by Carey Corp
However, as with soul mates in the mortal world, individuals can forsake their Calling. The Calling relationship does not supersede free will.
I slammed the book closed, pushed the giant tome away, and shot to my feet. I couldn’t breathe. The room began to shrink around me.
Rushing to the door, I tugged it open just enough to see that the guard on duty was fast asleep. I slipped into the hallway, and pulled the door closed behind me, tiptoeing down the corridor. The flannel robe dragged on the stones and made a subtle whooshing noise I prayed was too soft to detect. After rounding the corner, I leaned against the wall and struggled to control my breathing.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t still my mind. So I could choose to stay and accept the Calling, but Jamie could still choose Sofia? If so, I’d be stranded in Doon and bound to Jamie for a lifetime; an aging spinster, living for a brief glimpse of his beautiful face as he swept through the village, his lovely queen at his side. Screw that.
Needing to move, but having no plan of where to go next, I hurried along the circular hallway toward an open window. If I couldn’t get outside, this would have to do. I stood on my toes and leaned on the thick ledge, pulling in a deep breath of the crisp night air. The full moon illuminated a panorama of pristine mountains and forest. The kingdom’s unspoiled beauty quieted my soul. It was truly a marvel.
“I wouldna jump if I were you.”
With a squeak, my heart accelerated like a stampede of wild horses as I spun around to find Jamie leaning on the wall directly behind me. His arms were crossed in front of his broad chest, one knee bent, his booted foot propped on the rough stones behind him. The bored look on his face made it appear as if he’d been standing there for hours.
“I wasn’t planning to, Your Highness.” Sarcasm seemed to be my best defense. I needed to keep him at a distance until I could work through my jumbled feelings.
Jamie answered with a disdainful smile and pushed himself off the wall. Arms still crossed, he moved to stand in front of me, stopping so close I had to tilt my head back to see his face.
“What are ye doing out of bed?”
“Why are you such a close talker?”
“Pardon?” He narrowed his eyes and took another step forward. “I asked why yer out of bed?”
“I … ah.” My sarcasm shield dissolved on the spot. I gulped down the nervousness his nearness brought out in me and summoned the image of him gliding across the dance floor with Sofia in his arms. I cocked my head to one side and continued in a calm voice, “I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to get some air. Is that a crime?”
Turning my back on him, I moved back to lean against the windowsill.
The opening was wide, but when he leaned down next to me, resting his forearms on the ledge, our shoulders touched. His heat reached me through the thick fabric of the robe, causing my nerve endings to tingle, but I couldn’t move away. I glanced at his left ear where he’d taken a club to the head for me the day before, but there was no sign of the injury beneath the golden layers of hair. I jerked my gaze away; no way would I ask him about that again.
After several seconds of silence, my attention shifted from the moon-washed landscape to his large, well-formed hands as he played with a ring on his right index finger. The thick gold band had an intricately carved lion head in the center, its onyx eyes glinting in the moonlight.
As if there’d been no break in the conversation, Jamie said, “Of course being out of bed is no’ a crime. As long as you dinna leave the tower.”
I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what he could do with his tower when he said, “Why can’t ye sleep?” His voice sounded strained, as if it took a herculean effort for him to form a polite question.
Choosing to accept his peace offering, I answered truthfully, “I feel antsy.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head angle in my direction.
“What do ye mean by antsy?”
I glanced at Jamie, and turned back to the view so I could think rationally. “You know, restless. I’m used to physical activity, which I haven’t gotten much of since we’ve been here.”
“Aye. That I can understand.” I got the feeling he could relate to more than just the physical nature of my restlessness. “We’ve been cooped up in meetings to plan the Gathering and the Centennial for weeks.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of the Gathering—the committee was wondering if you or your friend have anythin’ that would be of benefit to examine. Such as inventions, devices, or footwear.”
“They want to see my shoes?” I stared at his profile, the strong nose and the high slope of his cheekbone shaded by dark gold stubble.
