Forever Doon (4 page)

M
ackenna's fingers tightened around mine. Her cool touch caused my heart to speed ever so slightly, and I suppressed a shiver. So as not to be intimidating, I sat on the divan in the parlor of Dunbrae Cottage opposite the wee lass claiming to have materialized from half a world away.

“Tell us what transpired,” I coaxed. “Be as exact as you can in your account. Any detail—no matter how small—could be of importance.”

Cheska Santos nodded and raised her delicate hand to sweep the dark fringe of hair from her eyes. Despite the nervous gesture, her gaze was clear as she began to tell her story.

“This morning I woke up in my bed in Tayabas, which is a little over three hours from the capital. Although I didn't have anything specific I needed to do, I felt an urgency to go out. It was colder than usual, so I dressed in layers. My parents had already left for work, so I wrote them a note to tell them not to worry—that I was fine and that I loved them. I knew it was an odd thing to write at the time, but it seemed right.”

She paused, her somber gaze darting between Mackenna and myself as if daring us to contradict her. Mackenna offered her an encouraging smile. “Please don't stress out about what you did. No one's going to judge you. Everyone here's been down the rabbit hole at least once.”

The girl laughed in response. “I do feel like Alice right about now. What happened next was curious indeed. When I left my house, I walked until I reached Malagonlong Bridge, which crosses the Dumacaa River. It's a historic landmark because it was built during the Spanish colonial era, but the stone arches are stained from age and overgrown with plants.

“When I was a small child, my cousin told me that the ghosts of our ancestors, who were forced to build the bridge, still roamed the structure. So I always went out of my way to avoid it. But this morning, it called to me . . . It might have been the ghosts, or possibly the bridge itself. Either way, I felt compelled to cross.”

Cheska stood, as if caught up in the moment. At full height, her dark head was level with my abdomen. Having no people of Filipino ethnicity in Doon, the closest person to her coloring was Sofia Rosetti. The girl's skin was darker, her hair straighter, eyes more exotic in their almond shape than the Scotch-Italian girl from home, but like Sofia, her diminutive stature contained a brave spirit.

“As I stepped onto the ancient stones, disembodied voices began to wail. I wanted to turn and run but I couldn't move, except to walk forward. When I was about halfway across, the bridge began to shimmer with light. The wailing turned to thunder, and as the light took shape I realized I was not in the presence of ghosts but of angels. The light and noise grew with each step until I had to shut my eyes and cover my ears to continue.” The girl lifted her hands to her face in demonstration. “My body felt light, as if I were about to float way.

“At some point, I must have dropped to my knees. I remember laying my face against the mossy stones. I'm not sure how long I stayed prostrate on the bridge—it felt like both hours and seconds. As if the laws of time and nature no longer applied.

“Suddenly, the sensations stopped. When I looked about, I was kneeling on a grassy bank, facing an unfamiliar river and Malagonlong Bridge was nowhere to be seen. The air was much colder than in Tayabas. Although clearly not Wonderland, I knew immediately that something fantastical had happened. And that's when Mrs. Fairshaw found me on the banks of the River Doon in Scotland.”

Caledonia, who was nearly a full head taller than Cheska, stood and placed a matronly arm round the girl's shoulders. “The poor, wee thing asked where she was, and I told her.”

Cheska nodded. “I could scarcely believe it.”

Stepping up behind us, Fiona said in a low voice not meant to be overheard by our new guest, “Despite her experience, she seems remarkably clear-witted.”

Maybe a wee bit too clear . . . The soldier in me cautioned against accepting the girl blindly at her word. Squaring my shoulders, I leveled my gaze on the foreigner. “Does what happened scare you?”

“A little.” She burst into a wide, earnest smile. “But, you see, I'm addicted to this video game, Tussle of Tribes. It's set in this medieval/Middle-Earth-type fantasy world. The first time I played it, I knew I was destined for something great. This is it. I can't explain how I know, but I
am
certain.”

The force of her conviction helped to alleviate my concerns. After all, Mackenna and Queen Veronica had arrived in Doon much the same way—suddenly, but with a sense it was where they were supposed to be. If Cheska Santos had been called here, then she had an important role to play in saving
our kingdom. As to what that role was, hopefully the Protector would show us in due time.

