I tapped Kenna’s shoulder, and she lowered me unsteadily to the ground. Pointing in the direction we needed to go, I followed as she crept along the wall to the gap and quietly slipped through. Moving between strips of light and shadow, we found space among sets of feet and settled with a decent vantage point. Through the slats, we could see most of the arena.
Directly in front of us, a square area marked off with ropes like a large boxing ring drew the focus of the crowd seated on the other set of bleachers. The audience became strangely quiet, their anticipation palpable as a whisper rushed through the stands like a wave.
“Good ladies and gentlemen, lads and lassies, this be the contest ye’ve been awaiting!” A cheer rang out. The disembodied voice continued. “Knight against knight! Champion versus champion! Brother against brother!” A roar went out, and the bleachers shook over our heads as people stamped their feet in approval. Sawdust coated our hair and lashes, causing me to doubt the wisdom of our hiding place.
“Never in the esteemed history o’ Doon has there been a more anticipated event!” At the mention of Doon, I elbowed my best friend.
Kenna swatted my arm away and hissed, “Save your I-told-you-so dance until we’re sure they don’t have lions.”
“Without further ado, may I present the brothers MacCrae!”
At the name “MacCrae,” my focus zeroed in on two men, riding the biggest horses I’d ever seen toward the center ring. They were dressed identically, from their kilts and knee-high boots to the blue and green strip of plaid fabric draped diagonally across their bare chests.
As they dismounted, I focused on the closest guy, surprised how young he appeared despite his mammoth size. He was tall and broad with short-cropped dark hair and a boyish excitement that was obvious in his animated movements. His opponent, who faced away from us, was the complete opposite. I watched as he lifted his plaid sash over his blond head, his muscles shifting fluidly beneath sun-darkened skin. Donning what looked like a heavy armored vest, he turned to reveal an all-too-familiar profile.
Jamie MacCrae.
My spirit leapt, straining toward him even as my knees buckled beneath me. Grabbing the bleachers, I pressed my face into the gap between two sets of dusty boots. My gaze fused to his awe-inspiring form as he pulled an enormous broadsword from the scabbard at his waist as easily as if it were a toy. He was even more beautiful in person than he’d been in my visions. His honey-colored hair, longer than I’d realized, curled slightly against his broad neck.
As he inspected his weapon, a fierce concentration marked his brow, contrasting with his brother, who grinned and posed for the crowd. Side by side, the dark-haired brother looked like a linebacker, and Jamie—a couple of inches shorter, but with perfect muscle definition—more like a quarterback.
As they entered the ring, the officiator’s voice rang strong and clear. “I’ll be havin’ a clean fight. Ye both know the rules.”
The man, now visible, paused and bowed to each warrior in turn. “Prince Jamie, Prince Duncan.”
Prince Jamie? A freaking prince! Are you kidding me?
Breathlessly, I watched a slow, confident grin spread across Jamie’s face as he bowed to his brother. The familiarity of that smile sent my pulse into overdrive, even as tingles of fear ran over my skin. He was about to fight his massive brother … with seriously sharp swords!
Then the smile gave way to intense focus and he attacked, pushing his burly opponent across the ring with powerful sweeps of his blade. Each strike was deliberate and lightning fast—like an avenging demigod straight out 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.”