“You can tell a lot about a civilization by the construction of their garments.” He turned and met my stare, coffee-colored eyes raking over my face. “But anything ye brought with you from the mortal world would be helpful.”
“Okay … I did bring a cell phone, and—” I choked on my next words, my stomach jumping into my throat. I’d been about to tell him about Gracie’s journal, but something—some instinctive warning—stopped me.
“Are you all right?”
Gasping for breath, I muttered, “Yes” and looked away from his searching eyes. I’d finished reading the journal, so what was my deal? I had no good reason for keeping it a secret. All I knew was I needed to keep it to myself for the time being.
“What is a cell phone?”
Grateful for the change of subject, I said, “Oh, it’s a tiny communication device. But the battery—” His brows drew together over his nose. “I mean, the energy source died, so it doesn’t work.”
“I would love to take a look at this cell phone. It seems we will learn much through this Gathering.”
We both turned back to the view, a sudden silence stretched between us and I became very aware of his large body so close to mine.
Abruptly, Jamie stood up, and I turned to see him drag his fingers through his gold hair. As he lowered his hand, his bangs fell over his forehead, softening the strong angles of his face. In that moment he looked exactly like the boy I’d first seen in the parking lot.
“Why are ye smiling, lass?” I hadn’t realized my lips were curved until he spoke. Jamie smiled back, looking sheepish.
“Ah … nothing.” The smile dropped from my face. I wasn’t ready to have that conversation yet.
His eyes narrowed, and a muscle began to flex in his jaw. Clearly, something was on his mind, but I was oddly content to drink in the sight of him as he worked it out. What was it about this boy that I couldn’t resist? It was more than his appearance. The pull felt natural, like gravity or thirst—an inevitable force drawing me toward him. A force I needed to find the strength to fight … or did I?
“Shall we plan to get some exercise on the morrow?” Jamie asked, his dark eyes lighting up with boyish excitement. “We could take a hike to Muir Lea and then have a bit of archery practice?”
Finding my knees unexpectedly weak, I was grateful for the steady wall behind my back. Was Jamie MacCrae asking me on a date? Should I say no? Ask him what Sophia would think? Or maybe I needed to see this thing through, get to know him as a person, find out if he’d been envisioning me too. How could it hurt to spend a single afternoon with him?
Pushing off the wall, the question that popped out of my mouth surprised even me. “I thought you believed me to be in league with the witch.”
He arched a brow and considered for a moment before answering. “That remains to be seen.”
“But aren’t you afraid to be alone with me?” My pulse accelerated as he moved closer again, his eyes traveling from my bare toes up my body and finally resting on my face.
His lips slid into a slow grin. “Not in the way ye might think.”
Unwilling to analyze what he meant by that, I focused on answering his original question. “Okay, I’ll go. Sounds like fun.” I shrugged, trying to appear calm even though my pulse accelered with every heartbeat.
“Excellent.” He took a step closer, his eye
s never leaving mine. I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Feeling the voluminous folds of fabric under my arms reminded me that I must look like a drowning rat in the huge robe. Jamie stopped so close I could smell the warm sweetness of his breath. “After chapel, then?”
I nodded, my eyes wandering to the adorable dimple in the center of his scruffy chin.
“Verranica?” I jerked slightly, wondering how the sound of my name on his lips could rock me every single time. Raising my eyes to his, the intensity of his stare took me by surprise. “Is that my brother’s robe yer wearing?”
“Uh-huh,” I answered distractedly as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle touch of his fingers sent a wave of something like magma all the way to my core. Quickly, he jerked his hand away from my face and clenched his fingers into a tight fist. A vein pulsed in his throat, but his expression had gone stony again.
“See that Fiona gets you your own.” And with that parting order, he was gone.
Even as the echo of his footsteps faded, I questioned the sanity of agreeing to go anywhere with this boy. His presence lingered in my blood like a drug, making my head spin. What would a whole afternoon spent with him do to me? I took a deep, steadying breath. Regardless, I had to find out if he was the reason I was here. And more importantly, if he wanted me to stay.
