Forever Doon Page 2

  “I know who my best friend is—” Mackenna’s pocket chimed, cutting through the tension of the auld man’s revelation. She removed her mobile phone and glanced at the screen. “Fiona says we need to return to the cottage right away.” Turning halfway toward the parking area, she paused as if suddenly remembering we had unfinished business on the beach. “What do we do with him?”

  With a series of gestures, Eòran indicated caution. Addie had magically removed the faithful guard’s tongue and given it to her lackey, Sean. Despite being a mute, Eòran had no issue with making his sentiments known. Regarding Alasdair, Eòran was of the opinion that this was possibly another trap set by the Witch o’ Doon. I agreed. The only way Alasdair could’ve known about Veronica is if the witch had told him.

  But if he truly had intelligence about how to defeat her . . .

  Both the guard and Mackenna looked to me to determine Alasdair’s fate. If there was the slightest possibility the auld man had information that would help us not only return home but ultimately defeat Adelaide, we had to take that chance. “He comes with us.”

  With a delighted chuckle, Alasdair nodded his consent. With Kenna at my front, the auld man at my back, and Eòran bringing up the rear, we solemnly made our way across the beach to our waiting sedan.

  When we arrived at Mackenna’s ancestral home, Dunbrae Cottage, the front door was ajar. Not only was the door open, but the library windows as well. Our people spilled out of the doorway onto the front walk and garden. Those outside huddled in groups near the windows, whispering to one another. The posture of their bodies and severe expressions made it easy to discern that something of great importance was happening in the library.

  As Mackenna pulled the sedan to a stop, I ordered Eòran to stay in the car with Alasdair. Fixing my stare on the auld man, I said, “If ye know what’s good for you, you’ll stay put until I tell ye to move.”

  Alasdair’s rheumy eyes crinkled as if amused. “Yes, m’Laird.”

  By the time I exited the car, the Doonians standing out of doors had turned to face the road. They all shared the same expression of unease mingled with hopeful expectancy. Mackenna slipped her cool hand into mine. Her brows pinched in confusion. “What do you think’s going on?”

  “I dinna know.” I squeezed her hand in reassurance. “Let’s go find out.”

  Wordlessly, the crowd clustered around the doorway parted so we could enter the cottage. The interior contained more human beings than I would’ve imagined possible in such a cramped space. Friends were pressed against one another in the foyer and up the stairwell, their bodies angled toward the library. As we appeared, heads swiveled in our direction. Each one regarded us with that same disquieting expression.

  Despite the mass of bodies, the crowd managed to step aside so that we could get to the library. The focal point of the room seemed to be a divan—or rather a person perched on the divan with her face downcast. At first sight, the figure appeared to be a child. Slender and petite, the girl had sleek ebony hair and copper skin. The slight trace of makeup on her fine-boned face indicated that she was not a child, merely small in stature.

  Caledonia Fairshaw, Fiona’s mum, sat to one side of the girl while her daughter sat on the other. After a grim look in our direction, Fiona put a hand on the girl’s knee. “Ches, these are the friends I was telling ye about, Duncan and Mackenna. Do you think you could tell them what you told me?”

  The girl nodded and raised her head to address us. Despite the confusion in her dark eyes, she radiated intelligence. She cleared her throat softly before speaking. “My name is Cheska Ann Santos. I’m fifteen.”

  Her accent sounded similar to Mackenna’s, with slightly crisper enunciation and an undercurrent of something exotic. Cheska closed her eyes as she drew in a deep breath; after a slow exhale, she opened them to regard us fiercely. “I can’t account for what happened, exactly, or how . . . but I believe I was sent here from my home, the City of Tayabas, in the Philippines.”

  Fiona nodded, prompting, “Tell them how ye came to be in Scotland, Ches.”

  She fixed her grave eyes on mine as if daring me to doubt her veracity. Without so much as a blink of hesitancy, she replied, “I crossed a bridge.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Veronica

  The snow fell in relentless sheets that blocked out the sun. The kind of snow that made you forget there was ever a world without it. I trudged down the forest path and embraced the biting wind that nipped at my exposed face and slithered beneath my cloak. The pain of the cold felt good, better than the hideous monster that lurked inside, waiting to consume my sanity.

