bloomers and a silk cami. My ensemble would be considered scandalous by most Doonians, but ironically covered more than my old cheer uniform.
“What are you doing?”
Without opening my eyes, I answered, “Yoga.” I brought my hands together and slowly arched back into a Half Moon.
“Well, when you’re done communing with Yoda or whatever, I need to ask you something.”
I returned to neutral and opened my eyes. “Yes, young one? Assist you how may I?”
A small cylindrical pillow hurtled across the room toward my face. I ducked at the last second, narrowly avoiding the projectile.
“I’m four months older than you, and don’t you forget it!” Kenna teased.
My equilibrium renewed, I skipped over and dropped down cross-legged on the hearthrug in front of Kenna’s chair. Sinking my fingers into the plush texture, I realized, with mild revulsion, that it was some kind of dead animal fur.
“Is that Duncan’s robe?”
“Where’s the journal?”
We spoke over each other, voicing our questions at exactly the same time.
“I asked first,” Kenna declared.
“Okay. It’s in the toilet.”
“It’s in the … What?” Kenna uncurled from her chair, leaning forward.
Realizing more than an explanation was in order, I popped back up and grabbed Kenna’s hand so I could tow her along behind me. We’d agreed earlier that since the rings were confiscated on sight, we’d better hide Aunt Gracie’s treasure trove of information about this magical place, at least until we’d read it from cover to cover.
“They may have the newfangled plumbing here”—I looked over my shoulder and winked—“but I’m willing to bet they don’t know this trick.” Climbing onto the toilet seat, I raised myself onto my tiptoes and slid the lid of the antique tank to one side and withdrew a dripping plastic baggie containing Aunt Gracie’s small leather journal.
“You’re a genius! But where did you get a baggie?”
“The rings were in it.” I shrugged. “I’d stuffed it in my pocket.”
“I mean it, you’re brilliant. But you could have come up with a slightly less disgusting hiding place.” Kenna took the edge of the toilet water-covered baggie between her thumb and forefinger and shoved it toward me. “You’ve been dying to burrow into this thing since we found it. Now’s our chance.”
I took the soggy bag and placed it on a towel, slowly removing the leather-bound book. A moment of panic caused me to consider putting it back into its hiding place unread. The more I found out about this place, the more I worried I’d discover Jamie had every right to hate me.
Unable to shut my brain down despite my weariness, I read the journal long into the night. Kenna had lost patience almost immediately, insisting first on the CliffsNotes before she gave up entirely and snuck off to bed. But I didn’t mind the privacy, especially if Gracie’s diary was going to crush any hopes of a future with Jamie. Turning another page, I continued to read.
As far as we can tell, there is no way for the Witch o’ Doon to breech its enchanted borders — not even on the Centennial. However, if an object were to be enspelled by the witch and brought into the kingdom, the defenses of Doon could be compromised.
I was told that before Cam’s time, the witch found one of the Rings of Aontacht and bribed a young man to enter the kingdom and do her bidding. When he was caught in the witch’s cottage searching for something, his treachery was uncovered.
Maybe this could be a clue as to why Jamie didn’t trust me. Perhaps he thought we’d brought some curse into the kingdom with us. But if that was the case, why wasn’t he belligerent toward Mackenna as well?
A twinge of pain shot up my jaw, reminding me to unclench my teeth. What I really needed was to go for a run. Except the thought of running in heavy skirts didn’t sound the least bit appealing, nor did the possibility of harassment by drunken Doonians. Not that the guards outside our door would let me leave anyway. So I determined to stay safely ensconced in the turret room like a good little girl, no matter how tense the imprisonment was making me.
It was well past two o’clock when I tiptoed into the bedroom. I crawled under the covers, doing my best not to disturb Kenna, who snored lightly on the other side of the massive bed. Taking a deep breath, I let my eyes flutter shut. But the images wouldn’t stop.
I stared up at the shadowy ceiling, my mind wandering back to the pizzeria. Duncan said people often dream of Doon before coming here, but what if they saw a specific person—when they were awake? What did that mean?
“You might as well spill. You obviously want to.”
