Destined for Doon (6 page)
Indicating the opposite side of the river, Duncan asked, “Do ye smell anything now?”
“No.” For a long moment he studied me. Under his scrutiny I felt like a puzzle that was missing important pieces. When I could bear it no longer, I asked, “None of you saw anything like this at the northern border, not even Vee?”
“No.” Duncan shook his head. “The Queen was right to send for you. You can see things that the rest of us cannot. I hate to ask this, but I need to know what’s on the other side. Do ye think you could step back onto the bridge?”
My entire being screamed in protest, but Duncan was right. He needed what only I could provide. I wouldn’t fail him again.
Using my scarf as a mask, I held it over my nose and stepped forward. The glowing emerald of my ring washed the bridge in a sickly green color. The stink returned, but now that I was braced for it, it wasn’t completely overpowering.
Duncan’s mammoth hands fastened to my hips. He held me gently, yet firmly, from behind becoming a physical anchor to safety. His smooth brogue penetrated my fear as he spoke quietly into my ear. “Do you smell it?”
When I nodded, he said, “Let me know if it becomes too much to bear. Now, what do you see?”
I tried to block out the stench and focus on the horizon. Fuchsia and orange streaks lit the indigo sky as I glimpsed a world that was not my own. “It’s dawn.” The words were muffled by the scarf. “I can see the castle in the distance.”
“What else?”
I pulled my gaze back, focusing on the land between us and Castle MacCrae. The woods looked just as I remembered, except they were slightly off on one side, like a see-through
scrim separated the setting from the audience. Looking closer, it seemed that a catastrophic event had destroyed most of the natural life. I could see skeletal branches and some kind of slimy black fungus that had inserted its dominance in the aftermath. “The forest looks wrecked. All the plants are decaying and moldy.”
“Where?”
“On the right side of the Brig o’ Doon.”
“How far?”
“Starting at the riverbank. As far as I can see.”
The more I focused on the rotten land, the more the smell threatened to overpower me. My eyes began to burn. Fighting the urge to step back to safety, I tried to absorb more details. From out of nowhere a crow swooped across the riverbank.
Maybe it was because I was somehow holding the portal open, but the bird flew from my world straight across the river and into the devastation as if it could sense no threat. The instant it reached the other side, it let out a bloodcurdling squawk, followed by a shriek as it dropped to the forest floor. It flopped for a moment, then unsteadily stood on broken, twisted legs. Most of its feathers littered the ground and the flesh of the creature fell away in chunks, exposing the bones underneath. Making low, guttural noises, the crow lurched away deeper into the putrefied woods.
“Enough!” I gasped.
Duncan’s hands guided me as I stepped back and dropped the scarf. Dragging clean air through my nose to my lungs, I took several calming breaths before addressing his questions. Same as the farmer’s hound, he’d seen the crow disappear, but he’d only heard what came next. I filled in the gaps, recounting in as much detail as I could recall, including the transformation of the zombie crow. As I described the bird lurching away into
the slimy undergrowth, one other significant detail surfaced. “The ground — ” I stated. “The edge of the riverbank was covered with black petunias.”
Duncan shivered. “So the northern and eastern borders of Doon, from the bridge to the high farmlands, are compromised by the Eldritch Limbus. How about if we stay south once we cross the bridge?”
Panic seized my chest. The stench, the undead animals — death was on the other side of the Brig o’ Doon. I couldn’t cross the bridge — I wouldn’t. My head shook from side to side and I heard myself babbling the word no. Was this what it felt like to be hysterical?
“Relax.” Duncan led me a short distance away from the path. “I’ll not risk your safety. If the way is not sure, we’ll try for the mountains in the morning.”
The mountain pass was the back door into Doon. It was steep and long, but if it kept us far away from zombie crows, I’d take it. Even better that we were going to rest first. Relieved, I staggered over to a nearby park bench and slumped down. I might’ve curled up right there to sleep, except Duncan inspected me with narrowed eyes and asked, “Shall I carry ye to Dunbrae Cottage?”
There was no teasing in his tone, but no tenderness either. If I said yes, he’d scoop me up and cradle me against the warmth of his chest. His steady heart would beat a rhythmic lullaby and I would drift into a safe, dreamless sleep in the shelter of his arms . . . and wake up to the harsh reality that he’d merely been obeying orders.