In the pause that followed, Mackenna looked from Cheska to me to Fiona and then to Caledonia. “What do we do next?”

“I'd like to get Ches settled,” Fiona stated. “At Rose Petal Lodge.”

Upon our arrival in Alloway, Fiona had readily taken up the tasks of feeding and sheltering our group. Using funds from the MacCrae trust, she'd rented several cottages in the vicinity, a paddock and barn for Mabel, a patch of land for a garden, and a large dining hall where the people would take their meals. She'd also made a roster of the Doonians who had managed to cross the Brig o' Doon before the collapse, complete with an inventory of skillsets—not that there was much useable among the forty-odd group of mostly children and elderly citizens. Still, Fiona made the best of what we had, dividing countrymen into groups for cooking, cleaning, and laundry.

Not only did she run things, she also pitched in at every opportunity, often engaged from sunrise until well past sunset. I recognized the avoidance tactic all too well. I'd used it when Mackenna had abandoned me on the Brig o' Doon to pursue her career in the modern world. I'd erroneously thought if I stayed busy enough, I wouldn't have to think about the possibility of never seeing her again. It was the same way now with Fiona in regards to Fergus.

I wanted to tell her it wouldn't work. But from the determined gleam in her green eyes, I suspected she already knew. Instead, I rose and thanked my dear friend for her service.

As Fiona and Cheska prepared to leave, Caledonia, obviously reluctant to abandon her new charge, hesitated in front of me. “By your leave, Your Highness, I'll go with them. Help the lass settle in.”

It took me a moment to comprehend that Caledonia Fairshaw had addressed me, as unaccustomed as I was to thinking of myself as a ruler. As the second son, I'd made peace long ago with a life of military service. But with things in Doon unsure, the people looked to me for guidance. To lead them.

“Of course,” I replied, hoping the preceding pause hadn't been as awkward as it felt.

As the two women led Cheska from the library, the small girl halted at the doorway. She turned back to regard Mackenna and me with her unwavering gaze. “There is one more thing you must know. The unseen voices . . . The angels weren't just wailing. Their sound of warning and thunder—it was a battle cry. War is coming.”

Cheska set her shoulders and, with a nod of parting, left Dunbrae Cottage. Despite her size, the newest addition to our group possessed the heart of a lion . . . of a Doonian.

Once they were out of earshot, Mackenna frowned. “What do you think about Cheska? I know that video game she's talking about—it's got castles and witches and stuff. What a crazy coincidence.”

Before I could reply, she continued. “Do you think Fiona told her about Doon?”

“Fiona wouldna. She'd defer to me,” I replied. “The girl does tell a compelling story, but even if we believe her, we should figure out what's going on before we reveal the secrets of our kingdom.”

The Doonians who had been watching the exchange began to disperse. Some went to market, some to oversee the progress of the bridge, while others tended to the planting of a garden. The dozens of children who'd crossed the bridge before its collapse settled in for their lessons, which were held at Dunbrae Cottage under the astute tutelage of Mrs. Alsberg, the baker's
wife. She had managed to escape with her twin daughters, but the fate of her husband, who'd been a few paces behind, was still uncertain.

As Mackenna and I stepped into the mottled sunlight of the cottage garden, I remembered the other stranger the day had brought us: Alasdair. Were both the auld man and the foreign girl the signs we'd asked for on the beach? Or was one of them a decoy sent by our enemy to confuse and distract us from our purpose?

The more I thought about it, the more certain I felt that Cheska was who she claimed to be. But Alasdair was a puzzle that needed solving before any more lives were placed at risk. As if Mackenna was privy to my thoughts, she tugged my arm so that I stopped. Leaning into me, she whispered, “What are we going to do with the mysterious man? I think we should keep him on lockdown until we figure out what his agenda is.”

“Agreed. I'll assign a couple of the guard to watch o'er him.” I mentally reviewed the handful of auld yet able-bodied men who made up my new guard and choose two that would be conscientious and discreet.