I jumped at the sound of Kenna’s sleep-scratchy voice.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just something’s obviously bothering you, and neither one of us are going to get any sleep if you don’t stop flopping around like a fish.”
The strike of a match prompted me to push the covers back and sit up. As Kenna lit the oil lamp on the nightstand, I focused on the soft light flickering behind her instead of the questions running through my head. Because as soon as I opened my mouth, I might have to face answers I wasn’t ready to hear.
“Veeee …” Kenna’s voice took on the whiny, nasal tone she knew I hated.
“Okay, okay.” I let out a slow breath. “Duncan likes you. And you like him, right?”
Kenna frowned. “I thought we were going to talk about you.”
“Just answer the question, please. Do you like Duncan?”
“Well, uh, sure.” Her eyes darted away, focusing on everything but my face. After several moments of silence, she faced me and shrugged a shoulder. “Who wouldn’t? He’s yummier than triple-chocolate ice cream—and you know how I love my chocolate ice cream.”
That said a lot, but unfortunately didn’t answer the milliondollar question. “Did you see or dream about Duncan before we came here?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, but if you and Duncan started dating …” When she glanced at me, I arched an eyebrow and quirked the corner of my mouth. “Would it be so bad to end up living in paradise with a tall, handsome prince?”
“One girl’s paradise is another girl’s purgatory.” She released a heavy breath. “I mean, he’s fabulous and all. But I won’t give up my dreams of the stage to have a litter of bambinis and become some Doonian Stepford princess. And besides, I’m not the one who’s been dreaming about snogging the king wannabe.”
Laughing, I picked up a pillow and lobbed it at her head.
“Hey, ow!”
“He happens to be the crown prince of Doon. He’s not a wannabe anything. And I absolutely have not been dreaming about snogging him!” Much. I swallowed a sigh at the thought of Jamie’s hauntingly beautiful face and cleared my throat, sweeping the image out of my mind before continuing.
“So what if I saw him a few times before we came here.” I tried to smile, but a deep grief pulled at the corners of my mouth and caused my words to tremble. “Since he hates me, it must not mean anything.” I shrugged and climbed back under the covers.
“Why don’t you just ask him?”
“Ask him if he hates me?”
“No, dummy. Ask him if he saw you too.”
“It’s not worth the risk.” I’d spoken without thinking, but now that I said it I knew it was true. “I don’t need another guy to let me down.” I was done handing my heart to people who use
d it as a doormat as they walked out of my life.
“Oh, Vee.” Kenna said as she turned the wick down, extinguishing the lamp. “Sweetie, your dad was a loser. You’re better off without him in your life. And Eric, well, he was just a Neanderthal. He’ll most likely end up impregnating Steph and having half a dozen blond babies before he’s twenty-five.”
“Yeah, I know.” I turned my face to the moonlit window. The mountains of Doon loomed in the distance like giant sentinels. “I just wish there was some way I could erase the memories of Jamie from my head … forget the way he made me feel before we came here.”
“How did he make you feel?” Kenna whispered into the dark.
Like he cared enough to pursue me, like I was more important than his own plans and desires. Like I wasn’t alone. But I said, “Wanted.”
Snuggling into the plush down comforter, I squeezed my eyes closed and attempted to count sheep.
“He doesn’t hate you, by the way,” Kenna said almost clairvoyantly. When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Jamie, I mean. One of the first things we learned in acting class is that there’s a very fine line between love and hate. It’s obvious to anyone who’s been around the two of you that Jamie MacCrae does not hate you.”
I didn’t answer. Instead I rolled away, unwilling to talk about it anymore—afraid to hope she could be right and even more afraid she was wrong.
CHAPTER 15
Veronica
At the tiny table in our sitting room, I speared my last bite of pancake. The fluffy morsel oozed with sweet blueberries and dripped with fresh-churned butter. I’d never tasted anything so heavenly in all my eighteen years. Dredging the cakes through a puddle of warm maple syrup, I popped the bite in my mouth and closed my eyes in bliss. “Mmm …” Sorry, Aunt Jemima, but there is no substitute for just-tapped syrup.
“Geez, is that your sixth or seventh pancake?”
I opened my eyes to find Kenna scrutinizing me like I was some kind of science experiment. “I lost count at five.”