“I can make it on my own.” Summoning the last of my strength, I got to my feet. The world began to tilt and I took another deep breath to steady it. Fighting vertigo, I walked away from Duncan’s tempting offer. It was time to leave the woods.
Dunbrae Cottage, just a short walk from the bridge, was as quiet as when I’d left it ten months ago. Except the key was missing from its hiding spot. I flipped over a couple more rocks, my brain swirling with scenarios that involved the return of Adelaide Blackmore Cadell, the witch bent on the destruction of Doon.
“Lookin’ for this?” Duncan, who’d been following a few paces behind, held up the key.
The swirl of worst case scenarios going through my head caused me to snap. “Where did you get that?”
Duncan seemed suddenly unsure. “Veronica said ye wouldna mind if I stayed while I got my travel affairs in order.”
I snatched the key from his hand and busied myself with unlocking the door. After a couple of failed attempts, I fit the key into the lock and turned. Duncan followed me into the foyer. After carefully locking the door behind us, he asked, “Can I get ye anything?”
The pragmatic tone of his voice made me want to lash out. Couldn’t he understand that I needed more right now? I needed Duncan the boyfriend, not the duty-bound knight on a quest. With effort, I reminded myself that it wasn’t his fault that I had unrealistic expectations — if anything the fault was mine for messing things up in the first place.
“I just need sleep.” And perhaps a time out.
Duncan nodded. “I’ll carry your bag up to your room.” Only then did I notice my canvas tote slung over his shoulder. I’d dropped it on the bridge and never given it a second thought. He must’ve gone back for it after I started toward the cottage.
Shamed, I followed Duncan up the stairs to the room I’d claimed as my own. I watched from the doorway as he flipped on the light by the nightstand and set the bag next to my bed.
Before turning to leave, he scanned the room, going so far as to peek under the bed. Satisfied there were no witches or monsters to torment my sleep, he crossed to the door. Instead of leaving, he paused and studied me again.
It was impossible to decipher the thoughts flowing across the canvas of his eyes. Good thoughts? Negative ones? I had no clue. What struck me most was how the absence of his trademark twinkle altered him. Where was the laidback boy with the quick, wry humor? Was he this somber all the time now? Or only around me? When we got to Doon, I would ask Vee.
Clearing his throat, Duncan said, “You should get some rest. The journey tomorrow won’t be an easy one.”
Of course not. I suspected nothing would be easy for us ever again. “Thank you. Take any room you like.”
My attempt at civility sounded oddly hollow. But if Duncan noticed, he chose not to react. Evenly, he announced, “We leave at — ”
“First light.” By now, I knew the drill.
Without another word, he left, closing the door behind him. Instead of retreating to another bedroom, however, I could hear him hovering just outside. From the sound, I guessed that he was setting up camp in the hallway. With only a door separating us, it would be so easy to use the horrors of the bridge as an excuse to invite him in. If I begged, he would hold me through the night. He was too much of a gentleman to say no.
With a heavy heart, I turned off the light and crawled into bed. If his nearness got to be too much, I’d count zombie crows. After everything I’d done, I owed it to Duncan to protect him — especially from myself.
A
smooth expanse of white sand, recently washed clean by the tide, stretched before us. Too early for sun-bathers and boogie boarders, Ayr Beach was blessedly deserted. Ribbons of rose and tangerine streaked through the lightening sky, reminding me that I had no business being up at the butt crack of dawn for the second morning in a row.
I glanced at Duncan, whose singular focus seemed to be getting back to Doon. His intense, haggard expression only increased his hotness, and as usual my heart swooned a tiny bit. To our right, down the shoreline and invisible to the modern eye, waited the steep cliffs that would be our passage into his world . . . assuming it wasn’t overrun by the zombie fungus.
Maybe it was the lack of caffeine and that I’d slept very little the night before, or the fact that all sane people were still drooling on their pillows, but I was suddenly overcome with urges I couldn’t control. I wanted to dig my toes into the wet sand, feel the cold waves against my legs, and savor the salty air. For one brief moment, I wanted to be fully present on this beautiful
beach. Then I would follow the prince who used to love me into the uncertain future.
