Forever Doon (13 page)

D
u-dut-da-dut-dut-dut . . . Again!

Advance step, thrust, step, kick, thrust . . . Again!

Advance step, thrust, step, kick, thrust . . . Right!

That connects with . . .

Retreat step, parry, step, retreat, duck.

Turn, turn, forward, back, jump, step.

Got it? Going on . . . And—

“Mackenna!”

The blunt edge of Duncan's sword smacked me across the back and I stumbled forward. Somehow, I managed to turn the momentum of my impending face-plant into a roll. Springing back to my feet, I swung around to face my boyfriend with my sword at the ready.

“Good. That was a brilliant recovery.” Despite the positivity of his words, he continued to scrutinize me with narrowed eyes. Since taking on the role of my personal drill sergeant, he'd lost all sense of humor, and although I'd sworn not to complain, I missed his “Chuckles the Ogre” side.

He tipped his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “What do ye say to takin' the rest of the night off? I think you've earned it. If ye hurry, you can make it to the hall 'fore supper is through.”

I wasn't the type of girl who needed to be asked twice. Before he finished the sentence, I was shucking off my weapons belts and protective padding, which flopped onto the dewy grass like a slug. Although I'd been given a reprieve from Duncan's rigorous training, I still had to clean my sword and return everything to the armory, aka Mabel's barn. That would take at least another half hour.

Sighing, I reached over to gather my things, but Duncan's soft voice stopped me. “Leave them be, woman. I'll take care of your gear for ye.”

“Oh.” I'd assumed he would come to dinner. I couldn't remember the last time we'd had a meal together. “I'll wait.”

“Tha's all right. I have much to do here.” His eyes skimmed over me and continued on to the tree line. “Then I planned to check the progress of the bridge. They were beginning the apex of the arch this morn.”

I followed his gaze, wondering when we'd stopped looking at each other. “I could—uh—go with you.”

“Nay, lass. As you Yanks say, go blow off some steam. I heard that some o' the lads have planned a proper gathering after the meal—dancing and everything. Enjoy yourself.”

Apparently, while I wasn't the type of girl who needed to be asked twice, I was the type who needed to be told twice. Duncan wanted me to get lost . . . and not in the good way that involved his deep brown eyes.

“Well,” I drawled, as a sinking feeling settled in my chest. “See you tomorrow, then.”

In a daze, I headed toward the dining hall. On the short walk across the meadow, the sweat cooled on my skin. And although I started to feel the evening chill, it was nothing compared to the blizzard in my heart. Something had happened between Duncan and me—a shift too subtle and vague to give
a name to, but too substantial to dismiss. Ever since he took over my training, it had felt like he was disappointed in me; like he'd lost interest because I wasn't a good enough pupil. And he still wouldn't talk about why he hadn't wanted to train me in the first place.

As I stepped into the ginormous barn, the sounds of pipers and fiddlers reverberated from stalls across the room as they began to tune their instruments. Our converted dining hall, which consisted of a primitive kitchen at one end and long tables and benches filling the length of the space, had been decked for festivities. Boughs of purple-and-green heather wrapped artfully around the walls, interspersed with flickering golden candles, transported me to a certain Scottish kingdom in a galaxy far, far away.

Dressed in store-bought plaids, the newcomers easily outnumbered the tartan-clad Doonian refugees. Nearly everyone who had crossed the bridge from somewhere in the modern world seemed to be in their late teens or early twenties. Yet despite all their differences, the two groups intermingled like they'd know one another forever.

At a table on the opposite end of the room, I spotted Ezekiel and Jerimiah in animated conversation with a group of guys. From his gestures, I surmised that quiet little Jerimiah was telling a story—a good one from the looks of it. Both of the boys were laughing, their carefree smiles radiating across the hall.

Experiencing a touch of high school cafeteria déjà vu, I shuffled into the dinner line wondering if, after I got my food, I should insert myself into an existing group, or just go for the first open spot and eat alone. If this had been school, I'd be eating with my bestie, which I'd done from kindergarten through junior year. My friendship with Vee had, among other things, saved me from a decade of lunches eaten in a bathroom stall.

“Beautiful evening, dinna ye think so?”

I blinked out of my glory days reverie and into the smiling face of Fiona's mom as she handed me a plate heaped with stew, bread, and some sort of greens. Since I'd started training with Duncan, I'd taken most of my meals at Dunbrae Cottage, so the change in dining wear caught me off-guard. The plate was one of those fancy disposable, three-section deals that I remembered from picnics. “Paper plates?”

Caledonia Fairshaw made a sound of correction that was uniquely Scottish. “Not paper, lass. Recycled sugar cane. They're biodegradable and a mite easier on the cleanup than traditional plates. They just go in that tub and then at the end o' the evening we put 'em on the composting heap. Flatware too—on Prince MacCrae's recommendation. Such a time saver.”

