Destined for Doon (7 page)
He shook his head. “Nay. She’s Maureen.”
“Why Maureen?”
He favored me with his uneven smile and a mischievous shrug. Clearly there was more to the name than he was willing to say. Beyond our tide pool, I spied a section of beach littered with shells. With a little luck I’d find a washed-up starfish among the debris — Maureen’s twin sister, one that had already given its life and would make the trip back to Doon. “Seems
like you two could use some alone time. I’m going to head down the beach a bit.”
He nodded absently — too busy bonding with Maureen to acknowledge me. I picked my way through the sand to a cluster of shells that’d been left high and dry by the tide. Poking out of the sand was exactly the thing I was looking for.
I hastily picked up the little mummified starfish and slipped it into my pocket just as Duncan called out, “What’re ye doing?” Later when we were in Doon, I would surprise him with it.
To cover my tracks I answered, “I want to gather a few shells for Vee.” I stopped just short of blurting out, “Since she’s never gonna get to the ocean again.”
As with anything in life, living in a secret Scottish kingdom was a trade-off. I knew Vee would happily forsake the ocean to live with her prince in a world where she belonged and was loved — what girl wouldn’t?
Duncan walked toward me in the surf. “Great idea.”
My heart hitched. It took me a moment to realize he was responding to the thing I’d said about collecting shells for Vee and not my musings about love.
With a small exclamation, he bent over, scooped something into his hand and then straightened again, holding his treasure triumphantly in the air for me to see. As Duncan held up the white scalloped shell, his smile radiated from his mouth into the depths of his brown eyes, causing them to shine as he ran his fingers through his dark hair to form chaotic peaks. My heart seized. It was the very same gesture I remembered from when we were kids and he used to play with me on the Brig o’ Doon.
Back then he was my imaginary friend Finn. And I had no idea his appearance was some form of what the Doonians referred to as the Calling — soul mates reaching toward one another across time and place.
Unable to resist, I drifted toward him. The ocean swirled around my toes as I worked next to him gathering shells. Without warning the receding tide ripped the sand from beneath me, and I crashed onto the beach, landing on my hip. Duncan collapsed next to me. As I caught my breath, I looked at the boy sprawled at my side, whose surprise mirrored my own. Suddenly, we were laughing.
In unison, we flopped onto our backs and howled. Despite the cold, wet sand, Duncan was a furnace. Even from a few feet away, his warmth washed over me. Scooting closer, I turned my head to catch him staring at me. Down the beach, a crab scurried along the surf, its claws clicking a hollow melody that sounded suspiciously like “Kiss the Girl.”
Feeling like a mermaid with a brand new set of legs, I contemplated Duncan’s very tempting lips and his mouth froze in a half smile. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as his eyes pulled me into the fathomless depths of his soul.
My pulse pounded in the base of my throat. It overrode rational thought as I murmured, “Kiss.”
Duncan answered with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head, and then rolled onto his elbow so that he hovered over me. Afraid the tiniest movement would break the spell, I froze as his gaze lingered on my lips before leaping to my eyes.
With an agonizing slowness, he lowered his face to mine. I could sense his minty breath against my skin. When his lips were close enough to taste, I let my eyes drift shut and . . .
Holy Schwartz!
A giant wave surged over my head.
Salty water pummeled my face, clogging my nose and mouth as the mighty ocean forced us apart. Sputtering, we scrambled out of its reach. By the time the evil wave receded, Duncan was on his feet, laughing as he dripped from head to
toe. He reached for me, and I slid my hands into his and let him pull me up. His velvet smooth expression caused a wild rumpus in my chest. My mouth went dry as my heartbeat grew manic with giddy pleasure. But as much as I wanted to smush myself against him and never let go, my head shouted that I needed to come clean.
“I have to tell you about Weston.”
The smile that I craved more than oxygen vanished, the spark between us doused not by the wave — but by my inner Jiminy Cricket. Stupid conscience!
