Doon (Doon Novel, A) (33 page)

T
he journey back to the castle was bittersweet. Doon was saved. And by some incredible twist of fate, I’d become its queen—which hadn’t really sunk in yet. In my heart, I knew it meant I would never have to leave the land and the people I loved. But it also meant I’d never return to the mortal world again.

Would my mom miss me or even care that I was gone? Most likely she’d be relieved when I didn’t return. She’d move on with Bob, and maybe start a new, even more dysfunctional family. What excuses would Kenna make for my disappearance?

Kenna. Something cracked deep inside my chest.
What will I do without the girl who shares my brain?

My stomach clenched. It wasn’t like before, when she’d moved to Arkansas. There would be no late-night phone calls or texts. This separation was permanent. I couldn’t conceive that I’d never hear her voice again.

She’d made the choice to pursue her dreams, and I couldn’t fault her for that. But when I looked at Duncan—his broad shoulders stooped, his face a mask of anguish—I wished with
all my heart she could’ve accepted the dream her life would’ve been with him in Doon.

I stumbled over the uneven ground as loss clouded my vision. Jamie grasped my arm to steady me, his eyes searching my face. I gave him a watery smile, my gaze lingering on his beautiful features, and my heart gave a violent twist. I’d almost lost him forever too.

With a soft smile, he tucked my arm through his and we fought our way through the thick forest together.

Silence greeted us as we entered the village. Every window was dark. As if in repose, the colorful buildings rested snuggly against one another. Had we failed to save the people of Doon after all?

I glanced questioningly at Jamie. His brow furrowed and he stopped in the middle of the street. “Listen,” he whispered.

Duncan and Fergus turned toward us. We all strained to hear the gentle melody that floated on the breeze, swelling and retreating on the gentle wind.

“They’d be in the Auld Kirk,” Duncan said with quiet determination.

“Of course!” Jamie beamed, the tension leaving his body for the first time since we crossed the bridge.

“Come on!” Fergus motioned to us and then set off in a loping stride. Duncan, Jamie, and I followed on his heels. Despite my exhaustion, energy surged through me as we ran in the direction of music that became clearer with every step.

The hymn, clear and pure, rose into the night air, causing my heart to swell within my chest.

We raced up the stone stairs of the church. Duncan and Fergus pulled opened the double doors, and all four of us stood in the entryway.

The entire kingdom of Doon stood united, their voices lifted to the sky, singing a prayer for their kingdom and the safe return of their king. Jamie’s eyes met mine as he took my hand, and we stepped into the sanctuary.

Fiona was among the first to see us. With a cry of joy, she ran down the center aisle and hurled herself into Fergus’s waiting arms. People surrounded us, their exultations and questions blending into a dizzying cacophony. Sofia flew toward us with a huge grin. Respectfully, I stepped to the side to give her access to Jamie, but stumbled back when she threw her arms around me. “You saved him, didn’t you? You beautiful girl, you saved us all,” she whispered urgently into my hair. Surprised, I met Jamie’s intense pride-filled gaze over Sofia’s narrow shoulder.

“She did save us all,” Jamie said in a reverent tone I’d never heard him use before. “In fact, it’s a story all of Doon needs to hear.”

After giving Sofia a brief hug, he held his hand out to me. Ignoring Jamie, I turned back to the tiny Italian girl, searching her lovely face. “But Sofia …”

I trailed off, unsure how to frame all the questions racing through my mind. Why was she not mad at me? How did she
feel to see Jamie holding my hand? How long would she go on loving him?

With a wide smile, she leaned close to my ear and whispered, “’Tis all right, Veronica. I’ve had a Calling o’ my own.”

My eyes widened, and I stared at Sofia in amazement. A quick glance at Jamie’s face told me this was not news to him. I arched an eyebrow and frowned. “You knew about this?”

“Aye, though in my defense it was a recent development,” he said, his lips sliding into an apologetic grin.

And just like that, I melted.

“Come.” Jamie took my hand and pulled me against his side, whispering, “Your highness.”

I smiled up into his handsome face as he led me through the crowd, to the front of the church. But as we climbed the steps to the altar, my feet began to drag. How would these good people accept the news that their newly crowned king, who’d been reared for the position since birth, had been usurped by an ordinary American girl—one who was thought by many to be in league with the devil?

But as Jamie recounted the harrowing events of our ordeal, beginning with Gideon’s enthrallment and ending with our final defeat of the witch, it became clear by the appreciative reaction of the people that I had nothing to fear.

