Doon

of mythology.

Kenna grabbed my arm in a vise grip and whispered, “I told you we had to be careful—it looks like they’re going to kill each other. Who do you think’s gonna win? The giant ogre or the surfer dude?”

“Wait. What?”

“I’m putting my money on the ogre.”

The big one swung his weapon down toward Jamie’s head, and I pressed the palm of my hand to my mouth to keep from crying out as Jamie blocked using the flat of his sword. With a mighty heave, he pushed his brother off balance and then punched him in the kidney. As the crowd went wild, I blew out a long breath and extricated Kenna’s fingers from the flesh of my arm.

The dark-haired boy straightened and retaliated by smashing his ham-sized fist into Jamie’s gut.

“Yes!” Kenna bounced on the balls of her feet. “That’s how you do it.”

She turned to me and, noticing my hands curled into tight fists, patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Vee. This is so choreographed, faked for maximum entertainment, like world wrestling.”

For a brief second, the brothers seemed frozen, their swords locked together. Then Jamie lifted the hilt of his weapon perpendicular above his head. The motion elevated his brother’s sword, and the resulting momentum flung him past Jamie in an ungainly stumble.

Jamie spun, his blade slicing towards his brother’s ribcage in a powerful arch. I sucked in a sharp breath. He would kill him! At the last second, the brother dropped and avoided Jamie’s sword by what looked like centimeters.

At the end of his summersault, the boy Kenna kept referring to as the ogre sprang to his feet. With a smile, he winked at Jamie, and then bellowing “Ho!” shoved him halfway across the ring. As Jamie stumbled backward, his brother paused to lift his arm above his head and incite the crowd to its feet. He even blew kisses to a group of fawning girls on the opposite side of the stands.

Kenna scoffed. “What a jerk. I changed my mind. I’m rooting for Surfer Dude.”

Reluctantly, I pointed to Surfer Dude. “The blond one with the long hair … uh … that’s Jamie. The guy who’s been appearing to me in the real world.”

“Kilt Boy?” For once in her life, Kenna was speechless. She stared at me, mouth open and twitching until it transformed into a smile. Then she laughed—not in hysterics, but with real honest-to-goodness joy. “So that’s what all this was about?”

From our cramped position, Kenna drew me into a bear hug. I pulled away and closed my mouth with an audible click, stunned that my confession hadn’t set off my best friend’s hypersensitive psycho meter. “What do you mean?”

She continued to grin as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. “After we ended up over the rainbow, or whatever, I worried … being Gracie’s niece … that I was here to do something. That I’d have to battle flying monkeys or drop a house on the white witch. But this is all about you, sweetie. I just need to figure out how to get us home.”

I didn’t know whether to hug her again or punch her. All I knew was the boy of my dreams was real, and as long as he didn’t get himself killed in the next few minutes, I—

A hand like iron clamped down on my arm, followed by something cold and wickedly sharp against the side of my throat. A breath, close and stale, assaulted my senses as its owner growled, “Don’t ye dare move, lassie, or I’ll run this knife through yer gullet.”

CHAPTER 8 Veronica

Although unable to see the threat, I clearly felt it on my bicep and the tender skin of my neck. I froze. If I cried out, would Jamie hear?

A second masculine voice cautioned, “I wouldna try anything if I were ye.” Kenna’s soft yelp confirmed she was also at some thug’s mercy. My courage sank as I realized any resistance on my part would put her in danger.

Forced out from under the risers, I stumbled back through the stone wall and down the hill. Shuffling sounds behind me indicated that Kenna and her captor followed close behind.

As the boisterous cheers of the coliseum faded, so did my hopes Jamie would come galloping to the rescue on his big war-horse. Then again, we’d only been walking a few minutes. Maybe he would sense I was in danger and leave the tournament. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to project my thoughts into his head, like he’d done with me. Jamie, it’s me, Veronica. I’m here in Doon. I need you!

I opened my eyes, and waited expectantly.

Nothing.

Perhaps he’d heard me and I couldn’t hear him.

Right. Or maybe I’d wake up back in Alloway, snug in my four-poster bed at Dunbrae Cottage, and realize this was all just a dream.

“That hurt, you big troll!”

I twisted around to see if Kenna was okay, but only succeeded in tripping on a bump in the path. My captor jerked me back onto my feet, practically yanking my arm out of the socket. I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

“Keep goin’,” he demanded.

A sharp pinching sensation stung my throat, followed by warmth I knew was a thin line of blood trickling onto the collar of my hoodie. This was no dream. If my prince wasn’t going to save me, I’d have to save myself. Too bad I hadn’t paid more attention during those self-defense phys-ed classes. The only moves I remembered were the eye jab and the knee to the privates. Since the instructor had never mentioned how to accomplish this while being held at knifepoint, I decided to try reasoning with my captor. “Sir, I can explain—”

“Silence!” He tightened his grip on my already aching arm, and I decided to listen.

We walked a good distance and around a concealing bend before our abductors stopped. The knife still hovering near my throat, I moved with care as the creep holding me addressed his cohort. “Quit yer laggin’, Fergus.”

As I got my first good look at the guy restraining Kenna, I stifled a gasp of surprise. He was the size of an evergreen tree. At least a foot and a half taller than me, he had the sort of fair-yet-ruddy complexion that turned his skin every shade of mottled pink imaginable. His hair, a long shock of yellow, was baby-fine with two slender braids extending from his temples. And his face—his face looked so young and innocent I had a hard time believing he would hurt anyone. Ever.

The man-boy, Fergus, regarded me for a moment with pale blue eyes and then frowned in a way that made me want to give him a cookie to make things better. “I was just thinkin’, Gideon. Shouldna we inform the MacCrae?”

My captor—presumably Gideon—relaxed his grip slightly, allowing me to twist away from his blade to look at him. He had a good thirty years on Fergus. A few inches taller than me, he was bald and slight, but comprised of sinewy muscle as if he’d spent every day of his life running a decathlon. Weathered by sun and age, his bearing said hunter and tracker. More importantly, it said, “Don’t mess with me.”

Gideon glanced back the way we came. “Later. Fer now, let’s get them to the castle. We’ll be takin’ the low gate.”

Whatever the “low gate” was, it caused Fergus a moment of concern that he did his best to hide. He acquiesced with a solemn nod.

Encouraged by his hesitation, I addressed him. “Excuse me, Fergus?”

“Silence, lassie! You wenches will remain quiet unless spoken to.”

Fergus grimaced. “Let the lass speak.”

“And let her beguile me? Notta chance!”

“Och, Gideon, we donna know they’re in league with the witch.”

Witch? Cold slithered down my throat and dropped into my stomach, like I’d