Duncan dropped my hand. “No, ye don’t.”
He headed back up the beach to the spot where we left our shoes and bags. I followed after him, trying to figure out what I’d done. The truth was supposed to set us free, wasn’t it? “Wait.”
By the time I reached the bench, Duncan had his shoes back on. I collapsed next to him. “Look,” I pleaded. “I’m sorry.”
He regarded me unapologetically. “Believe me. ’Tis I who’s sorry. I shouldna have let myself get carried away.” Standing, he shouldered our bags and fixed his gaze on the horizon. “Time’s up, Mackenna. Let’s go.”
Without another word he slipped Vee’s ring onto his finger and turned toward the invisible cliffs that would lead us to Doon.
The hike up the treacherous mountainside to the northwestern border was a nightmare in wet clothes. My jeans chaffed. My shirt clung to my torso like a wetsuit, and my gritty undergarments scraped with every step. Several spots on my skin had been rubbed so raw that my outer irritation nearly matched the irritation I felt on the inside. Partially at Duncan. But mostly
toward myself for not clearing up the whole Weston thing right away.
For the better part of the morning, I slogged miserably behind the boy of my dreams humming the music to
Bring it On
:
the Musical
. In Vee’s withdrawal from the modern world, she’d missed the show about singing, dancing cheerleaders. The movies had been one of our guilty pleasures, so the least I could do when I arrived was reenact for her the highlights from the national tour.
Just as I was building to the big number at the end of act one, Duncan slowed his pace. Ahead of him, I spied a clearing that I recognized as Muir Lea, Doon’s Eden-like meadow high in the northern mountains. If I hadn’t been so chaffed, I’d have done a happy dance — complete with jazz hands.
The lush grassy space, dotted with wildflowers and lazy butterflies, looked just as I remembered. Of course on my last visit, my biggest concern was whether or not Prince Duncan would try to kiss me . . . and if I wanted to kiss him back. (He hadn’t and I did.) This time I was stressed about real things, like salvaging our relationship, saving the kingdom from the zombie fungus, and surviving the rest of our journey in my hateful clothes.
A dozen steps into the lea, Duncan set down our bags — which he’d insisted on carrying up the mountain. Before you could say Sweet Baby Sondheim, he pulled off his shirt.
“What’re you doing?” I demanded, my voice cracking like a thirteen-year-old boy’s.
“Changing out o’ these wet clothes.”
It was like trying not to stare into the sun. Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t look away from his half-nakedness. The curse of the ginger prickled up my neck to my cheeks as I sputtered, “Geez! Warn a girl first.”
A familiar twinkle lit his eyes as he reached for his belt. “Just so ye know, I’ll be takin’ my trousers off now.”
The air I so desperately needed fumbled in my throat as my face went from warm to volcanic. He was going to make me swoon — literally! Any second I would face-plant into the grass. Fisting my nails into my palms, I focused on the pain as I took a deep breath.
When I finally found the strength to look away, he teased, “I didna know you were so afflicted with modesty.”
Had he just called me a prude?
“I’m not!” I spat, glancing at him and getting an eyeful of checkered boxers before looking away again. “It’s just — just that, I mean — .”
“Your boyfriend Wheaton wouldn’t approve.” All traces of humor vanished from his voice.
“Weston.” I corrected half-heartedly. “Can we just talk about him? Please.”
“I’d rather not.”
“But he’s — ”
“I said I’d rather not discuss the bloke.”
Fine! At least I tried to tell him the truth. As I listened to Duncan pulling on his boots, I wondered what I would’ve said to explain about Wes. He was a jerk, and my director — and against my better judgment, I’d dated him, which was complicated enough. But the real confusing part was how being with him made me feel achingly bereft. When I was with Wes, my life became a two-dimensional farce.
“Finished.” Duncan’s soft growl drew me back to the present. When I swung around, he averted my gaze as he said, “Let’s get on, then.”
