Doon

Jamie tore his attention from Vee’s lips with a slight grimace. “Glad ye approve. As I said, you need not stand on ceremony here. Call me Jamie.”

Vee ignored his request as she dove into her meal like it was her last. I couldn’t blame her … my own little slice of paradise beckoned. After several satisfying mouthfuls I asked, “How? I mean, where did you people get pizza?”

Jamie’s eyes lit up as he explained with quiet pride, “Mario’s an import from Italy, one of the Destined.”

Unwilling to relinquish my slice for even a moment, I choked out between swallows of food, “Who’s a what?”

Jamie laughed. “The restaurant owner’s one of the Destined. Mario came to us during the last Centennial and decided to stay.”

“As I told ye before, Mackenna, we’re no’ barbarians.” Duncan’s statement might have been more impactful if he hadn’t been speaking with his mouth full, but I decided to let it slide on account of him being such a wonderful host.

The pride on Jamie’s face deepened into quiet passion. “Each Centennial, while some Doonians are welcoming new arrivals, others will go out inta the modern world to gather up as much information as possible about the history and progress of that realm. With the help of the new imports, we implement changes that would best benefit Doon, like running water and modern plumbing, while preserving our culture.”

Vee met Jamie’s gaze with a hunger than had nothing to do with food. “Why not electricity?”

“Electricity was fairly new at the last Centennial.” Jamie gestured around the tavern. “Doon has adequate sources of heat and light, so generating electricity wasn’t deemed of enough benefit to implement. O’ course, it will be evaluated again after the next gathering.”

“How does the Centennial work, exactly?” Leave it to Vee to want to peek behind the curtain and discover the inner workings; it was our way out, which was enough for me.

“On the Centennial, the Brig o’ Doon opens for twenty-four of your hours. In that time, Doonians and the Destined, those called from the outside world, are free to come and go as they please.”

She digested the information, her pizza forgotten. “So the Outsiders could stay in Doon?”

“Aye. Most all do.”

“And the Doonians?”

“Do not have to return, if they dinna want to—but that rarely happens.”

Vee’s train of thought furrowed her brow. Rather than look at Jamie, she picked at the checkered tablecloth. “So a Doonian could choose to stay in my world, if he—or she—wanted.”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed as if he were trying to read the thought behind her question. But rather than respond he indicated her neglected plate. “Ye best eat before your food gets cold.”

Back to being Prince Not-So-Charming, Jamie turned to Duncan and began to discuss plans for the next gathering in a low voice. Duncan cast me a helpless glance that I took to mean he’d rather be socializing than talking official business. But it’s not like he had much of a choice, as someday soon his brother would be in charge—Jamie was the heir and Duncan merely the number two. The spare.

A quarter hour later, Fergus leaned back in his chair and caressed his bulging belly with meaty hands. “I dinna think I can eat another morsel.” Although I had not personally eaten two whole pizzas, like the big man, I still echoed his sentiments. Best pizza ever!

Fiona cast Fergus a teasingly stern look. “’Tis a good thing, Fergus Lockhart, because I don’t think Mario has a morsel left ta spare.” Through most of the meal, she’d remained silent. Observing. I doubted there was much of anything she failed to pick up on.

“Si.” Mario, the mustached restaurateur who’d been the benefactor of our incredible meal, joined us with a chuckle. “Ma va bene se gli piaceva la mia cucina.”

Fergus looked blearily at Duncan, his brain likely struggling to process the conversation due to his food coma. “What’d he say?”

Trying to suppress his laughter enough to translate, Duncan replied, “He said, ‘It’s fine as long as you enjoyed his food.’”

“His cooking, Duncan,” Jamie interjected with a hint of superiority. “Cibo is food. Cucina means cooking.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “Cucina also means kitchen, Jamie. My translation was contextual rather than literal.” His impish wink at me made it clear Duncan was baiting his brother. Although I had no idea why. To me it seemed as advisable as poking a bear.

Jamie glared from across the table, his dark eyes narrowed as a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Are you saying that your Italian is better than mine?”

Duncan nodded in the affirmative. “Si, certo!”

The brothers jumped to their feet in unison, causing Mario to raise his hand to his forehead. In thickly accented English, he exclaimed, “Not again. Ragazzi!” Other than Mario’s admonishment, no one else in the tavern appeared particularly alarmed that the princes were on the verge of coming to blows over a translation.

After a moment of testosterone-fueled opposition, Jamie’s lips began to twitch and Duncan’s shoulders started to quake. In a strangled voice, Jamie said, “Italian aside, can we not agree, brother, that Fergus’s new tam is the ugliest hat in all the realm?”

Between heaves, Duncan replied, “Aye.” Laughing too hard to say more, he collapsed back into his chair, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.

Fergus looked from one prince to the other in astonishment, finally settling on his future leader. “Wha’s wrong with m’ tam, exactly?”

Besides the bright yellow pom-pom? In the marketplace, I’d seen lots of people wearing tams of the Doonian plaid—called the Auld MacCrae, which I’d learned thanks to Fiona—with a green or blue toorie on top. But nothing quite like Fergus’s. To my left, I heard Vee muffling giggles behind her napkin and I couldn’t help but cave.

Truth be told, he was a big man … in a little hat.

With his pride at stake, the giant turned to Fiona. “You care for it, don’t ye, Fee?”

Fiona blinked at him, her face deliberately placid despite widened eyes. After a moment she stood and smoothed her skirt. “I want ta pop round and see my mum before returning ta the castle. So if ye don’t mind, I’ll take my leave.”

In a surprisingly lithe move, Fergus sprang to his feet. Before Fiona had taken a half dozen steps, he was at her side. She paused and lifted her lovely face toward her massive shadow. “What’re ye doing, Fergus Lockhart?”

“Escorting ye.” His face colored ten different shades of mottled pink, but he didn’t back down.

“Because the streets o’ Doon are so unsavory?” Undeterred by Fergus’s size, Fiona placed a petite hand on his sternum and pushed. “Shove off! I can fend for m’self.”

Fergus placed his bear claw of a hand over hers, trapping her palm against his chest. He leaned toward his captive and invaded her space while speaking in a low, even voice. “That may be, Fee, but the people are in a state of unease”—he glanced at us apologetically—“because o’ our new arrivals. So I’m escorting ye.”

Fiona’s nostrils flared, but not from anger. Her pupils swallowed up her hazel eyes as she inclined her mouth toward Fergus’s bright red ear. “Fine. But you better not eat all of Mum’s biscuits again.”

With that, she yanked her hand from the giant’s grasp, spun on her heels, and stalked out the door. With a contrite “m’ lairds” and a single nod, Fergus followed in her wake.

The moment the tavern door shut, Duncan and Jamie exploded with laughter. Duncan raked his hand through his already-chaotic hair so that it formed dark, spiky peaks. “Poor lad.”

Jamie nodded in agreement. “Aye.”

I failed to get the joke. “Why?”

“Why?” Jamie smiled, looking the most at ease he’d been all evening. “Because he’s totally besotted, that’s why. He’s been in love with Fiona since childhood.”

A miniscule sigh slipped from my bestie. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the devastating effect of Jamie’s smile. In the aftermath, her eyes brimmed with stars that rivaled the Hollywood Walk of Fame’s.

Not that I could claim to be completely unaffected. When he wasn’t sulking, Jamie was one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen—aside from his brother. Staring at the two of them side by side was like stepping into a