“So, my good kinsmen, without further ado, by way of the Americas, with a wee bit of help from the Ring of Aontacht and by her strong faith and valiant self-sacrifice, may I present your new monarch. Queen Verranica!” Jamie swept into a deep bow and then dropped to a knee before me, his head bent low. The crowd rose to their feet, cheers and applause echoing to the rafters.

Humbled beyond all words, I swallowed the emotion threatening to spill out. Reflexively, I searched the crowd
for the flaming hair that signified my best friend, and found Duncan’s sad smile instead. My heart ached for Kenna’s—and also for Duncan’s—loss. But I had to believe she was here in spirit and that she would want me to grab on to happiness with both hands.

I turned to Jamie, grasped his shoulders, and pulled him to his feet. When his eyes met mine, they were dark pools of mystery. What could he possibly be up to now?

With a raise of his hand, the people quieted. Admiration rushed through me at his commanding presence, inspiring me to gain control of my shaking limbs and the sobs tightening my chest.

“Good people, as the tradition dictates, a reigning monarch must fulfill the Completing before the commencement of their official Coronation.” Translation: I needed to choose a king before I could be crowned. I stared at Jamie, unable to believe he’d bring this up now.

“I, for one, would like to know who her choice for coruler will be,” he said with a playful grin.

As the room erupted in laughter and applause, I cupped my hand over my mouth and leaned closer to him. “What are you doing?”

Jaime put his arm around me and pulled me against his side. His breath skimmed the sensitive skin on my neck as he whispered, “Ye have to choose, love.”

“But don’t I have until the next Centennial to reveal my choice?” I loved Jamie with all my heart, but this tradition was so archaic. We hadn’t even discussed how we felt about each other in private, and he wanted to do this in front of the entire kingdom?

“Nay. When ye took my place, you became queen before this Centennial ended, so you’re actually a wee bit behind.”

Some part of my exhausted brain recognized he was talking me into a corner—forcing the issue in typical Jamie fashion. Pulling away from his intoxicating embrace, I clenched my teeth against the sudden doubts crowding inside my head. I knew the Calling was supposed to lead you to your soul mate, but what if it was wrong? What if our fairy tale didn’t have a happy ending? The logical part of my brain told me to trust this blessing, but the neurotic, abandoned little girl inside me warned that Jamie would ditch me just like my father did.

I needed more time.

Drawing in a deep breath, I turned to tell him, and found the Golden Boy from my visions. With a soul-searing look, he closed the remaining distance between us. His clean scent—soap and summer storm—engulfed me as he leaned down to my ear. “Verranica, I will never leave you.”

I stared up at my beautiful prince, tears gathering in my eyes. How did he always know exactly what I needed to hear? Then a tiny voice inside of me answered: Because the Calling is real and your destiny is standing right in front of you.

My heart hammering in my chest, I clutched his hand, took a step back, and lifted my chin. “I choose you, James Thomas Kellan MacCrae, to be my king and coruler.” My voice rang strong and clear, prompting a mass intake of breath from the crowd.

A slow, dazzling smile spread across Jamie’s face as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. In words meant only for me, he said, “Verranica, when ye called me out for doubtin’ our Divine Ruler and told me I had to put the people of Doon before my own desires, I knew you were my perfect match, and we were meant to be together. I’m verra sorry that it took me so long to trust what was between us.

“But, in my heart, ’tis always been you. When I saw ye that
first time in my dreams, I felt as if I’d known you all my life. And over these past weeks, I’ve only fallen more in love with you. You challenge me and make me laugh. Just lookin’ at you makes me want to sing.”

Jamie loves me! I felt the smile in my heart before it reached my face.

“And if ye need more proof of my intentions”—he reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled cream colored square—“open this.”

It was the envelope from his coronation, containing his choice for queen. My hands shook as I took the rumpled packet. I couldn’t believe he’d been carrying it throughout everything. I flipped it over, and the MacCrae crest, a regal lion’s head, stared back at me from the blue wax seal.

From the crowd, someone sounding suspiciously like Fergus shouted, “Open it!”

I glanced at Jamie with a tentative smile, ripped open the flap, and pulled out the folded slip of paper. Written in a bold script was a single word:

Veronica

Suppressing a squeal, I lifted my head to see that Jamie’d dropped to one knee before me—again. “Verranica Welling, I love you with all my soul. I will happily be your king, if you will consent to be my love, my wife and my queen for all of our days in Doon and beyond.”