For a millisecond I thought she meant Duncan, until Alasdair's face appeared over her right shoulder. Of course, he was the Prince MacCrae she was referring to—I'd have to get used to there being two of them around the camp. “I've been introducin' the good ladies ta the conveniences o' the modern world. No sense in not enjoyin' them while we're on this side o' the bridge, right, Missus Fairshaw?”

“Oh, m'Laird,” she chided, spearing him with a sidelong glance as she batted her eyelashes. “How many times must I insist ye call me Caledonia?”

Leaning in so that his bulbous nose practically grazed her neck, Alasdair replied in a low voice, “I'll call ye Caledonia,
Missus
Fairshaw, when ye start callin' me by my God-given name
. Alasdair . . .
Say it just once in that temptress voice o' yours.”

Fiona's mom ducked her head in an effort to hide the blush that was spreading across her face. Without meeting my eyes,
she said, “Enjoy your meal, Mackenna. And please forgive
Alasdair
. I'm afeared all this modern livin' has made him far too cheeky for his own good.”

Thoroughly creeped out, I hurried away from—whatever that was. Scanning the room, I spied Fiona sitting with Cheska, Greta, and a few others. As I approached, Greta and Cheska slid apart, making room directly across from Fiona.

Before I sat, Greta pointed to the backs of the two girls at the two girls on the opposite of her. “Lee and Natasha,” she mouthed. Apparently crossing the bridge as besties had elevated them to rock star status.

I slid into the open spot and let Greta handle the introductions. After greeting the newcomers, I cast a playful look at Fiona. “So . . .” I drawled. “Your mom and Alasdair . . . What's that about?”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Dinna get me started on those two.” She nibbled on a cracker. “My da's barely cold in his grave and my mum's taken up with a man old enough to be her—her—I canna even wrap my mind around him ta figure out what he is!”

“At least he doesn't sparkle in the sunlight,” I replied. Fiona and the rest of the Doonians stared at me as if I'd started speaking in tongues, and I realized my smart remark had been for Vee's benefit . . . only she wasn't around to hear it. My throat tightened as tears began to well in my eyes.

Suddenly Cheska's hand covered mine. “I was always more of a Jacob girl. Now my best friend Danissa, she loooooves Edward.”

Greta leaned in with a frown. “Who are Jacob and Edward? I've not met them. Are they newly arrived?”

Cheska giggled as she lifted her hand from mine. “No. They're from a book series—and some movies.”

The dark-haired girl sitting next to Greta, whose name I couldn't recall, paused mid-bite. “Like Harry Potter?”

Greta and her friends had discovered Vee's copies at Dunbrae Cottage, and after reading the first book, the series had spread through the Crew like wildfire. If she'd been here, Vee would've been geeking out right along with them.

Fiona pushed aside her plate. “Ches, would ye and the other girls give me a moment in private with Mackenna, please?”

As the table cleared, I indicated Fiona's full plate of uneaten food. “Feeling okay?”

“Aye,” she said, taking another bite of cracker. “Jus' a wee bit of a tummy ache. It'll pass.”

Seconds later, Fiona and I were alone. In my experience, private hardly ever equaled good. With Duncan's recent dismissal and Vee's absence casting a shadow over me, I didn't think I could handle anything else tonight. I just wanted to eat my stew in peace, and then slink back to Dunbrae Cottage and collapse into bed.

“I've been thinking about something.” Attempting to redirect the situation, I leaned in and asked in a hushed tone, “Do you think the boy from Sofia's Calling is one of the Destined? Like maybe Jeremy?”

Fiona smiled. “I've been wonderin' the same thing.”

“I hope so,” I replied, truly meaning it. “She deserves to be happy.”

“Aye. She does.”

We lapsed into silence. But as Fiona continued to scrutinize me with her shrewd, hazel eyes, I knew I wasn't going to get off that easily. For several minutes, she let me eat in silence. Then she asked, “What's on your mind, Mackenna? Besides Sofia's love life. You're not yourself this evening.”

If my bestie was sitting across from me, I would have spilled
my guts. That's how easy it was between us. Tired of feeling alone, I replied, “Duncan and I are having some issues. I mean—I'm having issues with him. I have no clue whether he's having issues back. Which I guess is part of the problem. Ever since he took over my training, we don't seem to be in sync.”

*NSYNC . . .
I smirked down at my plate, remembering just how much Vee loved JT. “And I miss Veronica—so much that she's practically all I think about. She shows up in the middle of my training to crack jokes, and every night we're together having adventures in my dreams.”

“What kind of adventures?”

“Crazy stuff, like visiting parts of Doon I've never been to.” That reminded me of the most recent episode in the nocturnal escapades of K & V. “Is there really a cattle entrance at Castle MacCrae off the lake?”

