Page 71 of Highlander’s Bride

Tell her nae. Tell her ye changed yer mind.

But he couldn’t stay with her. He couldn’t be with her for the rest of his life. He couldn’t lose her. And so, painfully, heavily, he nodded, even though it killed him inside.

“Excuse me,” Bryanna said to the guard, “I’m not feeling well… I have diabetes. Do you have somewhere quiet I could sit?”

Of course, the guard believed her and left his post to show her a quiet spot somewhere. As she was turning the corner, she threw a last glance at Raghnall, and he could read everything in it—all her love, all her pain, and her goodbye.

Goodbye… As he descended the familiar stairs, he thought that the worst was he didn’t get to say a proper goodbye. He didn’t get to give her the last kiss that would get him through the rest of his life. He didn’t get to whisper to her how he imagined a life with her…how he’d teach her the lute, and how she’d teach him modern music, how he’d take care of her and protect her and let her show him her world.

The world that he’d actually come to like, despite its strangeness, despite the number of people and the noise and the demon-carts and the rectangles called phones that everyone loved so much.

In the underground, the door to the room with the stone was unlocked. He changed into his medieval clothes, though he couldn’t take his sword with him as Bryanna had told him they wouldn’t allow it and he couldn’t attract more attention than needed. But he was glad to leave it to his wife. Something dear to him that, perhaps, would remind her of him and protect her in the rare instances that she might need it.

He kneeled before the stone, watching the carvings and the handprint like they were filled with poison. He turned around at the door, hoping, waiting for Bryanna to come… Or for Sìneag to appear and plead with him not to go. She was on the side of love, right?

But love wouldn’t win in this story. Love wasn’t everything.

Love didn’t mean anything when death looked someone right in the face. Love wouldn’t resurrect Mòrag, and it wouldn’t one day save Bryanna.

And as moments passed and no one came, Raghnall knew that he couldn’t wait any longer. He wouldn’t stay, so what use was it to wait?

Putting his hand into the handprint sucked him into the cold, dark nothingness that brought him back into his time, just like it was supposed to.

For the last time.

* * *

He opened his eyes in complete darkness. Crawling on all fours, he bumped into sharp rocks and slowly found his way out through the door. There was light somewhere ahead, and he recognized the narrow stairs leading up.

He climbed them and opened the door, all doubts disappearing when he saw the medieval storage room. Sacks, crates, chests. The scents he hadn’t smelled for a while: smoked and dried fish, dried corn, the barely noticeable whiff of animal dung that must have come from the outside. Swords and bows hanging on the walls.

From up the stairs, he heard voices and laughter, probably people in the great hall. From outside, the sound of the blacksmith hitting his hammer against the anvil, the squawking of chickens, bleating of the sheep, sticks knocking against each other, and men grunting as they no doubt trained on practice swords.

All that sounded and felt familiar. But, surprisingly, not like home.

When he climbed the stairs to the great hall, he stopped in the entrance. Had he ever noticed how small the great hall appeared? How wee the windows were, how dark the space?

After seeing the big, bright world of the future of Scotland, he was back to his old life. But instead of relief and joy at being back home, it felt like he was like trying to put on a shoe he’d long outgrown.

The scene before him was peaceful. Angus and Rogene were leaning over their meals together, heads close, whispering something. Their faces were alight with love and shared secrets. Laomann and Mairead were playing with their son, who was greatly entertained by the hound. Warriors of the clan sat around the tables, talking, some eating, drinking. David leaned over a book with such ferocity on his face, as though he was determined to murder it.

Fire played in the fireplace, and he realized the scent of woodsmoke now seemed foreign to him. Despite the fire, the room was cold, and a chill spread through him, reaching his bones. Houses in Bryanna’s time were much warmer, more practical, and he missed so much light coming through the windows and lamps.

And then he saw Seoc, his son. Sitting on the floor between Catrìona and James, he was building a castle with small, wooden cubes… The look of a bristled wolf cub was gone, the wildness, the fear had disappeared from his eyes. He was…

Smiling.

James said something to him, then put a longer block between two towers, creating a bridge. Seoc beamed and put a wooden horse figure on top of the bridge.

It didn’t even look like they missed him. Raghnall’s heart did something like a lurch—of relief…and some sort of ache. He could have had that, too. He’d wanted Seoc to learn from him. He’d wanted that happy, peaceful home, full of love and support…with Bryanna, and with Seoc, and with more children.

All heads turned to him. David jumped up, looking as though he’d just seen a dead man return to life. Rogene gasped. Angus narrowed his eyes, as though trying to see more clearly.

“What are ye doing here, brother?” Angus crossed the great hall and hugged Raghnall in a bone-crushing embrace. “I thought ye were gone…”

Laomann and Mairead came, hugging him, greeting him. Catrìona, James, and Seoc approached, wide-eyed and looking like they were a little family.

David came to him, too, carefully looking him over.