CHAPTER 18
Mackenna
More provincial costumes, more petrified villagers on the verge of a hate crime, and more of creepy, bulge-eyed Gideon. Ugh. Top that off with religious conformity and the Centennial could not arrive soon enough.
I stood outside the old stone church, Ye Auld Kirk o’ Doon, determined not to let my intimidation get the best of me. My folks had never been churchgoers, so the whole worship concept—from the unnatural dressy clothes to the organized rites that everyone seemed to perform by osmosis—felt foreign and forced. Like doing a mash-up of Spring Awakening and Spam-a-lot.
I’d wanted to ditch, but Fiona had insisted it would appear worse if Vee and I didn’t attend. So I’d let her dress me in yet another Girl-Scout-meets-pirate-wench ensemble: a calf-length skirt—dove gray—and a white cap-sleeved top that laced at the neckline. Vee, my mirror twin, wore a matching top and a pale turquoise skirt. We both sported plaid sashes bearing the Doon colors, but I drew the line at the matching hats. I would never be that desperate to blend in.
Fiona sensed my unease and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Be at peace, Mackenna. This house is come as ye are.”
“Yeah, don’t sweat it, Ken.” Vee meant to be helpful, so I resisted the urge to reach over and flick the royal blue pom-pom on the top of her head. Of course, she looked fabulous in her tam—all native and confident. I, on the other hand, felt conspicuously out of place … and time, for that matter.
Rather than voice my feelings, I managed a somewhat sincere smile. “Let’s do this, then.”
As we entered the ancient structure of hewn rock and stained glass, I couldn’t help but search for Duncan’s gorgeous face. His velvet-brown eyes fastened on mine and his mouth widened into a lopsided grin. Across the distance, he sent a message meant only for me, a wink of reassurance even more intimate than our dancing the previous evening. My cheeks began to burn with the curse of the ginger and I dropped my head, annoyed that the charming ogre could make me blush with the merest facial tick. To my immense relief, rather than join him we took seats about halfway back.
From directly behind the princes, Gabby waved and flashed an impatient smile. I had no doubt she was anticipating a dance-by-dance recap of the previous evening. The kid meant well, but I wanted to spare Vee the agony of reliving the night at all costs.
As the service started, Gabby reluctantly turned around to face front alongside her parents and multitude of siblings, including the breathtaking Sofia. Gabby whispered something in Sofia’s ear, which caused her to glance over her shoulder in our direction before giving her full attention to the proceedings. Teeny-weeny Sofia was not smiling.
Commotion up front indicated the start of the service. The minister, an elderly man with thick, gray sideburns, whom we’d already met a handful of times since our arrival, cleared his throat and pronounced, “Let us commence by remembering the Miracle.” His strong rolling brogue echoed through the space.
“When Wise King Angus Andrew Kellan MacCrae retreated ta the castle chapel ta pray for deliverance for his people, those that weren’t in battle wi’ the witch and her minions gathered in ye Auld Kirk ta pray for guidance for their king.”
The preacher was a natural storyteller. Despite myself, I leaned forward and hung on his every word. “’Twas not jus’ the king who won favor that blessed day but all the people o’ Doon with their selfless petitions. It was the kingdom’s unity which invoked the Miracle. The people pledged never ta forsake their kingdom. In return, they were granted protection from evil, a bountiful land, and new citizens ta multiply their population. That is the great covenant between the people o’ Doon and their Protector.
“Now let us recite the Prayer of Unity in preparation of the Centennial.”
A single child, a girl of about nine or ten with pale hair and freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose, stood and began to sing in a high soprano. After the first verse, Jamie MacCrae—of all people—echoed her, his strong tenor pitch perfect. By the chorus, the entire congregation had joined in. Italian, French, and several languages I couldn’t readily identify melded together in a melodic petition.
