Destined for Doon (26 page)
Jamie followed, crowding the windowsill so that my only view was the back of his head. “I warned him about knowing his limit. He clearly didna listen.”
Vee, who’d started nervously tidying up her surroundings, looked everywhere but at me as she added, “Does he ever?”
The way they spoke — it was like Duncan was some lost cause in need of an intervention, not a caring, loyal prince who’d do just about anything for anyone. I raised myself up on tiptoe, but it wasn’t enough to see out. “Is he okay?”
Jamie turned away from the window, his expression guarded. “He’s fine. Just soused is all.”
As in drunk?
To prove his brother’s point, Duncan bellowed my name again. With Jamie gone, I rushed forward. Fiona moved out of the way, and I looked down to see Duncan standing in the middle of the courtyard with his face lifted toward the sky.
Scotland’s legal drinking age was eighteen. And in Doon, which was more medieval than modern, to drink one only needed to be “of age” . . . Whatever that meant. Even though Duncan could legally drink by both standards, I knew he didn’t approve of drunkenness. At least, the boy I used to know didn’t.
While I watched, he threw his head back and yelled my name with so much force that he was thrown off balance. After staggering a couple of steps, he recovered and bellowed again.
I’d seen enough. Turning back, I frowned at my friends. “Has he done this before? Gotten drunk and shouted some girl’s name at the top of his lungs?”
Fiona shrugged. “Once or twice. But the last time was weeks ago, so we thought the worst was over.”
“And not some random girl’s name.” Vee paused to look at me apologetically. “Just yours.”
“Mackenna!”
“My brother’s an idiot,” Jamie grumbled to himself before addressing Vee. “I’ll go talk some sense inta him.”
“No. I should go.” I hurried to beat Jamie to the door, but my best friend stepped in my path.
Vee’s large eyes shone with pity. “I don’t think that’s the best idea. Why don’t you let Jamie — ”
“But he’s not asking for Jamie, is he? This is my mess to fix — I’ll go.”
As I passed Jamie, he grabbed my arm. “Is that what my brother is to you, a mess? This is all your doing, ye know. He’s not the same boy you abandoned on the bridge. Have ye not figured that out yet?”
“Jamie!”
Vee’s reprimand briefly redirected his anger toward her. “Well, ’tis the truth, and someone should tell it to her.” And then back to me. “You broke his heart.”
“I know.”
It was all I could think of to say. Ever since I’d experienced my first Calling delusion with Duncan in Chicago, a million thoughts had run through my head, from excuses to apologies. But in that moment words failed to convey the depths of my regret. So rather than answer, I stared at Jamie MacCrae’s hand until he let go. Then I strode out the door to face my music.
I
descended the stairs with my heart thrumming in my ears. My chest felt like it had been trampled by giants. As I stepped into the courtyard to face the consequence of my actions, the full weight of my guilt settled in an ache above my eyes.
Duncan stood with his back to me in the middle of the torch-lit courtyard. As I approached he flung his arms wide and bellowed my name to the heavens. Swaying ever so slightly, he continued to face the stars, waiting for answers. Finally, he dropped his head in resignation and my heart could take no more.
“I’m here.”
He spun around, his torso moving more loosely and quickly than his legs so that he had to stagger to remain upright. After pausing for a moment to ensure his balance would hold, he blinked at me as if he didn’t trust his own eyes. “’Tis really you?”
“In the flesh.”
“An’ what beautiful flesh it is.” He lurched toward me, and I rushed forward to intercept him before he fell down. His large
hands pawed at my face while I struggled to get his arm around my shoulder for support. “You came back. I never stopped looking for ye.”
“I’m here.” There was no way I’d be able to keep him upright if he stumbled again. In the absence of benches, I pointed to the wide steps leading to the formal entrance of Castle MacCrae. “How about we go sit on the steps over there?”
