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.”
He shook his head. “Nay. She’s Maureen.”
“Why Maureen?”
He favored me with his uneven smile and a mischievous shrug. Clearly there was more to the name than he was willing to say. Beyond our tide pool, I spied a section of beach littered with shells. With a little luck I’d find a washed-up starfish among the debris — Maureen’s twin sister, one that had already given its life and would make the trip back to Doon. “Seemslike you two could use some alone time. I’m going to head down the beach a bit.”
He nodded absently — too busy bonding with Maureen to acknowledge me. I picked my way through the sand to a cluster of shells that’d been left high and dry by the tide. Poking out of the sand was exactly the thing I was looking for.
I hastily picked up the little mummified starfish and slipped it into my pocket just as Duncan called out, “What’re ye doing?” Later when we were in Doon, I would surprise him with it.
To cover my tracks I answered, “I want to gather a few shells for Vee.” I stopped just short of blurting out, “Since she’s never gonna get to the ocean again.”
As with anything in life, living in a secret Scottish kingdom was a trade-off. I knew Vee would happily forsake the ocean to live with her prince in a world where she belonged and was loved — what girl wouldn’t?
Duncan walked toward me in the surf. “Great idea.”
My heart hitched. It took me a moment to realize he was responding to the thing I’d said about collecting shells for Vee and not my musings about love.
With a small exclamation, he bent over, scooped something into his hand and then straightened again, holding his treasure triumphantly in the air for me to see. As Duncan held up the white scalloped shell, his smile radiated from his mouth into the depths of his brown eyes, causing them to shine as he ran his fingers through his dark hair to form chaotic peaks. My heart seized. It was the very same gesture I remembered from when we were kids and he used to play with me on the Brig o’ Doon.
Back then he was my imaginary friend Finn. And I had no idea his appearance was some form of what the Doonians referred to as the Calling — soul mates reaching toward one another across time and place.
Unable to resist, I drifted toward him. The ocean swirled around my toes as I worked next to him gathering shells. Without warning the receding tide ripped the sand from beneath me, and I crashed onto the beach, landing on my hip. Duncan collapsed next to me. As I caught my breath, I looked at the boy sprawled at my side, whose surprise mirrored my own. Suddenly, we were laughing.
In unison, we flopped onto our
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.”
He shook his head. “Nay. She’s Maureen.”
“Why Maureen?”
He favored me with his uneven smile and a mischievous shrug. Clearly there was more to the name than he was willing to say. Beyond our tide pool, I spied a section of beach littered with shells. With a little luck I’d find a washed-up starfish among the debris — Maureen’s twin sister, one that had already given its life and would make the trip back to Doon. “Seemslike you two could use some alone time. I’m going to head down the beach a bit.”
He nodded absently — too busy bonding with Maureen to acknowledge me. I picked my way through the sand to a cluster of shells that’d been left high and dry by the tide. Poking out of the sand was exactly the thing I was looking for.
I hastily picked up the little mummified starfish and slipped it into my pocket just as Duncan called out, “What’re ye doing?” Later when we were in Doon, I would surprise him with it.
To cover my tracks I answered, “I want to gather a few shells for Vee.” I stopped just short of blurting out, “Since she’s never gonna get to the ocean again.”
As with anything in life, living in a secret Scottish kingdom was a trade-off. I knew Vee would happily forsake the ocean to live with her prince in a world where she belonged and was loved — what girl wouldn’t?
Duncan walked toward me in the surf. “Great idea.”
My heart hitched. It took me a moment to realize he was responding to the thing I’d said about collecting shells for Vee and not my musings about love.
With a small exclamation, he bent over, scooped something into his hand and then straightened again, holding his treasure triumphantly in the air for me to see. As Duncan held up the white scalloped shell, his smile radiated from his mouth into the depths of his brown eyes, causing them to shine as he ran his fingers through his dark hair to form chaotic peaks. My heart seized. It was the very same gesture I remembered from when we were kids and he used to play with me on the Brig o’ Doon.
Back then he was my imaginary friend Finn. And I had no idea his appearance was some form of what the Doonians referred to as the Calling — soul mates reaching toward one another across time and place.
Unable to resist, I drifted toward him. The ocean swirled around my toes as I worked next to him gathering shells. Without warning the receding tide ripped the sand from beneath me, and I crashed onto the beach, landing on my hip. Duncan collapsed next to me. As I caught my breath, I looked at the boy sprawled at my side, whose surprise mirrored my own. Suddenly, we were laughing.
In unison, we flopped onto our
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