Shades of Doon (5 page)
I stopped at the edge of the lane where gravel road met grassy slope. “Wait. We’re not going to visit Elsie, are we?”
Duncan turned and stepped into my space so that his body fit against mine. “Why? Do ye fancy her kisses more than mine?”
“Difficult to say.” I pretended to consider his question. “She’s very fond of me.”
“So you’re needing proof of my fondness, is that it?” He captured my face between his large, callused hands and examined me at an intense, yet leisurely pace. His eyes — the color of molten chocolate — studied my brows, my nose, my cheeks, and finally my mouth. After a breathless eternity, his gaze lifted to mine, his lips slightly apart as he closed the space between us.
Kissing Duncan was like falling down a rabbit hole, the known world dropping away as I discovered a new, fantastical reality. It was equally as satisfying as being on stage . . . but less practical than drama as a vocation.
Deepening our kiss, Duncan repositioned one hand on my waist while the other twisted into my hair. I wrapped my arms around his chest, my fingers digging into his muscular back as I urged him closer. My body came alive on a cellular level, feeling everything: his breath tickling my cheek, tiny goose bumps on my arms from the breeze, the searing heat of his body pressing into me, our frenzied hearts beating in duet as his soul intertwined with mine.
Trembling, he pulled back enough to search my face. “Proof enough for ye?”
“Maybe just a wee bit more.” I flung myself at him, and we resumed kissing until we were both senseless.
When we finally parted, the world seemed sharper. Every molecule in my being zinged with awareness as Duncan slipped his fingers through mine and stepped into the grass.
Despite his gentle tug, I refused to budge. “Where are we going, really?”
He favored me with a crooked smile that was both cocky and mischievous. “Just a ways into the field.”
“But I’ll get my boots dirty.” Before I’d even returned to Doon, Vee had commissioned a half dozen pairs of boots in my size in a variety of colors. They were a surprise for when I decided to stay. The soft moss-green suede ankle boots matched perfectly with my hi-lo dress — the latest design in Vee’s Royal Rock Star collection.
“They’ll clean,” Duncan said with a chuckle.
He gently tugged my hand again while I stared at my feet in dismay. “They’re new.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, woman.” Without another word, he scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder like a sack of turnips. In spite of my half-hearted protests, he remained silent. When it became clear that resistance was futile, I calmed down and enjoyed the view — which was spectacular.
When Duncan reached the center of the field, he carefully set me down on a thick patch of grass. Feigning irritation, I smoothed my skirt before meeting his expectant gaze. “Now what?”
“I own this field.” His accompanying gesture swept his arms outward in a wide arc. “It’s not part of the MacCrae holdings. I purchased it outright last week.”
So he was the proud owner of an empty field? Big whoop. He must’ve read the confusion on my face because he turned to the side, picked up a shovel, and presented it to me like a Tony Award. “Here. Take a scoop of the earth.”
“You brought me all this way — in the middle of the night — to be a farmer? Or are you planning to kill me? Am I about to dig my own grave?”
Rather than take the bait, he placed a butterfly kiss on the tip of my nose. His long dark lashes fluttered hypnotically as he asked, “Mackenna Reid, do ye trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then dig.” He reached for my hand and wrapped it around the handle. “One shovel-full of earth will serve.”
Admittedly, I was intrigued. I scooped up a divot of dirt and deposited it next to the hole. When I met Duncan’s bright grin, he said, “Ye’ve just broken ground on Doon’s new Broadway Theater.”
Astonishment clogged my throat as the tears I’d been struggling to keep at bay flowed like a faucet stuck in the on position. This was the site of my theater — the one Duncan would construct with his own hands. The kind, loving gesture elicited a whole new level of weeping.
I felt Duncan’s arms wrap around me as he asked, “Why are ye cryin’?”
“’Cause — you’re building me — a theater,” I moaned between sobs. I’d never been a dainty crier. In fact, if you looked “ugly cry” up in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of my red, blotchy face.
He pulled back. His fingers grazed my chin, coaxing my face up until I looked at him. “I told ye that I’d build one for you. Here.” He handed me my sock.
“I know,” I gasped. “It’s — ” I blew my nose, a honking and singularly unattractive sound, into his priceless token. “It’s just so nice.”
