Page 4 of Highlander’s Bride

Besides, what if this vision had been wrong? After all, where would she encounter a Highlander in a medieval costume and a bloodied sword?

“Come on,” Mom said, helping her to place the new lancet into the kit and insert the new testing strip. Bryanna pricked her ring finger at the side where it hurt less and pressed out a drop of blood, then wiped it away with a clean tissue to avoid alcohol dilution. Then she squeezed more of her blood onto the strip. The electronic screen flashed 135 mg/dL.

Mom tsk-tsked and rummaged in the pocket of her red jacket. “A little high for my liking. Do you want your insulin shot?”

Bryanna put everything back into her purse. She knew her mom worried, but she was tired of being fussed over. “Thanks, Mom. But I’m fine. No need for insulin.”

Mom sighed and pinched her lips in that way she did when she was worried, but Kris put her arm through Bryanna’s. “You have your insulin pens, right?”

Bryanna clapped a hand on her over-the-shoulder purse. “Always.”

Just in case, she had taken three with her. Of course, she wouldn’t need that many just for a museum visit, but she had learned it was always better to be overprepared.

As the three of them joined the crowd of people trailing down the bridge, Bryanna wished she could just stop and let the beauty of the Highlands take her breath away.

Greenish-brown mountains surrounded them, the seaweed floated on the dirty blue surface of the loch like flecks of rust, and even the blue sky seemed to be muted here. She’d never been abroad before—heck, she’d never been out of Illinois—so just breathing this foreign scent of loch and sea, and grass and algae, should excite her to the core.

Instead, with every step that she took towards the castle, dread weighed in the pit of her stomach. The gorgeous gray-brown walls didn’t seem like they contained adventure. It felt like a death sentence waited for her behind them.

The crowd passed through the gate and entered a dark courtyard that was surrounded by buildings and walls from all sides, and she had an odd sense that she was at the bottom of a deep well. Inside the main keep, the narrow corridor in front of her blurred and swam.

Her glucose level must be rising still, she thought, willing the sudden nausea to go away. She was so tired. She needed to do another test, but she didn’t want to worry her mom again…

Eyes bright with emotion, Mom was cooing as they turned left and followed the crowd into the Billeting Room. “Aw, it looks just like on our honeymoon!” and “Look, look, your dad really admired that sword…” and then, squeezing Bryanna’s hand, “He would have loved to be here with us.”

Had Bryanna believed her dream that night five years ago, had she told him to go to the doctor and check his blood pressure, he might still be alive.

But she had dismissed that dream. She was afraid to tell anyone about her premonitions, especially since not every dream came true. She was already a burden to her parents with her diabetes and the medical expenses—how could she make them worry about her mental health, too?

Her dizziness pulsed within her head, making her mind blurry, sluggish, filled with custard…

Custard… No. She wanted a big glass of water.

Great, now she was thirsty, too. Definitely the signs of hyperglycemia. But how could it hit her so unexpectedly when she was fine just a few minutes ago, on the bridge? The Billeting Room was packed with people, and, leaving Mom and Kris, Bryanna staggered towards the nearest wall so that she could hold on to something. Maybe she should ask one of the museum workers for help. But just as she was about to raise her hand to get the attention of a woman, someone else called her and she went in the other direction.

As Bryanna plastered herself against the rough surface between two paintings, the headache kicked in. She needed to do a test, which, most likely, would show that her glucose was way too high, and then she’d need her insulin. She needed to find a bathroom or something.

She couldn’t see Mom and Kris above all those heads. She’d just text them from the bathroom. Slowly, she made her way through the crowd of people back into the hall. There was a door at the end of it, perhaps to the restroom.

Thankfully, there were fewer people in the hall. Her vision blurry, she saw some sort of a sign on the door, and, assuming it was the restroom—it didn’t even matter if it was ladies or gents at this point—she opened the door and descended the narrow stone stairs illuminated by a dull yellow bulb. Her palm on the wall, she carefully stepped down the stairs. The air here was much more humid, which made her even more thirsty.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a large underground space and, even though it was hard to see in the poor light, she thought there were several doors.

“One of those must be the restroom,” she muttered as she walked down the hall towards one of the doors.

As she opened the door, coldness seeped into her, and the scent of something grassy and lavender-like. Probably air freshener, she thought as she stepped inside. But as the door closed behind her with a thump, she saw no stalls or sinks. The same dull electrical light illuminated an arched ceiling, packed-dirt floor, rough walls, and a pile of crumbled rocks to her right.

She blinked and shook her head. She was clearly in the wrong room.

She turned to walk out and gasped in surprise.

A woman stood between her and the door, dressed in a green medieval dress with a hood and a cloak. It was hard to see her face, but Bryanna thought she was smiling.

“Excuse me,” said Bryanna. “Can you let me pass through?”

“Ye’re right where ye’re supposed to be, dearie.”

The voice was Scottish, melodic, and full of enthusiasm.