“Aye.” Duncan staggered across the courtyard, his momentum propelling me along with him. A foot from our destination, we went sprawling. One moment I was careering toward the stone steps, the next I was lying on top of the prince of my dreams in a tangle of arms and legs.
For a moment we stared at one another in surprise. Pressed against his chest, I could feel his heart beating out an adrenaline-fueled rhythm that matched mine. It was like that moment in a movie where the action morphs into slow motion.
Duncan lifted his head, his perfect lips parting in a silent invitation. Without consciously deciding what to do next, my mouth answered. The moment our lips touched the universe unraveled and re-formed so that it revolved around our kiss. Nothing else existed or mattered.
Gradually, my consciousness extended outward — his tongue moving in counter-rhythm to mine; his hands reacquainting themselves with the contours of my back and neck; to the small noise he made as he pulled me closer.
His mouth tasted sharp yet spicy, like ale and desperation. Clasping me in an impossibly tight bear hug, Duncan wrapped his solid legs around mine and rolled us in unison so that I was trapped beneath him. The freezing stairs dug into my back as he crushed me in a good way. His mouth moved to blanket my neck in sloppy, reckless kisses. He was drunk and I craved his touch — but how far would I let this go?
If the tables were turned, Duncan would never take advantage of me. He was not that kind of person. He was honorable and loyal and — suddenly this felt all wrong. I wanted him back, but not this way.
I couldn’t help but feel in the sober light of day, this would be one more mistake to pile onto our long list of regrets.
“Stop.” Lightly shoving, I pushed Duncan back enough to get his attention. His face darkened like he was waking from a dream — make that a nightmare, because he stared at me clearly horrified by his actions.
In one swift action, he rolled away. His momentum sent him crashing in the opposite direction and his shoulder smacked against the stone step. With a groan, he gingerly pulled himself to a sitting position and dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m so sorry, Mackenna,” he moaned. “You have a boyfriend. Wretched, odious Wallace.”
“Weston.” I said numbly. Now that we’d separated, the night felt bitterly cold. My thin maxi dress, which was perfect for hours of dancing, offered no protection from the elements. “He lied. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Have ye told that to him? He wanted you, Mackenna.” Still leaning over his knees, his arm flew at me in a reckless gesture of emphasis. “I can tell when a lad fancies a lass.”
Since we were getting to the truth of our relationships, I hesitantly asked, “The same way you fancy Analisa?”
His head bobbed in his hands. “Ana and I meet in secret. I tell her things I canna tell you.”
The alcohol hindered his discretion; he wasn’t intentionally trying to wound me. But his confession still hurt like crazy. “What kind of things?”
Angling his face to look at me, he said gravely, “I caused the limbus.”
“What? How — ”
“Over you. I wished for you ta come to Doon. I asked the Protector to bring you back to me. And I kept begging him for you, even after it was clear we weren’t meant to be together.”
He straightened up so that once again I could see only his shadowy profile. “Back in the barn, after I saved you — you said in some cultures we’d be bound for life. But the truth is we were bound long before that. I am bound to you . . . and I canna ever be free, even if I wished it with all my might. And now my kingdom suffers for my weakness.”
Despite his mixed signals, Duncan wished to be rid of me. Although I had suspected as much, to hear him confess it was more than I could endure. An invisible vise gripped my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My eyes started to sting. I wanted to run away, but I felt I had a responsibility to ease the mind of the guilt-ridden boy next to me.
Angling my body toward his until our knees brushed, I said, “The limbus isn’t your fault. Things will look better in the morning. I promise.”
He lurched toward me, bracing his hand on my shoulder to stop himself just before we collided. “You
promise
? You, Mackenna Reid, break your promises — just like you break hearts.” His smooth, velvet brown eyes searched my face. “Why did ye leave me?”
Unable to bear his scrutiny a moment longer, I focused on the lights of the village in the distance. “Remember how when you saw me perform in Chicago you knew I belonged there?”
“Aye.” He rested his head on my shoulder and snuggled close.