His index finger brushed my jaw as he peered into the depths of my being. “I love you.”
“I love you, more.”
He shook his head. “Doubtful.”
Before this turned into an all-out “Anything You Can Do
(I Can Do Better)” – style throw down, I conceded to my handsome benefactor. No matter how much I struggled to find my place, Duncan would never stop reminding me that he believed I belonged in his world.
“Okay. You love me more. And I am so lucky to have you.”
Urging Vee to forget the freaky modern-day delusion had been the right thing to do. This was finally our time. And together we would create a life in which all our dreams could come true.
T
he céilidh was like a Disney movie come to life. My handsome prince lifted me into the air and we spun in a circle, my skirt fluttering in an arc behind me. I held on tight to his broad shoulders, the fiddle and bodhrán driving us faster and faster, while paper lanterns whirled into a kaleidoscope of fairy lights above our heads.
A quick strike of the drums signaled the end of our umpteenth reel and I fell against Jamie’s chest with a laugh. I’d wanted to dance and I’d certainly gotten my wish, but I was relieved when the musicians announced they were taking a break. A refreshing breeze brushed my flushed face as we made our way off the dance floor and back to our table. The warmth had leached from the autumn air as soon as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, and people gathered around cheerfully crackling fires in large brass basins, roasting sausages or warming their hands.
Jamie headed off to get us drinks while I plopped in a seat at our empty table and fanned my steamy face with a napkin. I
scanned the area for Kenna and Duncan before remembering they’d disappeared sometime during the storytelling. Kenna was still adjusting to the slower-paced life in Doon, and, not unlike many of the Destined, trying to find her place. As much as I enjoyed hearing the old folktales and legends, I imagined our storytelling was not the type of performance she felt she could sink her teeth into. Personally, I couldn’t wait until she realized the missing theater scene was a blank canvas waiting for her genius. Not only would it give her a purpose, but with no television or computers in Doon, we were sorely lacking in the entertainment department.
Propping my aching feet on an empty chair, I picked at the glittery nail polish stuck to my fingernails like superglue. Mani/pedi time had been fun until Kenna declared she’d forgotten to bring remover with her to Doon. As I peeled off a strip of Caribbean-blue sparkles, I recognized that, not unlike the stubborn adhesive, my best friend would let go of her misconceptions and self-doubts in her own time. But making her feel welcome was something I
could
help with, which is why I’d blocked off my entire morning the following day for some pure, unadulterated girl time.
The table jerked and slid three inches as Blaz pulled against his rope to get to me. He whined and then gave a short yelp to inform me of his displeasure.
I went around and knelt in front of him. “Oh, buddy, what happened? Did we leave you all alone?” He’d wound his leash around the legs of the table, so I unclipped it from his collar.
At the first click of freedom, he slathered my face with dog saliva and then curled the edges of his mouth, his tongue lolling out of his head. Who knew a dog could actually smile? But I had no doubt that was exactly what he was doing. I led him around the table, and when I sat, he tried to crawl onto my lap.
“Blaz, down!” At the sound of Jamie’s deep voice, the dog stilled immediately and flopped at my feet with a whimper. “Where’s Eòran?” Jamie handed me a cup of chilled cider.
Where
had
my guard gotten to? He’d said he had no one he wished to spend time with at the festival. “He probably just went to get some food.”
“Speaking of, can I get you anything, love?”
“Maybe a — ” A sharp bark cut off my words, and Blaz — true to his name — took off like a racehorse out of the gate. Jamie and I jumped to our feet and watched in horror as he bumped into Adam, a scientist from Ireland, who balanced three overflowing mugs of ale. The dog whooshed past him and Adam spun on his heel, liquid sloshing all over his shoes.
Then Blaz ducked under a table and sent the cobbler’s wife to her feet with a squeak, before darting into a stand of trees after a bushy-tailed cat.
“Blasted mutt! Some guard dog he’s turned out to be,” Jamie grumbled as he ran after my rapidly disappearing puppy.
I sat down again, laughing out loud at the Tom-and-Jerry-spectacle and the good-natured ribbing from those seated nearby.
“Might want ta trade that pup in for a
real
dog, yer Majesty.”
“That wee beastie needs a good wallop.”