“Aye. Ye didn't know that?”

“Not before last night's dream. Vee and Oliver and some other dude were going to storm the castle like something out of
Princess Bride
—it's a movie. Anyway, when they got to the castle, they couldn't see that Addie had placed a spell around the lower level. Vee touched it and got zapped and then I woke up.”

Fiona bit at her lip. “When did these dreams start?”

“The first night we returned to Alloway.” I remembered because I dreamed that Vee was sharing a teepee with Sofia and Gabby Rosetti.

“And they're regular occurrences?”

The more I talked, the better I began to feel. “Pretty much every night. It's not
always
the castle—first it was in the woods near the bridge, and then it was a different part of the woods near the witch's cabin—where, I assure you, I've never been before. They're so vivid—the smells, the textures—it's like I'm
almost there. And they seem to last all night. Which is crazy, because the way Duncan is training me, I ought to be sleeping like the dead.”

As I unburdened myself, Fiona's eyes grew wider. She stared at me open-mouthed, and for the second time since entering the dining hall, I felt like a total weirdo. “What?”

“Mackenna. I dinna think those are merely dreams. I think you're havin' a Calling with Queen Veronica.”

“Aren't Callings usually—uh, romantic? I'm not having
those
kinds of dreams.”

“Nay. You misunderstand. Callings can be romantic in nature, and traditionally have been, but they all serve the will of the Protector and are for the good of Doon. Like Doc and Mags Benoir, who were called ta Doon together because the kingdom had need o' them—and o' course, all of the newly arrived Destined were called to save Doon. Those Callings aren't romantic.”

I hadn't thought about the newcomers as having a Calling, but she was right. “So Vee and I are having a Calling? Cool.”

She continued to gawk at me as if I were the village idiot. “Dinna ye realize what this means?”

“Kind of—I mean, sort of—but not fully, I guess.”

“It means that the two of you are connected despite being on opposite sides of the portal. You can communicate.”

M
ackenna's footsteps sounded on the cobbled stones behind me. For a lass, she had a sure, strong gait—not like that of a dainty damsel in distress, but the presence of an Amazon warrior. Now, thanks to her dedication, she was beginning to fight like one.

As she approached the bench, she stopped. It was endearing that she assumed she could watch me without my knowing it. And I allowed her that misconception, although, in truth, I was attuned to her presence in a way that was almost supernatural.

I remembered how it felt when I landed in Chicago with the purpose of escorting her back to Doon to face the Eldritch Limbus. The instant I stepped off the plane, I could feel my heart—the one that beat inside her chest—pulling me on an invisible tether. By the time I got to the theater, my entire body vibrated with the need to reclaim my soul mate.

Mackenna's name on the marquee and her face on the color advertisements beckoned to me. The performance was sold out, so I paid a young couple six times the price to get
their tickets. As I walked through the lobby, my hands began to shake so badly I could hardly manage to hold the program.

From my seat in the darkened third row, I could feel her in the wings—and when she made her grand entrance, I had to bite my lip to keep from calling out. Although her dialogue was humorous, I fought the urge to weep. After months of being numb, every nerve in my body sprang to life. Suddenly, I was alive again to experience the excruciating agony of loving Mackenna Reid.

“Boo!”

I started, causing Mackenna to chuckle as she leaned over the back of the bench. “Guess you didn't hear me sneaking up on you. I'm getting good at this.”

“Come and sit with me.” As she rounded the bench, I turned away, pretending to stare at the moon while I surreptitiously wiped at my face with the palms of my hands. For what needed to be done, it would serve no purpose for her to see me teary-eyed. Thankfully, she was too preoccupied to notice.

She reached over and grasped my hand. “Guess what?”

“What?” I asked. I focused on the river lest my emotions betray me.

“Your hand's all wet. Duncan, are you sweating? Maybe you're getting sick.” She touched my forehead with the back of her free hand. “You don't feel hot.”

“I'm not. Come here and warm a lad up.” I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her close to my chest. As she rested her cheek against my shirt, I felt her heart beating for the both of us. “What am I to be guessin'?”

Mackenna sighed, and I felt her exhalation sweep through my body down to my toes. “I've been having these crazy dreams about Vee, and Fiona thinks we're having a Calling. Do you know what that means?”

She paused as I processed the information with growing excitement. “That you should be able to communicate.”

“Geez!” She sat up and twisted in her seat to face me. “Am I the only one who didn't know this?”

The mock outrage on her face was adorable. “Apparently, woman.”

She swatted at my bicep. “Don't you ‘woman' me. I'm a modern lass, remember. There's no way I should be expected to know all your crazy Doonian hoodoo.”

