a wee bit too clear . . . The soldier in me cautioned against accepting the girl blindly at her word. Squaring my shoulders, I leveled my gaze on the foreigner. “Does what happened scare you?”
“A little.” She burst into a wide, earnest smile. “But, you see, I’m addicted to this video game, Tussle of Tribes. It’s set in this medieval/Middle-Earth-type fantasy world. The first time I played it, I knew I was destined for something great. This is it. I can’t explain how I know, but I am certain.”
The force of her conviction helped to alleviate my concerns. After all, Mackenna and Queen Veronica had arrived in Doon much the same way—suddenly, but with a sense it was where they were supposed to be. If Cheska Santos had been called here, then she had an important role to play in saving our kingdom. As to what that role was, hopefully the Protector would show us in due time.
In the pause that followed, Mackenna looked from Cheska to me to Fiona and then to Caledonia. “What do we do next?”
“I’d like to get Ches settled,” Fiona stated. “At Rose Petal Lodge.”
Upon our arrival in Alloway, Fiona had readily taken up the tasks of feeding and sheltering our group. Using funds from the MacCrae trust, she’d rented several cottages in the vicinity, a paddock and barn for Mabel, a patch of land for a garden, and a large dining hall where the people would take their meals. She’d also made a roster of the Doonians who had managed to cross the Brig o’ Doon before the collapse, complete with an inventory of skillsets—not that there was much useable among the forty-odd group of mostly children and elderly citizens. Still, Fiona made the best of what we had, dividing countrymen into groups for cooking, cleaning, and laundry.
Not only did she run things, she also pitched in at every opportunity, often engaged from sunrise until well past sunset. I recognized the avoidance tactic all too well. I’d used it when Mackenna had abandoned me on the Brig o’ Doon to pursue her career in the modern world. I’d erroneously thought if I stayed busy enough, I wouldn’t have to think about the possibility of never seeing her again. It was the same way now with Fiona in regards to Fergus.
I wanted to tell her it wouldn’t work. But from the determined gleam in her green eyes, I suspected she already knew. Instead, I rose and thanked my dear friend for her service.
As Fiona and Cheska prepared to leave, Caledonia, obviously reluctant to abandon her new charge, hesitated in front of me. “By your leave, Your Highness, I’ll go with them. Help the lass settle in.”
It took me a moment to comprehend that Caledonia Fairshaw had addressed me, as unaccustomed as I was to thinking of myself as a ruler. As the second son, I’d made peace long ago with a life of military service. But with things in Doon unsure, the people looked to me for guidance. To lead them.
“Of course,” I replied, hoping the preceding pause hadn’t been as awkward as it felt.
As the two women led Cheska from the library, the small girl halted at the doorway. She turned back to regard Mackenna and me with her unwavering gaze. “There is one more thing you must know. The unseen voices . . . The angels weren’t just wailing. Their sound of warning and thunder—it was a battle cry. War is coming.”
Cheska set her shoulders and, with a nod of parting, left Dunbrae Cottage. Despite her size, the newest addition to our group possessed the heart of a lion . . . of a Doonian.
Once they were out of earshot, Mackenna frowned. “What do you think about Cheska? I know that video game she’s talking about—it’s got castles and witches and stuff. What a crazy coincidence.”
Before I could reply, she continued. “Do you think Fiona told her about Doon?”
“Fiona wouldna. She’d defer to me,” I replied. “The girl does tell a compelling story, but even if we believe her, we should figure out what’s going on before we reveal the secrets of our kingdom.”
The Doonians who had been watching the exchange began to disperse. Some went to market, some to oversee the progress of the bridge, while others tended to the planting of a garden. The dozens of children who’d crossed the bridge before its collapse settled in for their lessons, which were held at Dunbrae Cottage under the astute tutelage of