So much for resting. Duncan had changed out of his jeans and Chucks into typical Doonian clothes: sturdy leather boots,
dark breeches, and a soft-looking, cream-colored tunic. He looked so warm and comfortable that I determined not to take another step until I changed into something equally as comfy.
Duncan hoisted my bag onto his shoulder just as I made a desperate grab at it. “Wait. I need to change too.”
He let my bag gently drop and I began rummaging around for a suitable outfit. I hadn’t thought to pack sweats — because, well, that would imply I intended on exercising.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t packed any of my rehearsal clothes either. The only soft pants I had were for sleeping. So I was declaring this day — whatever day it happened to be on the Doonian calendar — Doon’s official pajama day.
I grabbed pink flannel bottoms that went with my Evolution of Acting top. Duncan crossed his arms and waited, his face pinched into a frown. Whether the expression was annoyance with me or disapproval over Wes, I was afraid to guess. “Turn around and don’t peek.”
He immediately complied. “Trust me, ye have naught to worry about. I promised your beau not to lay a hand on you, and I wouldna go back on my word.”
“But you already did,” I said as I stripped off my wet shirt and quickly shimmied into my jammie top. “You touched me at the bridge, when I saw the limbus.”
And on the beach when we almost kissed.
“That was an extreme situation,” he replied softly. With my back to him, I could barely make out his words. “I had ta make an exception.”
Next, the tricky part. After a quick glance confirmed Duncan was not looking, I wrestled free of my jeans. I quickly swapped my soggy grannie panties for clean ones and stepped into my flannel bottoms . . .
Ahhhh, cotton.
Fully clothed again, I switched socks and wriggled back into
my athletic shoes. All the other footwear I’d packed were open-toed sandals or flip-flops. And while I’d been sadly deficient in my choices of practical clothing, I had had the presence of mind to pack at least a dozen different colors of nail polish.
I tossed my wet things into my bag. As an afterthought, I grabbed my damp jeans and fished Uncle Cameron’s ring from the pocket. “Done,” I announced.
Duncan turned around and pieced me with a cold glare. “I’m sorry I broke my promise. It will not happen again.”
The air between us felt so charged, I couldn’t seem to hold my tongue. “Good.”
Duncan snatched up our bags while I slipped the Ring of Aontacht onto my finger. Holy Schwartz! The instant I put the ring on, Muir Lea changed. The ungodly stench of rot slammed into me so that I pinched my nose with my fingers. My eyes stung, and I swiped at them with my other hand, trying to clear my vision.
The woods on the far side of Muir Lea were ravaged by the zombie fungus. It was just beginning to ooze into the meadow. And Duncan was headed right toward it.
“Stop!”
He looked back at me, his confusion quickly turning to alarm as I hunched over, breathing heavily through my mouth. He searched the meadow, looking for signs of distortion that indicated the presence of the limbus. As he squinted toward the opposite end, a small patch of yellow flowers withered. They collapsed into a slimy brown pile as black petunias blossomed in their place.
“It’s reached Muir Lea, hasn’t it?” he exclaimed. He didn’t even try to mask the fear in his eyes. “Soon the northern pass will be cut off. And if it continues to work its way around the borders, we’ll be trapped.”
Imprisoned within a ring of zombie-producing rot — I couldn’t think of a worse way to die. Or in this case, not die. I just hoped when we reached Castle MacCrae, Vee had some solution in mind to save the world . . . again.
T
he comforting aroma of tangy tomato sauce and rising pizza dough made the Rosetti Tavern the ideal setting for my meeting with the small group of Destined who’d managed to cross the Brig o’ Doon during the last chaotic Centennial. The familiarity of the place seemed to put all of us at ease.
Pizza: the great equalizer.
But at that moment, even the anticipatory growl of my stomach couldn’t hold my attention. After last night’s lengthy discussion with my advisors about the border hazards and the recent disappearances, not to mention Jamie and me fighting about what we should tell the kingdom, the voices at the table droned into a lullaby. I sat up straighter and rubbed the tiredness from my eyes.