  “Majesty, ’tis just around the next bend!” Ewan Murray shouted over his shoulder. The boy’s green eyes sparkled as if we were on some great adventure instead of tromping through a blizzard to find a blackberry patch. Ewan was incorrigible, just like the time he’d asked me to dance at my first weekly feast when most of the kingdom still believed me a witch—including Jamie.

  The monster reared its ugly head and I tripped over a lump beneath the snow, pitching forward. But before I could fall, strong hands grasped me from behind.

  “Och, lass!” Fergus set me on my feet, and then let go of my arms. “Only the good Lord knows why ye had to come on a blasted mission for berries. But at least refrain from injurin’ yerself in the process, eh?”

  My giant friend wasn’t quite himself. Not that any of us were, but Fergus in particular bore the burden of failing to save his future king. No matter how many times I reassured him that there was nothing he could’ve done, he continued to blame himself. And it didn’t help that his wife, Fiona, and who knew how many others, were trapped outside of Doon because I had sent them there.

  Before the Brig o’ Doon disintegrated, Fiona had been seen making it to safety in a group that included Eòran, Kenna, and my successor, Prince Duncan. At least if something happened to me, the heir to the throne would be safe, and perhaps, someday, find a way back.

  Fergus and I continued down the path side by side, walking fast to keep up with Ewan’s quickly diminishing form. “I can see you didn’t forget your grumpy pills this morning,” I jabbed, trying to coax out the old Fergus, so full of joy that no circumstances could dim his light—the friend I so desperately needed. But so far, my banter had been rewarded with grumbling and sour glares, much like the way he looked at me now.

  “Veronica,” he whispered, to ensure no one heard his use of my given name. “Why do ye keep insistin’ on endangering yerself by gatherin’ firewood, goin’ on supply runs, and any other menial task ye can latch onta? Yer the only hope we have left—”

  I whipped my head around. “What hope am I, Fergus? I have no plan, no idea how to defeat the witch.” My voice rose above the wind, drawing the attention of the guards behind us. I didn’t care. “The least I can do is be useful. I have nothing! No ring, no crown, I—”

  My throat closed as Jamie’s words from another world echoed in my head. “Yer crown is no’ what makes you a queen. And you are betrothed to me, even without a ring.”

  That may be true, Jamie, but without you my crown means nothing.

  I didn’t know how I was supposed to survive without him. The years following my father’s abandonment had shown me how to stand on my own. I’d learned independence the hard way. But after knowing what it felt like to have Jamie by my side, I knew standing alone and feeling alive were two very different things.

  Fergus grasped my arm and pulled me to a stop in the middle of the path. “You are our Called sovereign and whether ye choose to act like it or no’, you are our leader! I know yer grieving. But so are most of yer people who lost loved ones across the brig or in the quake, and even to that blasted witch.” He leaned down, the cowl of his cloak casting shadows that sharpened his cheekbones and emphasized his glittering blue eyes. “We. Need. You! Not as a worker bee, but as our queen!”

  A hand shot out of the trees and grasped my arm. Fergus pulled his sword, but before he could unsheathe
it, a face popped out of the darkness. Ewan pushed back his hood, red hair falling over his eyes. “A patrol is headed this way. We dinna have much time.”

  With a flurry of movement, we left the path. I glanced over my shoulder to see one of the guards sweep our footprints with a pine branch, fresh flakes quickly disguising the shallow grooves left by the needles. As I followed Ewan, the forest closed in around us, cutting off what little sun filtered through the snowstorm. He reached back and took my hand, whispering guidance and lifting branches out of our way. We entered a circle of pines and Ewan stopped. “We should be safe here for the moment.”

  After Fergus and the guards joined us, we stood in a circle, each one of them focused on me. I met their gazes in turn; Ewan’s verdant and gleaming, both guards’ stoic, and then the giant Scotsman, whose pale stare cut into me with unbearable expectancy. Fergus had been my first friend in Doon, the first to believe Kenna and I were innocent. I’d once referred to him as my guardian angel. But his belief in me now didn’t make a bit of difference.