Incapable of hiding the eagerness in her voice, she suggested, “You could ask Eòran to do it.”

“I could,” I replied, pretending to consider the request. “But he won't.”

She snorted. “A girl can dream.”

Since coming to Alloway, this was the longest the guard had let my girlfriend out of his sight. If he'd been a wee bit younger and taller, I might have been suspicious of his motives. However, Eòran's diligence as self-appointed protector, while it annoyed Mackenna to no end, provided me with immeasurable comfort.

Toward the end of my musing, I realized Mackenna was waiting for me to look at her. When I did, she searched my face,
her fathomless gray eyes boring into me as her features twisted into concern.

“Duncan,” she began, “we haven't really talked about what happened before we crossed the bridge. Are you still mad at me?”

“What for?” I asked cautiously.

Letting go of my arm, she paced toward the stone bench in the center of the garden and stopped, facing away from me. The wind buffeted her motionless body, tugging at her shawl and hair. “Because you couldn't go after your brother. Because Vee forced you to lead the people out of Doon.”

She turned to face me. There was a question in her eyes—the same one that was there every time she'd looked at me since our arrival in Alloway, the one we were both afraid to speak.
Do you think Jamie is alive?
The truth was, until I saw his grave with my own eyes, I could not afford to believe otherwise.

Other unspoken questions tumbled into the space between us. What of Veronica? How many people had died trying to escape? Would we ever return home, and if so would there be any Doonians to greet us?

I had no answers to give, only questions of my own . . . about the strength of my faith and the purpose of this new trial.

My stomach twisted, tangling my insides. I stuffed my reaction into the hole in my spirit—I didn't want to think about this. Not now, not ever.

Instead I watched as a shiver trembled its way up Mackenna's spine. Going to her, I pressed my chest against her back. My heartbeat synchronized with hers as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and brushed my lips against the side of her neck.

After a moment, Mackenna discarded her unspoken questions with a small sigh. “So we're okay?” She twisted in my arms so that we were toe to toe.

“Aye, woman. We're
okay
.”

Her enchanting lips curled into a half smile. “Prove it.”

My pulse stuttered as she reached for me. Although her hands were perpetually cold, her fingers inflamed my body as she wound them around my neck.

I caressed the downy skin of her jaw with my hand. Mackenna was so soft and elegant, at times I felt overlarge and awkward when I touched her with my rough, fumbling hands—like the giant who went about grunting
fee-fi-fo-fum
. But each time my mouth pressed against hers, the self-awareness drained away as I dissolved into her, evaporating into nothing so that her love could rebuild me one atom at a time into the best version of myself.

Maybe this version would be able to let go of his secret resentment. If not, the least I could do was lose myself in what she offered.

Sometime later, after my universe had been decimated and rebuilt multiple times, she pulled back with a contented “Holy Hammerstein.” Her glorious eyes were large and shining as she rested her hand against my pounding chest. “I love you.”

It was a sort of miracle, that this vibrant, talented lass had accepted my heart and given me hers in return. I'd been seeking her for nearly the whole of our lives. I still remembered the first time I saw her, not as part of the Calling but in the flesh at Castle MacCrae. I'd heard that two foreigners had been apprehended near the coliseum, a dark-haired lass and her brash, ginger-haired friend. I instantly knew it was her. I'd been planning to go find her at the Centennial, but somehow she'd come to me first. Perhaps our love had been too strong to wait for the opening of the Brig o' Doon . . .

I barely recalled rushing down the castle corridors to the antechamber where Jamie was interrogating her.

Pausing at the doorway, I tried in vain to collect myself. It was then that I heard Jamie's accusations of witchery. A strange female voice challenged him and Jamie ordered the lasses back to the dungeon. Next, I heard her voice—a voice I would recognize in any world, in any age, and in any circumstance. My love.

Mackenna hadn't come to Doon as an agent of the witch; she was here because she was mine.

I burst into the antechamber—“A word, brother”—intent on setting Jamie straight and fully expecting Mackenna to make a gesture of recognition, to gasp or call out “Finn,” the name she knew me by as a child, but she remained mute.