that I had to approach the dark-haired girl first to give my nerves a chance to settle. I extended my left arm to her before turning toward the lass with the glowing red hair.
“Fear not, m’ladies. You are under the protection of Duncan Rhys Finnean MacCrae, Prince o’ Doon, and no harm will come to you. I swear it on m’ life.” I reached for Mackenna, who swatted my arm away.
“Ugh. Get away from me, you big ogre.” Rather than gratitude, she surveyed me with contempt. For a moment I just stared at her luminous gray eyes searching for some sign of recognition, no matter how small. But alas, she had no idea who I was. I wasn’t sure if she had truly forgotten me or if some aspect of her stubborn memory refused to see what was right in front of her.
As I led her and her friend away, I realized that it didn’t matter. We were destined to be together and, therefore, I would make her fall incurably in love with me. Soon, she would look at me, her eyes shining with affection as she confessed her love. And we would live happily ever after, just like in the best of stories.
Mackenna’s cool hands clasped the sides of my face. “Hey. Where’d you go?”
I gazed into her shining eyes and chuckled. “I was thinkin’ about the first time I saw ye in Doon—before I escorted you to my chambers—when you swatted me away and called me an ogre.”
“Oh, gosh.” She ducked her head, burying it against my chest. Her ginger hair smelled so strongly of strawberries that my mouth began to water. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Caressing her hair, I murmured, “Dinna let it trouble ye, woman. I love you too.”
Mackenna Reid was mine and there was nothing in any world, in any age, or in any circumstance that would break us apart.
CHAPTER 6
Mackenna
Kissing Duncan was like losing and finding myself in the same instant. The moment his lips touched down, the mysteries of the universe—like quantum physics and the intricacies of Sondheim musicals—were within my grasp. But as the kiss went on, his presence pushed all other thought away until there was just him and only this. The boy was seriously addictive.
I came up for air, my heart bursting with one of my favorite songs from RENT. “Can we just stay like this?” There’s only now. I brushed my mouth against his, once . . . “I’m not talking forever—” There’s only here. Twice . . . “Just today.” A third time . . . Give in to love or live in fear. “Maybe tomorrow too.”
“Aye.” Tucking me against his chest, Duncan rested his head on top of mine with a sigh.
Usually I tried to curb my PDA impulses out of respect for Fiona and the other Doonians, but we seemed to be plagued by an abundance of Scots and not nearly enough alone time. When we were newly stranded in Alloway, Duncan’s displaced countrymen had followed him around like a flock of theater intern newbs. Not that I blamed them. They were scared, wounded, separated from loved ones, and each coping with the trauma of the situation in their own way.
As the shock wore off, a few others, like Fiona, Caledonia, and Rabbie, stepped up to help bear the burden of leadership.
Raibeart MacGregor—affectionately known as wee Rabbie—had been the only other soldier to make it out. Although he’d been Duncan’s apprentice with the guard for less than a month, like most Scotsmen, what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. Wee Rabbie was built like a boulder—a super-nice, very conscientious boulder.
Said boulder cleared his throat loudly as he focused pointedly away from where Duncan and I were swapping saliva. Like many Scottish boys in their late teens, Rabbie’s natural complexion was a mottled shade of pink that had a tendency to turn scarlet with emotion. As someone who’d battled the curse of the ginger all my life, I took pity on the blushing guard and broke away from Duncan with a hasty apology.
“M’Laird,” Rabbie stammered, pretending that I didn’t exist. “Eòran sent me for ye. The gentleman in his custody is in need of relief.”
From the street beyond the garden’s privacy hedge, a voice clarified, “I’ve got ta see the wizard.”
Laughing, I explained the use of slang and the euphemism. Alasdair certainly had inherited the MacCrae wit.
With a sigh, Duncan ran his hand through his hair so that it stuck out at odd