  When I remained silent, Fergus pushed out a heavy sigh, and then turned to Ewan. “What did ye see of the patrol?”

  “No’ much. I heard footsteps . . . more like marching, as if they were moving as one. Then I ducked off the path and circled back.”

  “Camp is less than a league from here.” Fergus frowned and shook his head. “We’ll need ta move.”

  “And leave the Brig o’ Doon?” Ewan asked the question that dominated all of our thoughts. We’d made camp in the forest nearest to the bridge—at least the spot where it used to stand. Grief tied us to the place where so many of our loved ones had been lost.

  Fergus’s gaze burned into mine, and I searched my mind for the right thing to say—the queenly thing. Following a pregnant pause, I gave a single nod. “After sunset. We’ll move under the cover of darkness.”

  Back at camp, our blackberry mission an epic failure, I approached the teepee-like tent I shared with sisters Sofia and Gabriella Rosetti, and Analisa Morimoto—the girls who kept me sane through my grief. Things were beginning to mend between Ana and me, despite the British thief ’s refusal to pledge to me at the coronation ceremony. But I couldn’t deny the support she’d given me in this time of crisis, regardless of her reservation regarding the monarchy; she’d taken a knee and made the vow on a cold forest morning just days before, along with anyone in our Doonian camp who’d missed the opportunity the first time.

  I still missed Kenna so badly I refused to even think about it, but Ana’s pragmatic nature was a perfect contrast to Sofia’s quiet compassion and Gabby’s unwavering merriment. At night, the four of us jammed in the narrow tent like sardines, willing to sacrifice legroom for warmth and companionship.

  As I neared our new home, a single curl of smoke rose through the hole in the teepee’s roof, dispersed by the trees overhead. Not everyone had the luxury of a fire inside their tent. We’d had to make do with what we could scavenge from Jamie and Duncan’s well-fortified Brother Cave and a covert mission into the village, where we gathered food staples, livestock, clothing, a few teepees, and some smaller tents. Lean-tos had also been built from animal fur and sticks. The most unlucky slept on pallets on a patch of cleared ground or tucked beneath the pine boughs.

  Ready to dry my socks by the fire and lose myself in Gabby’s lighthearted chatter, I opened the flap and ducked inside. But none of my roommates awaited me. Sofia and Gabby’s mother, Sharron Rosetti, sat, legs folded like a pretzel, roasting a pheasant over the flames. My mouth watered and my stomach twisted simultaneously.

  “Please sit, my queen.” Sharron eyed me the way only a mother of seven could. “I’ve prepared us a meal.”

  I moved to a pallet away from the door and sat. “I’m not hungry.”

  She removed the crisp bird from the flames and bile rose in my throat. Eating had been next to impossible. As had sleeping. I spent my days helping around camp wherever I was needed the most. The night before, I’d nursed the injured until the sun began to crest the horizon, then fallen onto my pallet hoping my exhaustion would keep the dreams at bay, but I still saw him there. The dream could be as mundane as walking through the forest, or as terrifying as facing Addie down in the throne room, but Jamie was always there. Casually leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his broad chest, one booted foot in front of the other, intensity drawing his brows into a scowl. Or his dark eyes shining with mischief as they caressed my face, my cheeks, my lips. He never spoke. But I awoke drowning in fresh sorrow.

  “With all due respect, Yer Majesty.” Sharron tore off a leg of the bird and held it out. “Sofia told me ye haven’t been eatin’. Ye need your strength.”

  I took the warm drumstick by the knobby end and stared at it. “You can call me Veronica.”

  “All right then, Queen Veronica.”

  Her emphasis on my title caused me to lift my eyes to her challenging gaze. “Did you need something, Mrs. Rosetti, or did Sofia send you in here to give motherly advice?”

  She ignored my tone and continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Yer Majesty, many of us have lost loved ones these last days. Mags Benior was a dear friend.” Sharron’s voice broke. The earthquake had injured and killed many, including the French chef who made the best blueberry pancakes on the planet. Mags had been my friend too, but I didn’t have room in my soul to feel that loss.

  I focused on stripping pieces of skin from the bird. Maybe that was why I spent so much time in the infirmary tent. Doc Benior understood me. We didn’t speak, because there were no words to express losing your Called partner. Your heart.