“You belong in Doon. This is where you’re supposed to be — helping villagers mend fences and repair barns and watching out for your brother. You love Doon.”
“Tha’ I do.”
“My turn,” I said, savoring the feel of Duncan’s face burrowed into my neck. “How come you didn’t tell me you were Finn?”
After a weighty pause, his breath hitched as he let out a soft snore. Disappointment burned in my chest. I reclined against the stairs with Duncan curled against my side, sound asleep. Staring at the predawn light washing away the stars, I tried not to wonder how much of Duncan’s conversation had been the ale talking . . . And how much had been the truth.
One-hundred and seventeen steps — I paused at the top of the tower to knock on the heavy wooden door before letting myself in. Since my return to Doon, this was the first occasion I’d had to visit Duncan in his chambers. Afternoon sunlight cut through his floor-to-ceiling window, reminding me how much his rooms felt like home. Whenever I imagined living in Doon, this was the place I pictured inhabiting.
Duncan came from the bedroom, barefoot but otherwise dressed. In one hand he held a pair of riding boots. His other hand was pressed to his temple, shielding his squinting eyes from the light. Considering that I’d only recently crawled from bed myself — and I’d gone to sleep somberly sober — I was impressed he was even up. He had to be harboring one doozy of a hangover.
When he saw it was I who’d knocked, he frowned. “What are ye doing here?”
I shrugged, suddenly unsure of the wisdom of my decision. “Checking on you.”
Although I knew it would be better to keep a deliberate distance, like a self-imposed restraining order, something in my heart needed reassurance that he was — or would be — okay.
Duncan sat down in one of the high-backed chairs with a wince. “Jamie already beat you to it. He stood over my bed ringing a bloody cow bell.”
“Oh!”
He moaned in agreement. “Apparently, I got quite inebriated last night. It took four o’ my brother’s men to carry me up to my chambers.”
I remembered. Shortly after Duncan fell asleep, Jamie appeared with four big Scotsmen. Under Jamie’s direction, they hoisted the passed-out prince off of me. With no more than a good night, they headed in one direction while I slunk off the other way. “What do you remember?”
“Having pints at Rosetti’s Tavern and then nothing . . . until the cow bell. According to Jamie, I was passed out in the courtyard, and that’s where he and his men came upon me.”
“That’s it?”
“Aye.” He began pulling on his boots. “Did you hear any different?”
“Just that you were feeling a little melancholy.” I pulled a wrapped present from my pocket.
He paused briefly. “Heard . . . or did we happen to run inta each other last night? If we did, you shouldna heed anything I might’ve said, as I didn’t mean it.”
My instincts told me otherwise. I believed his confession on those cold stone steps. Duncan still resented me for breaking his heart and not allowing him to move on. He was still bound to the selfish shrew who’d ruined his life — which sucked for him.
While there were parts about the previous night I was glad he couldn’t recall — like our make-out session — I was bummed he wouldn’t remember what I said about Weston. No matter how many times I tried to set the record straight about me and Wes, the universe seemed determined to get in the way.
He returned to his boots with a grunt. “I don’t condone drunkenness. I’m mightily sorry for whatever grief I might’ve caused due to my lack of judgment.”
As he straightened up, I asked, “Where are you going?”
He stood and walked around me to retrieve his duffel bag. “There’s been a development with the limbus. One o’ the outlying farms has been swallowed up. It should’ve been evacuated, but we canna find the farmer or his wife.”
“Oh.”
Nodding to the gift, he asked, “What’s that?”
“Nothing. I mean, just a little something . . . to cheer you up.” He extended his hand and I placed the present in his palm, careful to avoid direct contact. “You can open it when you return.”
He flipped it over in his hands. “I’ve a moment now.” Edging open the waxed paper, he stared at the dried starfish inside.
“So you could keep a little piece of the tidal pool with you,” I explained. “I named her Maureen II.”
