Doon

Cameron? Skimming the rest of the page, I noted that Gracie described a picnic date, but I wasn’t clear if she and Cameron were in Doon or the “mortal world” at the time, so I skipped ahead a few pages to a crude map labeled The Kingdom. There were bodies of water, mountains, house shapes labeled as crofter, market, blacksmith, clustered buildings marked as The Village, and a huge structure set at the end of a vast lake labeled The Castle MacCrae. I traced my finger from the bridge depicted at the bottom of the drawing past a forest, through the village, up to the castle, and wondered how far it would be on foot.

Pulling my mind back to the challenge at hand, I realized this proved nothing, other than the fact that the journal’s author had an even richer imagination than my own. I flipped through the pages to see if anything caught my eye. Near the end, a single loose piece of paper drifted from the book and landed facedown at my feet.

I picked up the paper, and as I turned it over a shock ran through my entire body.

“Jamie.”

The name left my lips as I stared at the lifelike drawing of the unbelievably gorgeous boy who’d haunted me for weeks. His eyes, dark and intense, smoldered at me from the page. Broad cheekbones, stubble-covered square jaw, perfect lips, slashing brows, and yes, the delectable dimple in his stubborn-looking chin were captured on the page in a perfect likeness.

The caption read James Thomas Kellan MacCrae IV.

My vision blurred as I choked back a sob. The picture confirmed what I’d known in my soul—Jamie was real.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs forced me out of my daze.

Shoot!

Was this the proof I needed to show Kenna? Or would she come up with some explanation for this too? I needed more.

With a sigh of regret, I stuffed the small book in among Kenna’s sleepwear and socks, and carefully shut the drawer. Switching off the lamp, I sprinted from the room and across the hall just as Ken’s shadow stretched from the stairwell at the opposite end. In my own room, I eased the door shut and sagged against it … the portrait still grasped in my trembling hand.

CHAPTER 5 Veronica

Kenna wove her way through a maze of trunks, boxes, and clothing racks, tugging at chains to turn on a row of dust-coated light bulbs. I followed behind, peering into every nook and cranny of the cavernous attic. I’d almost walked down to the Brig o’ Doon a handful of times the previous night, but the rain and my fear had kept me tucked safely inside the cottage. I still had nothing tangible to connect Jamie MacCrae to the bridge. There had to be hundreds of stone bridges in Scotland. What were the odds, when I stepped onto the Brig o’ Doon, that he’d be waiting there like a dream come to life? And what if he wasn’t? What then?

Without warning, Kenna stopped. I nearly crashed into her, managing to dodge at the last second. A crease wrinkled her pale forehead. With a huff she bent to pick up a green glass vase filled with crumbling sprigs of dried lavender. “Sweet Baby Sondheim! How did I miss this yesterday? I searched through half the attic, and it was right under my nose the whole time.”

Was Jamie right under my nose? I glanced at Kenna, tempted to tell her again that the golden-haired boy was real, but her eyes were distant. Her lower lip trembled as she blinked into the artificial light. “I miss her so much,” she whispered.

Pushing away my own preoccupation, I determined that my present priority had to be my best friend. Kenna’d always been there for me, and now it was my turn. I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know. She loved you and you’ll always have that, right?”

“Right.” She swiped the moisture from under her eyes and snuffled loudly. “I’m really glad we’re doing this today. The cottage doesn’t feel complete without her stuff.”

Eons later we’d sorted almost everything into piles of sell, keep, or trash—but still hadn’t found the boxes of Gracie’s personal items Addie claimed were tucked in the attic.

With a sigh, I turned to the next trunk. The lid creaked open to reveal an old-fashioned bonnet. Rimmed in lace, its wide turquoise ribbons arranged in a neat line, it looked like a prop from a Jane Austen movie. I scooped up the hat, and its delicate material crumpled in my fingers like butterfly wings as I placed it on the floor. Underneath were what appeared to be the contents of a desk. It was odd that antique clothing would be packed with papers and envelopes addressed to … Mrs. Grace Lockhart. “Kenna! I think I found something.”

Kneeling side by side, Kenna and I began removing the contents of the trunk: official-looking letters, boxes of old checks, address labels, and photo albums. Rain beat against the attic roof, filling the space with an escalating rhythm that matched my racing heart. Each drop proclaimed, close—close— close.

Kenna pulled out a book with a maroon cover. “Look! Aunt Gracie’s scrapbook. It’s filled with clippings about local history.”

Close—close—close.

The trunk was nearly empty. Only one large padded envelope remained. I reached in and lifted the bulky package. “Uh … this one’s addressed to you.”

“Me? Let me see it.”

Rain turned to hail, pelting the windows as I handed Kenna the parcel with her full name scrawled across the front. Underneath her name, it said, From Grace Lockhart—In the event of my death.

For long seconds Kenna sat in silence, flipping the package over and over in her hands, and then threw it into my lap. “You open it.” Her gray eyes had darkened like the storm clouds that currently hovered over our cottage.

As I emptied the contents of the packet between us, lightning flashed nearby, causing the lights to flicker. When the electricity decided to stay on, we both stared at the floor where I’d dumped the single sheet of heavy paper and a clear plastic bag containing two rings.

Despite being completely illogical, I’d seen something the instant the rings had tumbled from the envelope. I carefully picked up the baggie, turning it back and forth. Surely the twinkling sparkles that’d hung in the air were a reflection of the storm outside …

I took the gold ring from the bag and admired the intricate symbols carved in swirls around the band. It was beautiful … Slipping it on my finger, I stared at the multifaceted red gem set into its center. A sudden rush of warmth spread along my hand, sending tingles throughout my entire body. My vision blurred and images flashed before my eyes … lush rolling hills, a meadow bursting with rainbow-hued flowers, pristine snow-tipped mountains, and ancient castle turrets stretching into a cloudless sky.

With a snap, the images were gone. I sucked in a sharp breath and stared down at the ring. The scent of the crisp, sweet air from my vision lingered around me. I squeezed my eyes shut and searched behind my closed lids trying to get it back. A sense of such intense longing filled me that my heart ached in my chest. The place was like nowhere I’d ever been, or seen, yet it felt like home.

“Vee, you okay?”

I blinked several times before focusing on the blurred figure of my friend. “Um … yeah. Check out this ring.”

Determined to act casual, I handed Kenna the baggie with the other ring still inside, reluctant to let mine go for even a moment. I watched her face as she pulled out the silver ring and slid it on her finger. Its carvings were identical to the one I wore, the stone in its center a brilliant green.

“I don’t remember Aunt Gracie ever having these.” Kenna examined what looked to be a Celtic design. “They look like antiques.”

“But do you feel anything?”