  Her voice once again strong, Sharron continued her speech. “We must go on. Not despite our loved one’s deaths, but because of them.”

  Easy for her to say; her husband was injured but alive. Pinching off a piece of dark meat, I slipped it between my lips and forced myself to chew and swallow.

  “Look at me, sweet girl.”

  Almost against my will, I raised my eyes to meet Sharron’s shimmering gaze. “Love never dies. And because of that, we live on.” My nose stung as she reached over and took my free hand, squeezing my fingers tight. “Honor him, Vee. As much as you loved Jamie, honor him with an equally passionate life.”

  A shudder tore through me, and I pressed a fist to my mouth. I couldn’t let it out. If I did, I might not ever stop. Shooting to my feet, I dropped the drumstick and stumbled out of the tent. And I ran. Ran as fast as my feet would take me, past groups of staring people, past the makeshift paddock full of livestock, and into the burnt-out countryside beyond. Leaping a jagged tear in the earth, I sprinted past gnarled trees burnt to a crisp by the righteous fire that had destroyed the witch’s curse, the Edritch Limbus; their blackened carcasses in relief to the pristine snow made it appear as if the color had leached from the world.

  I pushed my legs faster, running until I reached the edge of the River Doon and the chasm where the Brig o’ Doon had been, and then fell to my knees. My grief went deep; past bone and sinew, permeating my organs and blackening my soul. It soaked the earth beneath me and echoed in the mists that coiled among the treetops every morning, moaning on the wind.

  But not me. I’d refused to give voice to the pain, to let it take me. Now it rose up—the monster I could no longer control—and I lifted my face to the snowfall, a cry tearing from deep inside. Balling my hands into fists, I sobbed his name. “Jaaamiiieee!”

  I cried until the tears closed my throat, and I collapsed in on myself. I’d always thought if a loved one passed on, they could visit you in spirit—that God would allow it in times of need. But I didn’t feel Jamie’s spirit lingering with me. In fact, it seemed as if he himself might actually appear any minute. Like I could glance over my shoulder and he’d come sauntering up, that too-confident smirk tilting his lips. But that would never happen again.

  Lifting my head, I stared across the empty chasm and at the river rushing below. Water roared and churned in angry swirls over sharp rocks, their jagged po
ints beckoning, promising a swift death. A shudder vibrated through me. If the fall didn’t kill me, with my heavy clothing, the current would suck me under and I wouldn’t fight it.

  Fight. The word echoed in my head until it morphed into the last words Jamie spoke to me. “Verranica, one of us will live to fight another day, and that must be you.” He’d then pressed his lips against my forehead. “The Protector will be with you.”

  He’d wanted me to fight. Clutching the wet grass where the river spray had melted the snow, I leaned forward and peered over the edge of the ravine. Stubby trees and limestone shelves jutted out from the slope. But if I took a running leap, I could clear it. Jumping would be quick and easy . . . and horribly selfish.

  Giving up was not an option. I’d always said my dad took the easy way out, the completely self-serving path, by leaving when things got hard. I refused to do the same.

  I leaned back and balled my hands into fists. The Protector had chosen me. Jamie had chosen me. No matter how much it hurt, I would find a way to honor that by choosing to live, to fight, and be the queen he believed I could be. Not some cop-out Juliet who couldn’t live without her Romeo. I’d always hated that story.

  Reclining back on my haunches, I took the multicolored ribbons I always carried from my pocket and tugged the purple one from the knot. When I’d researched handfasting, I’d read that the purple represented strength, honor, and sanctity.

  Stretching an arm over the ravine, I held out the ribbon, the purple strand flying in the breeze as the words ripped from my chest like a vow. “I promise you, my heart.” My voice broke on a sob, but I pushed through. “By whatever means necessary, I will defeat your murderer and save our kingdom!”

  The sun broke through the clouds as I released the ribbon. It floated, suspended for a moment before a gust of wind caught it, taking it up, up, up. Astonished, I watched it fly against the fall of flurries and then curl into a spiral and drop. Scrabbling on my hands and knees, I peered over the edge and searched the cliff face until I spotted the scrap of purple resting on a rock shelf.