This time, I didn’t need to think about my answer. “Yes, Jamie. Yes!” I pulled him to his feet and jumped into his arms.

The responding roar from the people of Doon was so loud, it almost shook the beams of the old church. Suddenly, all the feelings I’d bottled up inside chose that moment to pour out.
“I love you. I love you. I love you,” I repeated as I kissed his cheeks, his nose, his dimpled chin, and his perfect mouth.

His responding laughter, beautiful and deep, warmed me all the way to my toes. As my feet slid back down to the ground, he arched a golden brow and said, “I’ll be expecting this treatment ever’ day for the rest of our lives, ye know.”

“In your dreams,” I teased.

He chuckled low and sexy as he took my face in both his hands and kissed me until I knew I’d never be cold again.

After several earth-shattering moments, whistles and catcalls broke us apart. Stepping off the dais, hand in hand, we made our way toward the people—our people. Somewhere in all the well wishes, hugs, and tears, I became a part of Doon in truth.

Finally, I’d found the place where I belonged. My destiny.

I
stowed my intern orientation packet under my folding chair and concentrated on the rhythmic voice of Adrenaline Theatre’s artistic director, Weston Ballard. Butterflies tapped through my stomach, choreographing a frenetic rendition of
All That Jazz
. We were on the stage, seated in a circle, doing our first icebreaker of the season. Thanks be to Kander and Ebb, the patron saints of Chicago, we were not playing Scene Freeze.

Chills raced up my spine as I struggled to direct my mind away from the most horrifying night of my life and back to the present. Today was huge—the beginning of everything I ever wanted. Well, not everything. Mostly everything.

And I could—I would—live with that. It’s not like I had a choice.

“For the next eight and a half months, this theater will be your home. It will be your privilege, your possibility, and your passion. It will be your sanctuary.”

I focused on the cadence of Weston’s voice as he strolled among us. The speech no doubt was the same one he delivered
each year for incoming interns. But the way he lingered in my space seemed special.

With precise diction and perfect projection, Wes continued, “Let’s get started with a creative exercise. I want you to envision the most fantastical place imaginable.”

I drew in a deep breath and held it for two beats. As I exhaled, I relaxed my shoulders and let my mind wander.

Tendrils of mist, thick and damp, began to roll in from backstage, engulfing the other interns. I stood and turned stage right. The artistic director’s hypnotic voice grew hushed, like a footnote, as the building vanished. The murky outline of a wild forest became discernible through the haze. And directly in front of me, the Brig o’ Doon appeared—beckoning.

It had to be a dream, except I was wide awake and standing at the mouth of the bridge.

The mists coalesced to take on a familiar form—one that caused my heart to leap with joy. I hadn’t thought about my imaginary friend, Finn, in ages. He’d appeared that first summer in Alloway, when I was lonely for the company of other kids. Like Peter Pan, he’d filled my childhood with magic and, inevitably, captured my first kiss.

He looked just as I remembered. His lopsided grin, equal parts smirky and awestruck, promised benign mischief. His large brown eyes sparked with confidence as he raked his fingers through his dark hair to form chaotic peaks.

Holy Hammerstein! I knew that gesture—it was imprinted on my heart.

Before my eyes, Finn grew into a tall and broad shouldered boy of eighteen. His dark gaze crackled with expectancy as I drank in the ridiculously gorgeous face of Duncan MacCrae.

“Come ta me, Mackenna—”

I listed to one side, and the cold metal of the chair snapped
me back to my surroundings as I gripped the edges to keep from sliding off. I was still on the empty stage with the other interns. The mists and bridge were gone. So was Duncan.

Weston’s speech continued, “Nowhere—not even that place you just went, is better or more real than where you are. The Adrenaline Theatre—this is your calling.”

He was wrong. I knew what a Calling was—and it was exactly as Vee had described, a waking dream that feels more vibrant and tangible than anything else in life.

My imaginary friend wasn’t a delusion.

Duncan Rhys Finnean MacCrae and Finn were one and the same. That familiar, elusive something I’d felt when I was with him made perfect sense now. How could I not have seen it before? The handsome, flirty prince with the easy smile wasn’t a fling—he was my destiny.

Not only was I crazy in love with him, but I suspected he’d been appearing to me—Calling to me—since I was six years old. And in the end, I’d betrayed him … broken my promise and his heart. The monumental weight of my mistake paralyzed me like the gravity of a foreign planet.

Now that I’d let him go, would either of us ever get to live happily ever after?