I cracked open an eye briefly and watched Duncan give Kenna a sweet smile before responding.
“Father’s been ill for a very long time. He’s requested that my brother and I live our lives as normally as possible. Not only for ourselves, but the health o’ the kingdom.”
It made sense that the royal family would set the tone for the people. If they walked around in a cloud of grief, everyone in Doon would feel it.
“Are we keeping you awake, Vee?”
Slowly, I opened my eyes fully and gave Kenna a serene smile. “Not at all.”
Duncan’s dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “I can tell ye a story guaranteed to keep sleep at bay.”
“Please do,” Kenna said with mock affront. “I’d hate for my friend to be sent to the gallows for falling asleep during the royal tour of the kingdom.”
I straightened in my seat, too calm to be baited.
“A story it is, then,” Duncan declared, hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “Through yon trees lies the ruin of an ancient witches’ cottage.” He deliberately deepened his voice, sounding like the voice-over for a Scottish horror movie trailer. “A hive of such pure evil that even the land is barren. To this very day not a single weed nor blade of grass dares to grow on that defiled ground.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “How can there be evil here? Isn’t Doon under an enchantment?”
“What you say is true … but ye see, the witches’ dwelling isn’t
We moved through a dense stretch of forest, the occupants of the carriage growing unnaturally quiet. Trees arched and met over the path, skeletal wood blocking out the late morning sun and stealing the heat from my skin. The rhythmic clomp of the horse’s hooves and the squeak of the carriage wheels sounded magnified in the heavy silence.
I followed Duncan’s and Fiona’s stares through the screen of branches to a decaying ruin lurking just off the road. Leaning forward, I squinted into the unnatural darkness. The ground was grayish brown and bare, like winter. The crumbling stone structure, equally gloomy, appeared devoid of all life. It might have been my imagination, but the air seemed to move in a sluggish rhythm, punctuated by a steady throb like a heartbeat and carrying the slightest stench of rot.
Kenna wrinkled up her nose. “It stinks.”
“Aye.” Duncan nodded. “When my great-grandfather, King Angus Andrew Kellan MacCrae, made a covenant with the Protector o’ Doon, a powerful blessing covered the kingdom. Our enemies, gathered in yonder cottage at the time, were instantly struck down and smitten from the land, except for one wee witch, a girl who managed to escape. But that land—the witches’ land—was too defiled to be blessed.”
I gripped the edge of the carriage and leaned back as Duncan continued, his voice quietly somber and devoid of theatrics. “Therefore, the witches’ land is not under our protection. No Doonian can set foot inside its malevolent boundaries—nor would they want to.”
Only after the trees thinned, their patterns of dappled light and shade playing across my vision, did I have the courage to whisper, “What happened to her—the witch?”
“To this day, that wee witch still roams the hills outside of Doon in her eternal quest for revenge.” At Duncan’s words, icy fingers skittered down my spine, lodging an irrational fear into the pit of my stomach.
I looked over to Fiona as a shadow passed across her face. She made a hasty sign of the cross, her lips moving in what I assumed was a silent prayer. This was her heritage, and I could see she didn’t take it lightly. As we left the forest behind and entered into the brilliant morning sun, she breathed more easily.
“You’re trying to scare us.” Kenna crossed her arms under her chest and shifted away from Duncan.
“Nay, but it does help to explain the suspicion of some of our people, does it not?”
Before I could ask Duncan how they knew the witch was still alive, Jamie bellowed “Whoa” and pulled the horses to a stop in front of an ancient stone chapel.
“This be the Auld Kirk,” Fiona said with something akin to reverence in her lilting voice. She looked relieved to have moved on from evil witches to a more pleasant topic.
“The entire kingdom, if they so choose, attends services here Sunday morn,” Duncan added.
“Even the royal family?” Kenna asked in surprise.
“Aye. We dinna stand on ceremony here.” I looked up, startled to see that Jamie’d turned around to answer Kenna’s question. “From the stable lads to the king himself, we each have a role to fulfill.”
Even though his eyes where hidden in the deep cowl of his hood, I felt him watching me as he continued. “In Doon we are all equal parts of the greater whole. ’Tis our greatest strength.”
After a pause, he turned, clucked to the horses, and drove on. His unassuming declarations about life in Doon struck me as remarkable—as if their idealistic existence was nothing out of the ordinary, as if there was no other way to live.
Having completely lost the tenuous calm I’d achieved earlier, I searched for something to focus on that wasn’t our princely chauffer. Luckily, I was saved by the appearance of small gingerbread-like buildings in the distance.
“Is that the village?” I leaned out over the side of the carriage to get a better look.
Without even turning her head, Fiona said, “Aye,” her face glowing with pride.
As we entered the gates of the thriving, picturesque town, its charm swept me away to another time. The winding cobblestone streets were lined with shops of various colors and shapes, all fitted together like perfectly matched puzzle pieces. A hundred fragrances swirled on the breeze, filling my nose with everything from savory grilled meat to fresh flowers. I smelled cinnamon and fresh baked bread, followed by the acrid tang of pitch. As we rounded a bend, the scent of something fried and salty made my mouth water.
Suddenly, I longed to experience this place at Christmastime; all lit up, gables coated in snow, doorways strung with garland, the scent of roasting chestnuts warming the icy breeze. It would be exactly like the miniature Christmas village I’d admired as a child in the window of Frank’s Hardware Store. I’d spent cumulative hours of time over the years at that window making up stories in my head for the ceramic people living, shopping, and caroling in the tiny town. More times than I could count, I’d wished I could shrink myself down and live in that idyllic setting.
“It’s like the Renaissance Festival,” Kenna murmured. “Only cleaner. Look, there’s a coffee stand!”
I had to smile at my friend’s analogy—further proof of why we complemented each other so well.
We approached a lively area of town where people were bustling with noticeable abandon. Many paused in their interactions to wave at the princes as we passed. Duncan directed our attention to a smartly decorated store window. “There’s Dinwiddie’s leather shop; softest, most durable boots ye’ll ever find. Doc Benoir’s medical practice is next door. Oh, and that yellow building on the corner is Millie’s Bakery. And this here’s the local market. Villagers sell fresh produce and handcrafted goods—”
“Can we stop here?” My words ran over Duncan’s, but I didn’t care. Until Scotland, I’d never been outside of Bainbridge, Indiana. I wanted to live in this moment: sink my teeth into Doon’s fresh fruits, feel the texture of the handwoven rugs, and slip my toes into Dinwiddie’s soft leather boots. I would experience every bit of magic while I could, because if life had taught me anything, it was that the good things never lasted.
When he didn’t answer right away, I begged, “Please?” He considered my question, which I didn’t understand, as it seemed fairly straightforward to me. After several seconds, he reached around and tapped Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie pulled down a side street and parked the carriage, speaking to Duncan and Fergus in low tones. Then Duncan turned around and simply said, “Aye, lass. We can do that.”
“Thank you!” Tiny wings of excitement fluttered in my stomach.
Duncan hopped from the carriage to assist Kenna and Fiona to the ground. Too impatient for chivalry, I unlatched the door on my side of the carriage. As I stood, yards of fabric pooled around my legs. The last thing I needed was to trip over my own feet. Cursing the heavy skirts, I gathered them in one hand and turned to make the short leap.
Too late, I saw the bent figure crouched on the ground directly below me, folding down a set of collapsible stairs. I teetered in mid-step with one foot on the edge of the platform. Frantically, I grabbed for the side of the carriage … and missed. Arms windmilling in the air, I pitched forward.
As if in slow motion, I watched helplessly as the bent figure in front of me began to straighten.
