Doon Page 5

  Nearly a century had passed since Cameron had been born, though in Doon this had been but the blink of an eye. With his midnight hair, smooth skin, and gray-blue eyes, it was clear he was not yet twenty years of age. He explained that Doon did not exist as part of the mortal world.

  I sat down, hard. Luckily the desk chair was there to catch me. Kenna’s Uncle 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?”

  She searched my face as if waiting for a punch line. “Hungry, maybe … do you feel something?”

  “Ah, well no, of course not. It just feels—you know—h
eavy.” I turned my attention to the envelope, checking to make sure that was all it contained.

  Slowly, I looked up to find my friend biting at her lower lip as she battled her emotions. She reached toward the folded sheet of paper lying on the floor and then snatched her hand back like she’d been burned. “The letter from my aunt. Will you read it, please?”

  I took the worn stationery and searched Kenna’s face. Unshed tears filled her eyes, giving them a silvery shine. “Sure.” An odd combination of trepidation and expectancy sent my already jittery nerves tingling as I opened the letter and began to read aloud.

  My Dearest Mackenna,

  At the time I write this, another chapter of my life is drawing to a close. Once again, my beloved Cameron calls to me. And I long to be reunited with him. This time, forever.

  I paused and glanced at my friend. She stared at the floor, making it impossible to read her emotions.

  As I scanned the next line of the letter, the paper began to shake in my fingers. Propping my elbows on my knees, I pressed on, relieved there was only a slight tremor in my voice.

  I am one hundred and fifty-one years old and have lived a long, happy life full of love and purpose. My only regret, dearest Mackenna, is that I must convey your legacy in writing—for I would rather share this with you in person.

  Remember the stories I used to tell you as a child? I pray, my dear, that your heart is still open to extraordinary tales, because I am about to tell you the most miraculous one of them all.

  In 1882, at the age of nineteen, I finished my studies, and had just accepted a position as a governess in Glasgow when the visions began. I was haunted by a boy with black hair and whimsical gray eyes. He called to me from the Brig o’ Doon.

  My stomach catapulted into my throat. She had visions too?

  Although I had not intended to detour on my way north, I felt drawn to the small village of Alloway. Along the journey, I stumbled upon an antique ruby ring in a curiosity shoppe and spent most of my meager traveling allowance to purchase it. From the moment I slipped it on my finger, I felt a sense of urgency and purpose.

  I glanced at the ruby ring on my finger and then up at my best friend. She sat motionless, staring into the shadows.

  The minute I laid eyes on the Brig o’ Doon, my feet moved as if they had wings. I burned with the need to cross to the other side. As I reached the center of the auld brig, my ring began to glow.

  On the far bank, the boy I’d been dreaming of stepped from the mists, his silver and emerald ring glowing in answer to mine. Behind him stood a glorious castle that grew sharper with each step. The ring had led me to Doon—a beautiful kingdom outside of time and place—where Cameron, my true love, waited. We were married that same day.

  Cam and I spent twenty bliss-filled years in his kingdom before destiny led us back across the Brig o’ Doon. Strangely, the world I remembered was gone. Over eighty years had passed on this side of the portal. The year was 1960.

  Eventually, I was able to track my sister’s descendants to America and reconnect with my only living relatives. I shared my secret with your mother when she turned eighteen, but her future lay elsewhere. Now I leave the legacy of Doon to your keeping, dearest Mackenna. The kingdom is your destiny, if you are courageous enough to embrace it.

  All my love,

  Aunt Gracie

  The rain had stopped, plunging us in a shroud of silence as Kenna stared into her hands. Her mouth opened and closed but formed no discernible words. Unsure of what to say, I set the letter down and asked, “What do you think?”

  She shrugged and twisted the emerald ring on her finger, her lips pursed and trembling.

  I searched her profile and tried to put myself in her place. As far as I knew, she hadn’t experienced any visions of her own, but surely she couldn’t dismiss the words of the woman she’d known better than her own mother. When I spoke, it came out as a whisper. “This is all pretty extraordinary—don’t you think so?”

  “My aunt was always making up stories for me … Pretending they were real. I guess she wanted to leave me with one last fantastical tale.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a made-up story. Don’t you think it lines up perfectly with what Alasdair told us at the pub?”

  “He probably heard it from her.” Beads of sweat dotted Kenna’s forehead and upper lip.

  “Maybe your aunt’s journal would help clarify things? We could read it together.”

  “Just stop.” She held up her hand, her eyes clamped shut.

