Forever Doon (10 page)

Nearly choking on my surge of emotion at his confession, I swallowed and forced myself to think. “So she's desperate to find whatever Doonians remain in the kingdom and convince them to pledge to her so she can use them to raise her army?”

“Aye. She'll herd them and capture those she can without killin' them. She needs people left to rule, after all.”

I nodded, several pieces clicking into place all at once as I remembered Vee's vision the night of the Fairshaw cottage explosion. “Verranica sent my brother across the bridge with the others to save them, dinna she?”

“That is my belief, aye.”

“Do we know how many Doonians escaped?”

“Nay. Between the quake and the destruction of the bridge itself, we—”

“What?” I sat straight up.

“Tha's right, ye didna know.” The old man shook his head. “The witch destroyed the Brig o' Doon, Laird. Whilst people were attemptin' to cross it.”

My shoulders slumped. The loss of life could be far worse than I'd imagined. Duncan and Kenna . . . Nay, I had to believe they'd crossed safely, and would someday find their way home.
My brother, I could do nothing about, but those left in Doon were a different story. “We need to warn them. I have to get out of here!” I smacked my palm against the invisible shield, and received a sharp sting for my stupidity.

Footsteps sounded from down the hall and Gideon's eyes darted to the door. Hastily, he turned back, picked up the tray and slid it onto the bed, then withdrew his arm and nodded with satisfaction. “Tha's what I thought. The spell only keeps you in. But it does no' keep things, such as weapons, out.”

I returned his grin as another thought occurred. “Report back to the witch that I'll need a way to use the privy, unless she intends for me to sleep in my own filth. Then perhaps she'll lower this shield.”

“Aye, I shall.” Gideon nodded as the footfalls grew louder. He backed away from the bed, whispering, “Hold on a bit longer, my prince. She watches me still, suspicious of my loyalty. But I vow, I will find a way to free ye, so that, together with the true queen, we will liberate Doon.”

S
ince the first time I crossed the tiny bridge in the castle garden and ended up on the much larger Brig o' Doon, face to face with an auburn-haloed angel, I'd worried about losing her . . . to the modern world, to her ambition, to some fancy theater lad, even because of my own mule-headed stupidity. At times I obsessed over it. But in all that time, I had never pondered what it would be like to lose Mackenna to the grave.

I could feel her wounded gaze on my back as I walked out the back door of Dunbrae Cottage. Despite the crispness in the air, I felt like I couldn't breathe—as if my chest was caving in. Moments later, I stood over the Brig o' Doon construction site. Panting, I tried to recall how I got there. It was obvious from my body's labors that I'd been running, but I couldn't recollect doing so.

My face stung. I lifted a trembling hand to my cheek and discovered I was crying. Surrendering to the emotion, I dropped to my knees and sobbed. Everything within me raged
that I must keep Mackenna safe at all costs. But the truth of the impending battle was that each person's best chance at survival depended on his or her ability to fight. They needed the best training possible—including the one who held my heart.

But I feared I wasn't up to the task.

Sometime later, when the tears had subsided, after my body had gone stiff from posture and cold, I spied Rabbie and Eòran coming up the path from Dunbrae Cottage. I dropped my head to my chest, closed my eyes, and waited. When they arrived, I tried to stand but my frozen body wouldn't comply.

Kneeling on either side of me, Eòran and Rabbie lifted me to my feet and helped me hobble to the nearby bench.

After a few more minutes, Rabbie broke the silence. “Mackenna's told us what happened.”

I looked up in time to see Eòran nod for the lad to continue. “M'Laird, we want ye to know that we'll train her personally.”

“Thank you.” My voice creaked from expended emotion. Suddenly I was exhausted but I felt certain that if I tried to rest I would be plagued with visions of Mackenna being massacred in front of me. Our best chance at happily ever after, and my only hope of peace, was to ensure she got the best training possible.

Rising to my feet, I addressed the two men I was entrusting with my love's life; tenacious, badger-like Eòran and loyal, diligent Rabbie. “Starting tomorrow, every able-bodied person, young to old, Doonian and Destined, starts training for battle. We have roughly two weeks to prepare an army to defeat whatever the Witch o' Doon throws at us. That's not enough time to properly train soldiers, so we have to be clever and make the best use of the time we have.”

Over the next week, we turned our ragtag group into a highly efficient operation. Part of Mabel's barn had been annexed for a war room and the western paddocks repurposed for military training. For convenience, barracks had been set up in upper lofts of the dining hall and in tents erected in a temporary camp on the surrounding grounds. All the Doonians took shifts training and doing chores like cooking and cleaning, the prospect of going home lighting a fire in their souls and filling their days with joyful determination.

The Destined had a similar routine, but instead of chores they had lessons in Doonian history concerning the witch and the havoc she'd wreaked on the kingdom. With new Destined arriving every day, Fiona had been put in charge of what Mackenna dubbed “intake”; getting their histories, which bridge they'd crossed to get here, and a detailed inventory of their skillsets. So far lads and lasses had come from every continent except Antarctica, called from places like Mexico, Thailand, France, Brazil, Australia, Germany, India, Greece, Argentina, Italy, Puerto Rico, and many more. There were also scores of Americans, Canadians, and modern-day Britons.

Each new arrival appeared with a sense of purpose and a similar story—crossing a local bridge, the battle cry of angels, a message from the Protector, and a yearning for a kingdom that didn't exist in their world. If I'd had a moment to catch my breath, I would have marveled at how easily the Destined accepted the existence of Doon, their instant belief in magic and evil witches, and especially how ready they were to defend a kingdom they'd never set foot in to the death. It was as if the Protector had created them with a kingdom-shaped void that only Doon could fill.

