Doon

His presence lingered in my blood like a drug, making my head spin. What would a whole afternoon spent with him do to me? I took a deep, steadying breath. Regardless, I had to find out if he was the reason I was here. And more importantly, if he wanted me to stay.

CHAPTER 18 Mackenna

More provincial costumes, more petrified villagers on the verge of a hate crime, and more of creepy, bulge-eyed Gideon. Ugh. Top that off with religious conformity and the Centennial could not arrive soon enough.

I stood outside the old stone church, Ye Auld Kirk o’ Doon, determined not to let my intimidation get the best of me. My folks had never been churchgoers, so the whole worship concept—from the unnatural dressy clothes to the organized rites that everyone seemed to perform by osmosis—felt foreign and forced. Like doing a mash-up of Spring Awakening and Spam-a- lot.

I’d wanted to ditch, but Fiona had insisted it would appear worse if Vee and I didn’t attend. So I’d let her dress me in yet another Girl-Scout-meets-pirate-wench ensemble: a calf-length skirt—dove gray—and a white cap-sleeved top that laced at the neckline. Vee, my mirror twin, wore a matching top and a pale turquoise skirt. We both sported plaid sashes bearing the Doon colors, but I drew the line at the matching hats. I would never be that desperate to blend in.

Fiona sensed my unease and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Be at peace, Mackenna. This house is come as ye are.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it, Ken.” Vee meant to be helpful, so I resisted the urge to reach over and flick the royal blue pom-pom on the top of her head. Of course, she looked fabulous in her tam—all native and confident. I, on the other hand, felt conspicuously out of place … and time, for that matter.

Rather than voice my feelings, I managed a somewhat sincere smile. “Let’s do this, then.”

As we entered the ancient structure of hewn rock and stained glass, I couldn’t help but search for Duncan’s gorgeous face. His velvet-brown eyes fastened on mine and his mouth widened into a lopsided grin. Across the distance, he sent a message meant only for me, a wink of reassurance even more intimate than our dancing the previous evening. My cheeks began to burn with the curse of the ginger and I dropped my head, annoyed that the charming ogre could make me blush with the merest facial tick. To my immense relief, rather than join him we took seats about halfway back.

From directly behind the princes, Gabby waved and flashed an impatient smile. I had no doubt she was anticipating a dance-by-dance recap of the previous evening. The kid meant well, but I wanted to spare Vee the agony of reliving the night at all costs.

As the service started, Gabby reluctantly turned around to face front alongside her parents and multitude of siblings, including the breathtaking Sofia. Gabby whispered something in Sofia’s ear, which caused her to glance over her shoulder in our direction before giving her full attention to the proceedings. Teeny-weeny Sofia was not smiling.

Commotion up front indicated the start of the service. The minister, an elderly man with thick, gray sideburns, whom we’d already met a handful of times since our arrival, cleared his throat and pronounced, “Let us commence by remembering the Miracle.” His strong rolling brogue echoed through the space.

“When Wise King Angus Andrew Kellan MacCrae retreated ta the castle chapel ta pray for deliverance for his people, those that weren’t in battle wi’ the witch and her minions gathered in ye Auld Kirk ta pray for guidance for their king.”

The preacher was a natural storyteller. Despite myself, I leaned forward and hung on his every word. “’Twas not jus’ the king who won favor that blessed day but all the people o’ Doon with their selfless petitions. It was the kingdom’s unity which invoked the Miracle. The people pledged never ta forsake their kingdom. In return, they were granted protection from evil, a bountiful land, and new citizens ta multiply their population. That is the great covenant between the people o’ Doon and their Protector.

“Now let us recite the Prayer of Unity in preparation of the Centennial.”

A single child, a girl of about nine or ten with pale hair and freckles across the bridge of her upturned nose, stood and began to sing in a high soprano. After the first verse, Jamie MacCrae—of all people—echoed her, his strong tenor pitch perfect. By the chorus, the entire congregation had joined in. Italian, French, and several languages I couldn’t readily identify melded together in a melodic petition.

The prayer was so beautiful—even more moving than “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from Carousel—that I wanted to cry. A sniffle from Vee on my right and the outright sobbing of Fiona on my left reassured me that I was not the only one.

As the service concluded, the congregation began to stir and break the spell. Doonians clumped together peering at us with trepidation; I heard several murmurs about black petunias, and yet again the names Roddie MacPhee and Millie Ennis. Across the sanctuary, Gideon appeared ready to burn us at the stake.

In sudden need of air, I strode toward the door. Before I made it outside, someone grabbed my elbow. My free hand balled into a fist as I swung around and nearly punched Duncan MacCrae in the jaw.

“We’re ready to set off for Muir Lea.” He slipped his arm through mine, oblivious to the ripple of gossip he created by doing so.

One look at his candid expression confirmed not all Doonians were hypocrites.

The road bumped and thumped so that my teeth rattled continuously. As the royal carriage jostled its way up the mountain, I gained new insight into the turnip I’d played in first grade. Vee, of course, had been a cute little strawberry with an adorable lisp while I had the honor of being drab, hugely round produce.

If I ever portrayed a turnip again, I would tap into the impatience to get somewhere—anywhere—where I wasn’t constantly knocking knees with the other turnips, the expectant, searching glances of one smokin’ hot turnip in particular, and the uncertainty of what was coming next. Yep, in the future I’d make one Oscar-worthy root vegetable.

After an eternity plodding uphill, Fergus halted the carriage. “This is as far as I go,” he announced cheerfully.

It appeared to be the end of the path—the cart path, at least. I looked about me in confusion. We’d stopped on the side of a steep mountain at a dead end. Aside from the road, which was just wide enough for the carriage to turn around, the ground sloped sharply in either direction—one way steeply down, the other sharply upward. This was their highnesses’ fabulous picnic spot?

“Wow.” Unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I gestured to our unremarkable surroundings. “This is amazing.”

“We’re not there yet, woman.” Duncan flashed me a conspiratorial smile. “Fiona? Would ye mind staying here and keepin’ Fergus company?”

I looked back to see Fergus unhitching the horses. He considered Fiona shyly, already turning a patchwork of pink. Unfazed, Fiona unloaded wicker baskets from the trunk of the carriage. “Aye. I packed an extra basket just in case.”

Jamie gave the girl a rare grin, handed a picnic basket to his brother, and took another for himself. “Thanks, to the both of you. We’ll be back before sunset.” His eyes were full of mischief and adventure as he turned to Vee. “Ready, then?”

My bestie had mentioned bumping into him during the previous night … and based on the sparks zinging between them, it must’ve been one heck of a bump. Without so much as a glance my direction, Vee nodded and they were off. Straight up the side of the mountain like poster children for extreme sports.

Skeptically, I examined the path they’d just taken. “Where exactly is this place?”

“Not far.” Duncan’s boyish, lopsided smile inspired confidence. “Muir Lea’s just a wee bit up the hill.”

Just a wee bit up the hill turned out to be a grueling hike. A hike that, if I’d known just how arduous,