Free Destined for Doon by Carey Corp Page B

until my feet touched the ground. I pushed the riotous waves of hair out of my face and rubbed a palm against my aching stomach muscles as I backed away from him. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
    Jamie’s face was set in hard, determined lines, the torch light casting shadows beneath his cheekbones, making them appear white against his skin. He crossed his arms and spread his feet, clearly preparing for a fight.
    Our gazes locked. Then a trace of remorse lightened his eyes and his shoulders slumped.
    “Vee, I’m sorry. I’m no’ sorry I protected you, but back in the kitchen . . .” He raked a hand through his hair. “I dinna want them to know we were fighting.”
    So he cared more about people’s perceptions than my feelings? An icy wave of detachment swept through me, leaving me empty. I was too tired for his Heathcliff routine tonight. What I needed from him was comfort and support, things he couldn’t seem to give me. Turning my back, I found the beautiful mare he’d gifted to me what seemed like years ago. I reached up to stroke the white diamond of silky fur on Snow’s head, and she nuzzled into my hand. My chest ached as I slipped inside thestall and pressed my face into her warm neck. Jamie was so close that I could hear him saddling his horse beside us, but it felt as if we were worlds apart.
    Begrudgingly, I admitted that even if he was a cretinous jackwagon, he’d been right — at least about one thing. It was best to keep the limbus a secret, for now. At least until Kenna and Duncan arrived, and we could find some answers. The thought of Kenna made me want to collapse in a heap of tears.
    If Duncan hadn’t run into any snags, they should’ve been back by now. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe Kenna had refused to return. I needed her desperately, not only because in my vision she had a role to play in protecting the kingdom, but because she was my best friend — my strength.
    And I didn’t know if I could do this without her.

CHAPTER 7
    Mackenna
    B ack in my choir days we sang an old Scottish song that debates taking the high road versus the low one — like there’s always a choice. Maybe in a world without zombie fungus that was true . . . but not in Doon.
    The path to the high road had been overrun by the limbus. And when I suggested taking the low road, Duncan pointed out it was not parallel but clear on the other side of the kingdom — so nice of the composer to leave that part out! Which meant our only option was off -road, and that turned out to be far worse than it sounded.
    We picked our way down the wooded mountainside on an improvised trail that was barely fit for cliff goats. Duncan kept mostly to himself as he led the way. Occasionally he pointed out a particularly helpful foothold or a patch of loose rock to avoid. Even when he held back branches, he was careful not to make any physical contact.
    At least we seemed to be making good progress — until Duncan stopped in his tracks. Directly in front of him a deepravine cut through the hillside. He stared at it in equal parts shock and frustration. “This shouldna be here.”
    “Are you sure? I mean, how well do you know these mountains?”
    “Well enough not to lead you inta a dead end.” His irritation came out in a sharp huff. “Jamie and I have played capture the flag all throughout this area. I can assure ye that this ravine wasn’t here.”
    “But that was a long time ago, when you were kids, right?”
    “Nay. We were on this range just a fortnight ago.”
    I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Playing capture the flag?”
    “It’s a practical application exercise in strategy for the troops. It’s also good to learn terrain, in case of . . .”
    “In case of what?”
    “Just because we’re protected from the witch under a divine blessing, that doesn’t mean we shouldna be prepared. We honor our Protector by remaining vigilant.”
    To me it sounded like an excuse for grown men to smear