The only person who seemed to be struggling was Mackenna. We'd had little opportunity to talk since I'd walked
out. I'd managed to apologize and discuss her training plan, but I hadn't been able to offer an explanation as to why I'd reacted as I had. She didn't understand why I wouldn't personally train her or my inability to explain myself. But I knew that any justification I could offer would likely degenerate into my begging her to stay safely behind in Alloway—which I couldn't ask her to do.

With Rabbie and Eòran's help, I'd kept her in a training regimen that began before sunrise and ended long past sundown. While the others gathered around bonfires, the Doonians entertaining the newcomers with tales and songs from home, Mackenna engaged in night combat, learning to use senses other than her vision to locate and track her enemy.

This particular evening, I had Rabbie working to enhance her sense of smell. Blindfolded and wearing earmuffs, Mackenna was about a thousand paces outside of the camp in the woods. Her objective was to sense the approach of her assailant and successfully defend herself against an attack.

As Missus Alsberg led the camp in a chorus of “Ye Banks and Braes,” I slipped out of the camp to observe Mackenna's progress. The inky sky held the faintest ghost of a crescent toward the east. Earlier at supper, when I'd commented the new moon would be perfect for tonight's exercise, Mackenna had joked about hoping that a bare-chested wolf would appear and save her from her sparkly boyfriend's domineering oppression.

Although I didn't understand the reference, the inference had been clear. She was having a difficult time with the rigorous schedule but doing her best to, in her own words, suck it up.

Armed with a wooden knife, Mackenna stood in a small clearing in the heart of a copse of trees. Blind and deaf, she turned in a wild circle, exploring the immediate space around
her. In the early stage of the exercise, Rabbie stood a dozen paces upwind. Unable to help myself, my inner soldier began to assess her errors.
Stop moving. Identify which direction the wind is flowing. What do you smell?

I'd deliberately selected Rabbie because the boy hadn't bathed in a while. Standing upwind as he was, his stench should have been easy for her to identify from her current position. If only she would stop whirling about.

After a couple of minutes, Rabbie crept toward her. For a youth still growing into his large body, he was surprisingly stealthy. He stopped at arm's length, patiently waiting for her to figure out his position. But she continued to thrash about as oblivious as the village drunk.

Quietly, Rabbie stepped in to tap her on the shoulder. Mackenna gasped and spun in a frantic circle, wielding the knife with both hands as if it were a hostile animal. The boy moved around her in a wide arc, going the opposite direction until again she was downwind. After a moment's hesitation he reached out and tugged her ponytail, earning him an “Ow!” and more frantic twirling in response.

The blood coursing through my veins began to boil. The lad was toying with her, playfully baiting her like a schoolboy. Adelaide and her evil minions would have butchered her by now—
just like Jamie . . .

No! I didn't know for sure that he was dead.
Concentrate on something else.

Waving Rabbie off, I slipped into position just out of arm's reach and waited until Mackenna came to a stop. Cocking her head to the side she said in an overly loud voice, “What's the matter, Rabbie? Afraid to get your butt kicked by a girl?”

I rattled a bush and stepped to the side as she charged the noise. Without benefit of sight, she crashed into a low-lying
tree limb. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed hard on her back. I was on her before she could react, flipping her over and wedging my knee into the small of her back while I plunged my fingers into her kidney. Terrified, she began to fight for her life in earnest.

After a couple moments of futile struggle, I let her go. As soon as I stepped back, she scrambled away. Sitting up, she ripped off the earmuffs and blindfold. Blinking up at me, she tried to comprehend the information in front of her. “Duncan? What the heck?!”

The way she looked at me, I thought I was going to toss my supper. Forcing my emotions away, I replied, “If I'd been the witch, you'd be dead now.”

“But you're not the witch,” she huffed. “You're my boyfriend.”

“Not in combat.” I willed my face to remain expressionless. “In combat, I'm either your ally or your adversary.” I watched the thunderclouds gather in her expressive eyes. Before she could explode, I dismissed Rabbie, saying, “Go back to camp, lad.” The boy gratefully slipped away without a word.

I watched him go and turned my attention back to Mackenna, who was clutching her throat. Staring daggers at me, she spat, “You let that branch clothesline me, you stupid ogre.”

“And you were stomping about like a drunken moose. I think I've made a grave error in judgment. You should stay in Alloway when the army returns to Doon.”

She scrambled to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her right leg. “Over my dead body. You don't get to decide that.”

“Tha's what I'm afraid of. You're no soldier. And if ye canna handle yourself, that makes you a liability.”

“Then teach me, you egotistical jerk.” She crossed her arms obstinately over her chest. “Make me ready.”

Try as I might, I could not escape destiny. I was the only one who could transform her into a warrior, because I was the only one who loved her enough not to cut her any slack.

“You're no' going to like it.”

She arched her brow, giving me the Evil Highney. “I already don't like it.”

To keep her alive, I would push her beyond her endurance, well past her breaking point. “You're no' going to like me.”
By the time I'm finished, you might hate me.
But it was a price I'd gladly pay to keep her alive.

Mackenna tossed her head, her ponytail whipping behind her in ginger fury. “Doesn't matter. All that matters is that I'm ready for battle when the bridge is finished.” She glared at me for another moment. “So are you going to train me, or what?”

My inner soldier bellowed at me to be dispassionate. The way her feelings for me might change was a small price to pay to insure her life. “Aye. But remember, this was your choice.”

“Fine.”

“We're done for the night. Let me escort ye back.” I reached for her arm, forcing my expression to remain impassive as she jerked out of my grasp.

“Don't bother. I can find my own way.”

As I watched her walk away, I fought back the emotions threatening to erupt. Last time I'd kissed her good and proper, I'd thought that nothing could ever break us apart. I was naively and sorely wrong. Making her over into a soldier, giving her the best chance at survival, might possibly break us both.