Blocking Duncan’s path, I nodded toward a nearby bench. “It’s more fun to walk along the beach barefoot.”
Anxiously, I watched him sit and begin unlacing his Chucks. I settled beside him, removing my sneakers and socks in silence and stuffing them into my bag. Side by side, Duncan and I rolled up our jeans. When finished, we both stared at the colorful horizon over the softly rolling surf. Maybe I wasn’t the only one not in a hurry to face the horrifying unknown.
Keeping my eyes on the view, I asked, “Can you guarantee that we’ll make it to Doon alive?”
For several beats he stared at the vast ocean, his face as unchanging as a marble statue. Finally he shook his head. “Nay . . . And I’m sorry I had to ask this of you. I would’ve preferred to let you be rather than disrupt the life ye chose, but I didna have a choice.”
“I know.” It was easier to talk when we weren’t facing one another. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Aye.” Duncan inhaled sharply, and I wondered what was going through his mind.
“Can I have a few minutes? I want to walk along the ocean one last time.”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His face hardened as he waged some internal battle, but all he said was another, “Aye.”
I knew it would be asking too much of him to join me — and I had no right — so I walked down to the water alone. The cool sand clumped beneath my toes, shifting with each step. My psyche felt equally unstable where Duncan was concerned. I missed that solid foundation where I didn’t over analyze every interaction and second-guess my instincts.
At the shoreline, I waited for the tide to wash over my feet. Cold, briny waves lapped at my toes, tugging me gently as they receded. They seemed to be pulling me away from the cares of the world: egomaniacal directors, diffident princes, and zombie curses. For a moment, I empathized with Ophelia and the relief of surrendering to the water for all of eternity. Not that I was suicidal or anything, just tired . . . of a long journey that hadn’t really even started.
“It pulls at you.” Duncan’s wonder-filled voice settled over me like a Scottish life preserver tethering me to the beach. I turned to see him ankle deep in the surf, studying the receding tide. “I’ve seen the ocean my whole life, but never been able to touch it. So I’ve tried verra hard not to wonder what I was missing.”
The borders of Doon ended at the top of the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. The only other time he’d been on the beach was on the way to rescue his brother, Jamie. Then, we’d been so focused on saving Doon’s young king that we’d never come close to the water.
Another wave tumbled over our feet, and Duncan’s dark eyes lit up with delight — I’d missed that spark. Finally I glimpsed the boy I remembered, the young nobleman dancing through life with carefree abandon. As the water ebbed, he readjusted his footing with a laugh. “The sea’s a force ta be reckoned with,” he declared.
His twinkling eyes met mine, giving me the boldness to say, “For the next fifteen minutes, there’s no future or past. Only this.”
Only us . . .
He nodded and flashed me an easy lopsided grin — the first one since our awkward reunion. That smile was like the perfect spring day after a seemingly endless winter. My tension drained away with the hope that he was finally warming to me.
“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing as a half dozen reddish crabs scurrying along the shore. Duncan jogged to one and bent over it in fascination. “When Jamie and I were wee boys, my ma used to make believe the Loch o’ Doon held all the mysteries of the Atlantic. We’d pretend to find sea creatures and mermaids and the like. It probably sounds daft, but it was one of my favorite games.”
Before I could comment, he was on to the next treasure — a jagged outcropping of rock housing a small tide pool. The miniature microcosm contained pale anemone, tiny fish, and purple starfish clinging to the mossy sides of the rocks. Duncan sank to his knees and reached into the clear water. He stroked one of the starfish, speaking to it affectionately. Had he been part of my world, he might have been a marine biologist.
After a few moments, he gestured toward me. “Mackenna, come see this bonnie specimen. She’s a right beauty, she is. I wish I could take her home with me.”
Boy, did he need a puppy!
Duncan’s enthusiasm for such an impractical pet made me recall the time Vee and I tried to keep a butterfly with a damaged wing. Vee snuck it into her room and kept it in an old shoebox. But by the next morning, poor Flutter was dead.
I knelt beside Duncan and asked teasingly, “What are you going to call her? I’m thinking Stella or Starla.”