  I didn’t tell her that I’d skimmed the first several pages—mostly genealogies, and family trees—while she’d been in the shower, or that I was already plotting to examine it again after she fell asleep. It would be so much easier if I could study the journal without the secrecy. I didn’t want to lie to her. Maybe if she knew how similar my visions were to what Gracie and Cameron experienced, and if I showed her the sketch … “What if I could prove—”

  “No—enough. I thought she just made those stories up for me, but apparently she went around telling the whole village she came from another planet.” Kenna shook her head like a child who thought if she plugged her ears and closed her eyes she’d become invisible. Suddenly she sprang to her feet. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

  As I listened to her retreating footsteps, I decided not to go after her. Maybe once she decompressed, she’d be more receptive to what I had to say. Plus, that would give me time to go through her aunt’s things and find more proof. I carefully gathered the rest of Gracie’s papers and tucked them inside the envelope.

  My heart broke for Kenna and the confusion she must be feeling, but as far as I was concerned there was no doubt left in my mind. When I’d slipped on the ring, it was like a window opening to another world. I could see it and feel it, almost touch it. Despite past disappointments, I wanted the fairy tale—handsome prince and all. And if I didn’t do everything within my power to find this magical place, this kingdom of Doon, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

  CHAPTER 6

  Mackenna

  Without conscious thought as to where I was going, I stormed into my bedroom, the door slamming in my wake. The walls trembled as my entrance dislodged a set of costume butterfly wings from an overstuffed shelf. The delicate keepsake spiraled to the floor in a gossamer swirl of silver, orange, and bright blue.

  My first visit to Alloway had been sheer magic. Like something from Mame. My wonderfully strange, larger-than-life aunt converted her dining room into a stage, and we spent the entire summer cocooned in a world of make-believe—creating gorgeous sets and costumes to accompany our scripted stories of Scottish lore. I emerged from that summer a new creature; a confident, creative butterfly with an incurable obsession for theater.

  Now, I resisted the urge to stomp the memento of my metamorphosis into shreds as I questioned whether Gracie’s passion had been tinged with madness all along. Maybe I’d just been too young to realize the most influential person in my life was really the village wacko who believed her jewelry opened the mystical portal to a hidden kingdom.

  The part of me that loved my aunt could’ve forgiven her—except that she’d infected Vee with her insanity.

  My best friend was so susceptible. She’d spent her entire life trying to escape into literary worlds, yearning for something or someone to make her feel special and give her a legacy greater than being the neglected daughter of crappy parents. Now that she had Doon, she wouldn’t let it go. Never mind that her quest would ruin our epic vacation and defraud the woman I’d idolized.

  And since Vee had guzzled Gracie’s Kool-Aid, I knew she wouldn’t stop until she got to the bottom of Doon. If reading the journal would get this fantasyland out of her system faster, she could have it. Then hopefully we could continue our exploration of actual foreign lands with real Scottish hotties.

  Grabbing the book from my dresser drawer, I shoved open my door and headed down the hall to Vee’s room. But it was empty. The overhead light i
lluminated a square of paper on her undisturbed bed, and I recognized Vee’s tidy cursive even before I could make out the single line she’d written. “K. Gone to check out the bridge—back soon. V.”

  Fabulous.

  Vee’s neurotic interest in the Brig o’ Doon had her traipsing around the riverbank in the dead of night. What did she think would happen? That she’d click her heels three times and Doon would miraculously appear?

  As I jogged down the steps to the main floor and slipped out the back, I realized this might work to my advantage. Vee would never accept that Doon was merely the delusions of an aging mind unless she had evidence. If that meant standing on the Brig o’ Doon with the rings chanting “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo” to prove Aunt Gracie’s kingdom didn’t exist, then it was worth it.

  I carefully picked my way over branches and rocks until the overgrown trail reached the illuminated path of the riverbank. The thunderstorms that had plagued Alloway the last two days had rolled through, leaving a tiny sliver of moon to guide me in the clear night sky. As I rounded the bend, I spied Vee sitting on a bench a few steps from the old bridge.

  Aunt Gracie’s ruby ring sparkled from her finger as she lifted it to the light. The way she gazed at it, I half expected her to crouch over and start crooning, “My precious.”

  As I approached, Vee’s head swiveled in my direction, relief shining from her luminous doe eyes. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Of course. Remember that time as kids, I spent the whole night helping you search for the second star to the right? Or the time you read that museum story and I cashed out my entire piggy bank so we could hop a bus to Los Angeles and live inside Disneyland? And we would’ve made it if my dad hadn’t busted us.”