Page 9 of Highlander’s Bride

As her simple white walking shoes sank into the drying mud of the courtyard, she realized that her life could be divided into before diabetes and after.

Right now, she was like the Bryanna “before.”

Free. Dreaming of riding horses and pursuing a career as a singer with a band.

As opposed to her “after,” a music teacher living in her mom’s home with more expenses to sustain her health than she was earning.

She approached the inner wall, went through the gates, and walked through a similar inner bailey, with more thatched buildings, a small garden, as well as cows and chickens and a few pigs wandering around. People were busy here, too, feeding animals, cutting wood, carrying heaps of hay and firewood, and baskets. The gate in the middle of the outer wall was open, and although a few of the guards standing on the walls glanced at her with suspicion, they let her pass.

She was dressed so differently from everyone else. Her blue jeans stood out especially. She hadn’t seen a woman in the castle yet, but she imagined in this medieval world they probably didn’t wear jeans. Her dark-red cardigan was probably also not the best for blending in among people who mostly wore variations of beige, natural browns, and dark greens.

But this was just a dream, she reminded herself, and she couldn’t wait to explore the outer world.

When she came out of the gates, the sight took her breath away. She’d just seen it in real life—the loch, gray and leaden, the brown-green hills surrounding the loch, the rust-colored seaweed, the mossy rocks, the flowers.

And yet, the village across the loch was different from the Dornie she’d seen before. There was clearly a small church, and the houses were timber with thatched roofs—just like the buildings inside the castle walls. And there was a small harbor with several piers and lots of boats—fishing boats, she guessed, based on the nets. Several of them floated in the middle of the loch.

On this shore, there was a quay also, and she saw a large barge being prepared to depart. If she wanted to leave and explore the world outside, she should hurry.

“Wait!” she cried as she ran down the jetty. The man who was untying the rope glanced up at her with a frown. “Can you take me with you?”

He nodded, thoughtfully looking her over.

She climbed onto the barge and after some awkward questions about where she’d come from and if she’d lost her proper clothes, the man concentrated on navigating the barge, and Bryanna lifted her chin, letting the soft breeze kiss her cheeks.

Freedom.

The man docked and Bryanna stepped out. Giving him the biggest smile and a thank-you, she proceeded into the village. The scent of fresh and stale fish was stronger here, in the small harbor, but Bryanna didn’t pinch her nose. She wanted to drink everything in, and the stinky harbor was part of it.

It was probably around midday, and work in the village was in full swing. People carried buckets of water in their hands, full sacks of what looked like corn on their backs, pushed one-wheeled carts with firewood in front of them. They talked, cleaned horse and cow sheds, weaved baskets. Surprised glances followed her just like in the castle. A boy of five or six pointed at her and yelled, “Ma, why is the lass dressed like a lad?”

Bryanna beamed. “I was just trying to pass as a man, but you got me there!”

The boy chuckled, pleased with her praise but still puzzled. He held on to his mother’s skirt, and she pressed him closer to her. There were many women here, unlike in the castle, and they were all, indeed, dressed very differently from Bryanna. Long, simple dresses of wool and linen. Most of their heads were covered with veils, and a lot of them wore aprons, dirty from work in the kitchens, or with animals.

As she walked, she noticed the pungent scent of brewed beer and the mouthwatering aroma of baked bread, mixed with the odor of manure and animals. Indeed, mooing and the bleating of sheep and goats came from here and there. Geese honked, and chickens squawked. A dog barked at her as she walked by, but still wagged its tail. She waved to the dog and kept walking.

Soon, she found herself at a small and mostly empty square by the church where a few people stood talking to each other. As she walked towards the church—a rectangular stone building with a bell tower—she saw a man sitting on a chest, watching her.

A chill rushed through her, making her stop for a split second. Even though he was sitting, he was clearly tall, with long legs half bent, and his elbows pressing into his knees. Broad, muscular shoulders stretched the fabric of his rich red tunic, which stood out against the earthy tones she’d seen in this world so far. He wore something like dark breeches and pointy medieval shoes.

His hair was almost black and long, tied behind his head. A short, dark, groomed beard covered the lower half of his face, and his broad black eyebrows furrowed above his eyes.

God almighty, the eyes… Talk about piercing—they drilled into her soul. If there was a devil, he must have eyes like that—black and searching and scorching, deep darkness playing in their depths.

As his gaze slowly went up and down her body and his frown deepened, some sort of fire started in her veins. She kept moving towards him, as if pulled by the force of his gaze.

As though he’d been waiting for her, he stood up from the wooden chest, stealing any breath she had left.

God, men like him couldn’t exist. Couldn’t be real. They did belong in dreams and came from the imagination. She’d created the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Even taller than she’d thought—towering over her like a castle—and all muscle and lean, male body, he emanated strength, power, and danger. It was in the way he was holding his arms, the half-clenched fists, the scars on his face.

As she stood before him, unable to take her eyes away from his perfect features, she swallowed a dry ball in her throat. If she could pick an actor to play him, it would be Aidan Turner. His eyes were set a bit deeper, with long black eyelashes framing the slightly slanted, Celtic eyes. His nose was a bit crooked—broken, and probably not just once. Full lips were visible in his dark beard. High cheekbones protruded from under the sun-kissed skin that told her he was not a stranger to the outdoors.

The man clearly had zero body fat. Like the warriors she’d seen in the castle, he had a sword on his belt, but had no other weapons that she could see.

“Who are ye, lass?” he asked, studying her with clear interest.

God, that voice! Low and rich, like a great Scotch whisky sipped by the fire in winter, it spilled through her veins in a hot rush. Clearing her throat to chase away the complete stupor he’d put her into, she searched for words. “Um…”