“It's not hoodoo. It's destiny. The bridge should be ready by the day after tomorrow.” I pointed toward the darkened construction site where scaffolding supported the recently completed bridge. “But we only have one of the Rings of Aontacht. Without the other, we won't be able to cross.”

I had dropped the other ring, the ruby encircled with gold, when we'd fled Doon. After an extensive search of the riverbank, I was fair certain that it hadn't ended up in the modern world—which meant it was still in Doon. I just hoped that one of my kinsmen had found it and returned it to Queen Veronica. If the witch had it, we were in serious trouble.

“Son of a Sondheim! I didn't think about Aunt Gracie's ring.”

I took both her hands in mine. Her flesh felt chilled to the touch, so I gently rubbed her skin. “Why would ye? But we need to find out if the queen is in possession of it. Can you test your Calling tonight and try to communicate with her?”

“Yep. That's the plan. If she does have it, what should I tell her?”

I had given the matter of our return to Doon a lot of thought each night as I assessed the progress of the bridge. “I think we should be cautious for the first crossing. Tell her to be ready the night after next and that we'll be a small party,” I replied.
I wanted to suggest that she remain behind for the first trip across the Brig o' Doon but knew the request would be futile.

Confirming my thoughts, she asked, “Who should we take—besides us, I mean?”

“Alasdair. I'm not comfortable leaving him behind.”

“And Mutton Chops?” She lifted her eyebrows, causing me to smile at the pet name she had for Queen Veronica's most devoted guard. “I don't think he'll stay behind.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “We'll take him too.”

“What about Fiona?” Mackenna bit her lower lip in a most distracting way, her concern for our friend as plain as the freckles on her face.

Forcing my eyes away from her bewitching mouth, I met her troubled gaze and wished I could ease her distress. “I'd love to take her with us, but I'm afraid it's not practical.”

“But Fergus is on the other side,” she insisted.

Although Mackenna had become more than adequate in the art of combat, her heart still held dominion over her head. With her emotions ruling how she fought, she was unpredictable and reckless . . . which made her a danger not only to herself but to those around her as well.

“Say something, Duncan.” She tried to pull her hands away but I refused to release them.

Calmly, I replied, “I too wish to see her reunited with Fergus, but I fear this place would cease to function without her.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly still unhappy but unable to argue away my point. She let out a small huff before agreeing. “I suppose that's true. Can you at least ask her not to go overboard while we're gone? She keeps getting sick, and of course she won't stop to take care of herself.”

“Aye. I'll speak with her.” I waited for her to look at me. Instead, she watched the moon.

“I'll see if she would like us to deliver a note to Fergus. That is,
if
we can get across the bridge.” She shook her head from side to side. “Ugh! I can't believe I forgot about the other ring.”

I continued to hold her hands, unwilling to break the physical connection between us. “Don't beat yourself up, woman.”

“Speaking of beatings,” she drawled as she glanced at me and away again. “What's on the rehearsal schedule for tomorrow's training?”

I'd been giving that much thought as well. “Tomorrow we're going to exploit your weaknesses.”

Finally meeting my gaze, her breathtaking eyes narrowed in curiosity. “Such as?”

“Anything that makes you vulnerable or distracted. In battle, you have to shut out everyone and everything except the fighting around you. That's what we are going to focus on tomorrow. Revealing your weaknesses.”

Mackenna arched her brow. “And once they're revealed?”

“We eliminate them.” I shrugged in a way designed to minimize the importance of my words.

“Sounds fun.” She flashed me a smile that was all pearly teeth and sunlight. I couldn't help but smile back. She leaned in to kiss me and, in a moment of impulsiveness, I turned away so that her lips grazed my cheek. Instantly, I wished that I could take it back, but it was too late.

Pulling away, she asked, “Are you okay, Duncan?”

Unwilling to witness the hurt I'd cause her, I looked into the starry expanse of sky. “I'm fine.”

“Really?”

“Aye.” I held back the words that threatened to indicate otherwise. “Now ye best get your rest so that you're refreshed for training in the morn.”

“Okay. Well . . . goodnight.” Her cool fingertips brushed my cheek in a butterfly caress that was over far too soon.

“Goodnight.” The unspoken words I wanted to say caught in my throat. Swallowing them back, I listen to her retreating footsteps, my spirit dropping with each one.

She thought that exploiting her weaknesses sounded fun, like a drama game. But I knew all too well what waited on the morrow's horizon. How many times had I lectured to soldiers in the lists that they were only as good as their weaknesses? These flaws were so important that a fortnight had been dedicated to the identification and eradication of them. Because a warrior's weaknesses would get him, or in this case her, killed.

Since the instant Mackenna had broached the subject of fighting, I'd known that this moment would come. Tomorrow would confirm what I'd suspected from the start, a terrible fact that I would have rather not faced . . . that her fatal weakness was me—just as she was mine.