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When she was ready, she gave him the backpack and put the bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go. And please, don’t freak out too much, okay? Remember, we traveled back in time. This is all real.”

He blinked and shook his head, not saying anything.

Following the light, they walked out of the room and down the corridor. Opening the heavy door, they entered a long space with a curved rock ceiling. A few torches were lit in the sconces on the walls. Just like she remembered this long storeroom, there were still sacks, barrels, crates, swords, shields, and firewood.

David stared at the space with a deep, puzzled frown, no doubt wondering where electrical light had gone, along with the cabinets and boxes, and tables and chairs with protective covers.

“Where are we?” he asked as they walked down the hall.

“It’s still Eilean Donan,” she said. “But fourteenth century.”

When they reached the curved stairs, she stopped him and turned to him. “Now listen. You will see men with swords and weapons, and women in medieval clothes similar to mine. The castle will look different. All I’m saying is, be ready and don’t freak out. We don’t need any additional attention, because in the Middle Ages, attention may mean death. They may think us witches, they may think us spies, they may think other crazy things. Just…keep your cool.”

“You’re already freaking me out.”

They climbed the stairs and entered the square room. There were torches on the walls, and casks, barrels, and sacks filled it.

“Uhm. Where’s the hall with the paintings and so on?” he asked. “You must be mistaken. We can’t be in the same castle. What kind of trick—”

She opened the entrance door and he stopped talking. Through the arched door, they could see the inner bailey of the castle with its small household buildings, and the dirt-packed ground, and the well, and the post where Rogene had almost been whipped. The bailey was uncharacteristically empty.

With her heart thumping, Rogene walked out of the tower and tugged her brother after her. The air was full of the smells of grilled meat, ale, and cooked vegetables. A feast? Well, of course, if the wedding was today, there had to be a feast.

A servant walked out of the kitchen building carrying a giant tray on which laid a grilled boar. Rogene hurried towards him.

“Good day,” she said. “Is the wedding today?”

He frowned at her, pearls of sweat glistening on his forehead. “Aye.”

“Where? Where are they?”

“At the church, I suppose.”

“Thanks!”

She hurried back to David, who looked around with an open mouth. “What the hell is all this, Rory?”

“We have to run. They’re getting married now!”

Chapter 37

Angus barely heard Father Nicholas’s prayer for the wedded. Euphemia stood in front of him, her eyes silky and wet, her face glowing with joy. She wore a beautiful pale-blue dress with doves and flowers embroidered in silver thread. With her shiny golden hair done in a thick braid that lay on her shoulder and white heather woven into a crown on her head, she could be a queen. Her posture was straight and her head high, her beauty shining.

But she wasn’t the bride he wished to see before him.

The door to the church was decorated with white heather, too, and he had a sprig attached to his tunic—it was the symbol of luck and happiness. Around Angus and Euphemia was clan Mackenzie, including Raghnall and Catrìona, as well as Laomann and Mairead, who was holding Ualan. A few people of clan Ross were there, too, including William himself. Several allies of clan Mackenzie were there: Craig and Amy Cambel with their daughter, Craig’s cousin Ian and his wife, Kate, and Craig’s father, Dougal. There were also other clans as well as villagers of Dornie.

Father Nicholas, solemn and wearing his best robe, made the sign of the cross over the couple. He was squinting from the sun that shone right into his eyes. The air was full of the scent of incense and flowers.

“Do ye, Euphemia of Ross,” Father Nicholas said, “take Angus Mackenzie as yer husband, willingly and of yer own agreement?”

Her smile broadened and suddenly she looked so young, and so fragile, and hopeful. God, he wished he could love her. He wished he could scrape his heart empty and allow it to be filled with a new beginning, with his new wife.

But that was impossible. His heart didn’t even belong to him anymore. He didn’t desire this woman. He desired one that could never be his.

“Aye,” Euphemia said.

“And no one is forcing ye to enter this marriage?” Father Nicholas said.