Mario, the proprietor and import from Italy, paused in his task of clearing the table adjacent to ours. “If I may, signori? It is a gigante mystery.” He illustrated his point by holding his hands wide apart and giving them a shake for emphasis. “As a young man, I was called to Doon from Napoli in 1915, during the last Centennial. I met la mia moglie—my future wife. Since then, I marry, make seven bambinis—babies—but I do not look over one hundred years old.” He demonstrated by doing five quick jumping jacks. “I do not feel it either.”
If I passed Mario on the street, I would’ve placed him in his late thirties or early forties—not in the hundreds. Yet he stood before us like the Italian cross between a Roman immortal and the old woman who lived in a shoe with all those kids.
Vee waved her hand, apparently unsatisfied with the breezy explanation. “But there must be some logical explanation.”
“Niente” Mario shrugged and then resumed busing tables.
Vee turned to Duncan who, in turn, gestured to his brother. Cautiously, Jamie turned toward her and answered, “There’s no exact formula for matching the passage of time in Doon to the outside world, but it moves at approximately one-fourth the pace and can have a variable of eight years.”
Nerd alert. Although Jamie MacCrae looked GQ, he had some serious IQ going on.
Plunging into the mental deep in the prince’s wake, Vee hypothesized, “So, the Brig o’ Doon opens once each hundred years in the outside world, but it happens approximately every twenty-one to twenty-nine years in this realm?”
“Tha’s right. We call it the Centennial as a reminder of the passage of time in the world from whence we came.”
Vee turned to me, her eyes shining with the power of knowledge. “That answers a lot of our questions, doesn’t it?”
They’d been her questions, not mine, but the point wasn’t important enough to debate. Instead, I swung my head back and forth and reveled in gleeful ignorance. “Nope. Afraid it’s all Geek to me.”
As patient as Mother Teresa, Vee explained, “It’s like a sale where shoes normally cost $79.99 but are thirty percent off—you have to round up or down to get even sums. Because we’re in an alternate realm, it doesn’t match exactly. Like how we have leap year every four years to make time fit.”
“So you’re saying time is adjustable, just like I told you back in the cottage.” This totally called for an I-told-you-so dance.
Before I could celebrate, Duncan leaned forward. His confidence had been replaced by an eagerness that made him seem as awkward as a freshman on his first date. “It’s common that those who’re led to Doon have visions or dreams about the kingdom prior to coming. Did either of you dream of Doon while ye were still in the modern world?”
Vee and I exchanged a cautionary look, wondering how much to divulge, when Jamie suddenly shoved his plate away and stood to tower over the rest of the table. While his words were meant for our conversation, there appeared to be some cryptic significance directed at Duncan. “Dreams have always played an important role for our people. We believe the Protector speaks to us through waking visions and dreams—many kinds of dreams. We must remain vigilant. It would be a mistake to let down our guard simply because we envisioned a pretty face and pair of fine eyes.”
Duncan straightened in his chair, all traces of his easygoing disposition gone as he glared back at his older brother. “It would be a mistake not to trust the gift ye’ve been given.”
“Agree to disagree then. ’Tis late. Fergus and Fiona will be waitin’ for us.” Jamie put an end to the discussion as he turned stiffly to Mario and thanked him for the hospitality.
Undeterred by Jamie’s petulant mood, Mario kissed him on both cheeks. “Shall I send for the carriage, m’ laird?”
“Nay.” Duncan stood, pausing to roll the kinks out of his linebacker shoulders. “It’s a beautiful night. We’ll walk ‘round. Grazie, Mario.”
Throughout dinner, I’d noticed Duncan’s flawless Italian. The way his lips moved, his easy cadence. When he rolled his r’s with wild abandon, it made me go all gooey inside.