Doon (Doon Novel, A) (16 page)

M
ore 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.

“Wow!” Okay, so maybe it was worth it.

“Did I not tell ye?”

I ignored his “I told you so” and drank in the wild, unexpected beauty of this secret field. A view-inspired soundtrack—mostly
The Sound of Music
—played in my head.

At the far end of the meadow, I spotted Vee and her very nice prince slipping into the woods. Fabulous! Just what I wanted—more hiking. In hopes of convincing Duncan that we’d gone far enough, I turned to catch him staring at the other half of our little group. The wistful, unguarded expression on his face caused my heart to wrench.

When he caught me staring, he flashed me a sheepish grin. “I think my brother likes your friend.”

And my friend loved his brother. But that wasn’t my secret to tell, so instead I answered with a casual shrug. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“He’s just reserved. What lad has confidence enough to go after what he wants without a little encouragement?”

“If you say so.”

“What say you to giving them a bit o’ alone time?”

I was for anything that didn’t involve traipsing through the forest like a Sondheim character. When I agreed, Duncan spread a green and blue plaid quilt in the shade of a giant tree and bade—there was no other word that quite captured the courtliness of his action—me sit. After our grueling hike, I eagerly complied, collapsing next to him on the soft blanket with a sigh of relief.

“Comfy now?” As he set the picnic basket off to one side, his cheeks pulled the corners of his mouth in a lopsided tug-of-war.

“I guess.” I ignored his self-satisfied smirk and straightened my skirt. “I’d feel better if I were wearing pants.”

Duncan reacted to my words as if he’d swallowed a nest of bees. “You’re—not—wearin’—any pants?”

“No, I’m not. I’m wearing this skirty thingy.”

He made a croaking noise. His eyes looked about to pop out of his head as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “And what about underneath?”

“That’s none of your business!” The words came out with a squeak as I smoothed my skirt protectively over my thighs. What a perv! Did he really just march me all the way up here in the hopes of getting lucky?

Expression still aghast, he pointed at me. “You made it my business, just now, with your little announcement. Didn’t you?”

Prince or no prince, this was going too far. Duncan crossed a line and I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. “I don’t see why you feel entitled to have a say in whether a girl prefers pants or a skirt. Is there some royal decree I’m missing?”

“Hold up for a moment.” He furrowed his features, thinking
hard. “When you say ‘pants,’ what exactly are ye talking about?”

With a frustrated roll of my eyes, I explained as patronizingly as possible. “Cloth that covers up your legs. It goes from your hips to your ankles. Like what you’re wearing.” I indicated the form-fitting clothing Duncan seemed to prefer over the traditional Scottish kilt. Not that I had any complaints.

“Oh.” His wide eyes blinked rapidly as he processed my description. Then he looked at me with a broad smile that dissolved into gut-wrenching laughter. “Tha’s a relief. I thought you were talking about not wearing any knickers.”

Knickers, pants—same thing. I failed to see what was so hilarious. “So?”

“Do me a favor—” He paused as he shook back and forth, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that rolled from the corners of his eyes. “Next time you have the urge to talk about your ‘pants,’ please use the word ‘trousers’ instead. Even ‘breeches’ would serve. Here in Doon, your pants are what’s worn under your trousers.”

Translating in my head, I tracked my way back to Duncan’s overblown reaction and the origin of our misunderstanding. If pants were the Doonian equivalent of underwear, and I’d just insisted—loudly and repeatedly—I wasn’t wearing any …

“You thought that I …?
Agwk!
”

I flopped face first onto the blanket and willed a gaping hole to swallow me up. It didn’t matter where I ended up—China, Wonderland, a turnip truck—anywhere was better than being forced to stay here and wallow in humiliation.

“It’s okay, woman. In Doon, any conversation about one’s knickers is strictly confidential. I wouldna betray your confidence.” Duncan tried to sound sincere, but tiny guffaws punctuated his speech.

Hyper aware of the blush creeping over my skin, I burrowed deeper into the quilt. Soon I would resemble a sunburned lobster. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“Suit yourself.” Duncan reclined on his side until his head was level with mine.

I tried to shut him out and focus on the quiet peacefulness of the glen: dappled sunlight caressing my skin, the soft musical chimes of the distant waterfall, birds calling back and forth in cheery chirps. But I couldn’t ignore the warm air that tickled my hairline each time he exhaled. Heat coaxed the clean scent of leather from his skin. Vibrancy rolled off him in waves and bathed me in undeniable awareness … so much so that I began to tremble.

I turned onto my side and opened my eyes to find him considering me with a half-smile. Determined not to be intimidated by his unwavering gaze, I stared back … for all of ten seconds. I’d always sucked at staring contests, undone by the urge to blink or laugh, or in this case the desire to kiss my opponent. Instead, I looked everywhere but his sincere brown eyes, and tried to pick apart his nearly flawless features.