“The Laird’ll take care o’ tha’!” the cobbler shouted, inciting sniggers all around.
I certainly hoped Jamie wouldn’t hit my sweet Blaz. I sat up straighter and craned my neck, but could no longer see either of them.
The music began again as I settled into my seat and took a sip of the cool, spiced cider. Several couples began a slow waltz-like dance, Fergus and Fiona among them. Fergus, sporting a dark purple bruise under his left eye, whirled his diminutive wife
around the floor — his meaty hands held her as if she were an exquisite china doll. Gabby Rosetti danced in the burly arms of the blacksmith’s son. And her petite older sister, Sofia, breezed by with her father, Mario.
Something about the precious way Mario looked at his daughter hit me like a punch to the sternum. My vision darkened and another couple took their place . . .
“Dad, you’re supposed to lead.” I squeezed his arm under the soft jersey of his sweatshirt and looked up into his laughing eyes. The same aqua-blue as mine.
“How can I when my daughter is a ballerina?” He took my hand and spun me out.
I did a quick pirouette, extending my leg out and back again as he held my hand above my head.
“Bravo!” He twirled me back in with a chuckle. “See, I could never compete with such grace.”
“You don’t have to compete, silly daddy. It’s just a pretend dance . . .”
Six months. That had been six months before he disappeared. Had his eyes been unnaturally bright or was I superimposing what I knew now over the memory? Had he already been thinking about leaving me? Was I such a heavy burden to bear?
My attention snapped back to the present and I noticed Sofia and Mario swaying on the edge of the dance floor, tears tracking down Sofia’s face. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help hearing her strained words.
“Why won’t the dreams stop, Papà? I canna wait to go to bed each night, but each morning when I awake I grieve for him.” She clutched a fist to her chest. “It’s like a physical ache I carry with me every moment of every day.”
“I do not know,
la mia bella
. But I do believe
i sogni
, the dreams, mean there is still hope.
Spereremo.
”
Sofia shook her dark curls. “
Non è possibile
. The bridge is closed until the next Centennial and both the Rings of Aontacht are in Doon. I’ve missed my chance at a true Calling, haven’t I?”
“I have to believe the Protector will find a way. Just look at the extraordinary circumstances that united Jamie and Duncan with their soul mates.” He tucked a stray ebony curl behind her ear, his dark eyes liquid. “Never give up hope.
Mai!
”
“
Mi dispiace, Papà.
It hurts too much to hope. I have to move forward with my life.” She stared down at her feet. “Somehow.”
Mario tipped up his daughter’s chin and brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You’ll always be
il mio tesoro
.”
My treasure.
Unable to listen to another word, I shot to my feet and began to make my way through the crowd. There were too many people, the laughter around me too loud. I didn’t know where I was going but I had to get away. My people could not see me break down. Not here, not like this.
I’d reached the last row of tables when a deep, honeyed voice filled my ears. The crowd let out a cheer, and I stopped. I didn’t recognize the words of the song, but the familiar rich tone, edged with that enticing hint of a rasp, resonated deep in my soul.
Jamie.
Someone grabbed my hand, and I turned to meet Gideon’s skeletal face. I started and jerked my fingers from his. It was still a struggle to trust the ex-captain of the guard, who’d caused Kenna and I so much trouble when we’d arrived in Doon. But the man’s genuine, almost apologetic expression kept me rooted to the spot. The witch, Addie, had controlled his every move via a curse. This was the
true
Gideon. “Yer Majesty, pardon my intrusion.” He bent in a short bow. “But the Laird sings for you.”
“How do you know?”
“’Tis an ancient Gaelic ballad w’ a verra special meaning.” His eyebrows arched into his scarred forehead.
I pivoted to see Jamie on the stage facing me, standing tall and strong, his gaze confident yet beseeching. As he sang, the wind tousled the waves of his hair across his forehead. He shoved a tawny lock out of his eyes and then extended his hand in my direction. Giggles drew my attention to the foot of the stage, where a cluster of girls had gathered like groupies at a boy-band concert, their adoring eyes glued to my boyfriend as they looped arms and rocked in time with the music. I couldn’t say that I blamed them; Jamie’s charisma was off the charts, but why was he singing for me? Why now?