Doon

“I’m here, lasses.”

Kenna tipped me a satisfied nod and stepped back mouthing, “The talent.”

Pressing my face against the bars, I asked, “Is that you, Fergus?”

“Who else would I be?” For a second I thought I’d offended him. Then his quiet laugh eased my concern. “What kin I do for ye?”

“We didn’t just appear out of nowhere—we were led here by Kenna’s aunt, Grace Lockhart.”

“The red-haired lass is Grace Lockhart’s niece?”

“Yes.” From some distance away, I heard commotion followed by the unmistakable voice of Gideon.

Fergus whispered urgently, “Have faith, lass. A higher purpose is at work here, and ye are not without allies.” Then our only hope moved out of sight.

I locked eyes with Kenna, and she gestured to the journal. “Put that back in your pocket.” She was right. We’d already lost the rings; if they confiscated the journal, we’d be screwed.

The gate at the end of the cellblock creaked as multiple sets of footsteps drew closer. Our door swung open and Gideon barged in flanked by several stone-faced guards. Each man had a weapon belted above his kilt. “The MacCrae wishes ta see ye. Come wi’ me, witches. And take care ta hold yer tongues.”

I could only hope the MacCrae would listen to reason, or at least allow me to speak to Jamie.

We wound our way up narrow, torch-lit stairs that seemed to go on for a mile. I swallowed compulsively, trying to force moisture into my parched throat, but only succeeded in upsetting my already-churning stomach.

At the top of the stairs, Kenna and I followed Fergus’s hulk-like form down a dim corridor, Gideon’s overbearing presence our ever-present shadow. We entered a circular room smelling of stale wood-smoke and dust. Sun streamed through a bank of diamond-paned windows, causing me to blink like a rat coming up from the sewer and almost slam into Fergus as he stopped.

After returning Kenna’s wobbly smile, I let my gaze wander. Two guards stood on either side of the circular space, hands locked behind their backs, the dark brown of their leather vests blending with the rectangles of wood paneling that covered the walls. An unlit candelabra hung on a long chain, almost brushing Fergus’s pale hair. I tilted my head back, following the gilded chain of the chandelier to an oak-paneled ceiling carved into geometric sections that when viewed as a whole resembled a blooming flower. If I hadn’t been shaking in my Nikes, I would’ve been impressed.

An unnatural hush fell over the room, and all the guards pivoted to face forward. Since I couldn’t see around the giant wall of Fergus, I assumed the MacCrae had arrived.

“Where are the lasses?” asked a deep, melodic voice.

I knew that voice.

Fergus stepped aside to reveal the boy of my dreams sitting on a throne-like chair. A jewel-encrusted circlet rested atop his blond head, but something more than the crown held the room in thrall. Despite his casual posture, he radiated a natural authority, as if he’d been born to command men. His somber regard moved from Fergus, down to me, and stopped.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. All the sounds in the room faded away as our gazes caught and held. Something like hunger filled his dark eyes as they roamed over my face to my lips and back up again.

My heart beat so hard, I feared everyone in the room would hear it. Longing exploded across my body and I stepped toward him, lifting my hand. I’d been waiting for this moment—

His whole body stiffened and he scowled at my outstretched hand. I could almost feel the cold radiating from him as, without a word, he turned his back, the fur-trimmed hem of his cape fluttering against my outstretched fingers.

The blood drained from my head and pooled somewhere near my feet as sounds rushed through my ears like a roaring tide. I stumbled back several steps. Didn’t he recognize me? He’d been the one stalking me, for heaven’s sake!

“Gideon,” Jamie barked as he sat back on his throne. “Approach.”

“My laird.” Gideon moved from behind me and bent in a stiff bow. “These girls utilized the witch’s magic to infiltrate our borders. For the safety o’ the kingdom, they must be imprisoned.”

Kenna stepped forward, palms held in front of her. “Whoa, there. I’m not going back to that hellhole. You can’t hold us without evidence. We have rights!”

Gideon spun to face us, grasping the hilt of his sword. “Not in Doon ye don’t, witch. Now hold yer tongue.”

Kenna put her hands on her hips and stepped toward him, raising herself up to her full height. “Make me, you bald rent-a-cop!”

Her bravado was admirable, but in this case I was pretty sure it was going to get us skewered. “Kenna, seriously! Now is not the time—” I pushed my impulsive friend behind me, wedging myself between her and our jailer.

“Enough!” Jamie rumbled from his throne, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Gideon, stand down.” The MacCrae had spoken. Immediately, Gideon took several steps back, but the feverish light didn’t fade from his eyes.

I threw Kenna a death stare and then turned toward the throne. “Ja—ah … Laird, please excuse my friend’s behavior. She’s tired and hungry and greatly distressed from being taken at knifepoint to a dungeon and—”

“Be silent.” Jamie’s disdain blazed at me across the room, causing heat to rush up my neck and into my cheeks. If I needed further confirmation that he didn’t know me, this was it.

“What say you to the charge of conspiring with the witch to breech the boundaries of Doon?” he asked evenly, his words hacking into my heart.

Too humiliated to speak, I stood trembling before him. Was this how I wanted to go down? Accused and convicted without a word in my own defense? The answer was a resounding NO.

Clenching my hands into fists, I took a step forward. But an iron grip on my arm halted my progress. I stopped, never taking my eyes off Jamie’s face. “Since you’re obviously the only one whose opinion matters”—I made a sweeping gesture with my free hand—“why do you believe we’re here, Your Highness?”

His ebony gaze narrowed and his hands gripped the armrests of his throne as if he struggled to hold himself in his seat. “Are you challenging my authority?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The barb flew out of my mouth before I could think better of it.

Jamie blinked, and for a moment the mask of authority fell from his face. His white-knuckled grip loosened, his eyes softened, and his jaw unclenched. My heart stuttered as my Jamie appeared before me. Did he remember after all? Or was it on the edge of his consciousness like a dream—the harder you tried to recall the details the faster they slipped away?

With a deep, shuddering breath, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he focused on some point behind my head. The monarch was back, his perfect face void of expression. Straightening his spine, he addressed Gideon decisively. “Take ’em back to the dungeon.”

“What?” Kenna exclaimed from behind me. “That’s the extent of our hearing?”

“Please …” I almost added “Jamie,” but stopped myself just in time. “Kenna’s aunt—”

“Silence, witch!” Gideon hissed, grabbing my other arm with a painful twist.

“Let go! You’re hurting me.” Trying to pull out of Gideon’s rough grasp, I looked to Jamie for help, but he showed all the emotion of a statue.

“Take them now, Gideon,” the boy on the throne ordered impassively.

“A word, brother.” A voice called from the back of the room. I turned to see Jamie’s tall, dark-haired brother, moving toward us.

“Not now, Duncan.” Jamie’s regard shifted to his brother, but his expression didn’t change.

Undeterred, Duncan barreled forward, “These wee lasses are—”

The crown prince’s face turned as dark as a thundercloud. He shot to his feet, grabbed Duncan by the arm, and led him out the side door.

From my limited vantage point, I watched the princes whispering in heated conversation. After a moment, Jamie returned and stood before the throne, his arms crossed over his chest, his face a granite mask. Duncan