The prayer was so beautiful—even more moving than “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Carousel—that I wanted to cry. A sniffle from Vee on my right and the outright sobbing of Fiona on my left reassured me that I was not the only one.
As the service concluded, the congregation began to stir and break the spell. Doonians clumped together peering at us with trepidation; I heard several murmurs about black petunias, and yet again the names Roddie MacPhee and Millie Ennis. Across the sanctuary, Gideon appeared ready to burn us at the stake.
In sudden need of air, I strode toward the door. Before I made it outside, someone grabbed my elbow. My free hand balled into a fist as I swung around and nearly punched Duncan MacCrae in the jaw.
“We’re ready to set off for Muir Lea.” He slipped his arm through mine, oblivious to the ripple of gossip he created by doing so.
One look at his candid expression confirmed not all Doonians were hypocrites.
The road bumped and thumped so that my teeth rattled continuously. As the royal carriage jostled its way up the mountain, I gained new insight into the turnip I’d played in first grade. Vee, of course, had been a cute little strawberry with an adorable lisp while I had the honor of being drab, hugely round produce.
If I ever portrayed a turnip again, I would tap into the impatience to get somewhere—anywhere—where I wasn’t constantly knocking knees with the other turnips, the expectant, searching glances of one smokin’ hot turnip in particular, and the uncertainty of what was coming next. Yep, in the future I’d make one Oscar-worthy root vegetable.
After an eternity plodding uphill, Fergus halted the carriage. “This is as far as I go,” he announced cheerfully.
It appeared to be the end of the path—the cart path, at least. I looked about me in confusion. We’d stopped on the side of a steep mountain at a dead end. Aside from the road, which was just wide enough for the carriage to turn around, the ground sloped sharply in either direction—one way steeply down, the other sharply upward. This was their highnesses’ fabulous picnic spot?
“Wow.” Unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I gestured to our unremarkable surroundings. “This is amazing.”
“We’re not there yet, woman.” Duncan flashed me a conspiratorial smile. “Fiona? Would ye mind staying here and keepin’ Fergus company?”
I looked back to see Fergus unhitching the horses. He considered Fiona shyly, already turning a patchwork of pink. Unfazed, Fiona unloaded wicker baskets from the trunk of the carriage. “Aye. I
packed an extra basket just in case.”
Jamie gave the girl a rare grin, handed a picnic basket to his brother, and took another for himself. “Thanks, to the both of you. We’ll be back before sunset.” His eyes were full of mischief and adventure as he turned to Vee. “Ready, then?”
My bestie had mentioned bumping into him during the previous night … and based on the sparks zinging between them, it must’ve been one heck of a bump. Without so much as a glance my direction, Vee nodded and they were off. Straight up the side of the mountain like poster children for extreme sports.
Skeptically, I examined the path they’d just taken. “Where exactly is this place?”
“Not far.” Duncan’s boyish, lopsided smile inspired confidence. “Muir Lea’s just a wee bit up the hill.”
Just a wee bit up the hill turned out to be a grueling hike. A hike that, if I’d known just how arduous, would’ve tempted me to stay in the carriage. Apparently, we were going to the top of the mountain peak. That, or Duncan was trying to kill me.
About thirty feet from the top I collapsed on a boulder and chugged from the water pouch Duncan handed me. When I showed no inclination to get back up, Duncan towered over me, his arms crossed over his chest. He tilted his head teasingly. “We’re nearly there now. You need me ta carry you the rest of the way?”
The idea of Duncan MacCrae throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of, well, turnips got me on my feet again. I began to climb, stubbornly ignoring his quiet chuckles and the idea that I’d played right into his hands. Whatever this place was, I doubted anything could be worth the hassle.
The top of the rise opened up into a craterlike field, emerald green and lush, dotted with wildflowers and majestic trees. A clear stream bisected the meadow down the middle, and at the far end, just out of sight, I could hear the trickling of a waterfall. The warm air was fragrant and alive with butterflies of every imaginable hue. If Doon was Utopia, Muir Lea was its Eden.