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She licked her lips. “My own body, carried out of the castle by a medieval warrior. I don’t see his face, so I don’t know who he is. But I know I’m most certainly dead in his arms.”

He blinked several times. “Lass, how do ye ken ’tis true?”

“I’ve seen other things that came true.” Suddenly the memory of her vision of her dad slapped her mind, and the pain of guilt and grief pulled her under like an ocean wave. “I saw my dad having a heart attack… I woke up, and I almost told him to call his doctor and ask for an appointment to check his heart. But I was afraid everyone would think I was crazy, that they’d start to worry about my psychological well-being. So I did nothing…” She choked on a sob. Tears ran down her cheeks, burning her skin. “I was a coward. I could have saved him, Raghnall. Why am I having these visions if I can’t put them to good use?”

She sniffled, wiping her cheeks, and Raghnall pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. There he was, her safe haven, this man with whom she could never stay.

He was stroking her back up and down. “Ye wilna die, lass,” he said firmly. “I swore to ye I wilna let this happen. And one thing ye didna mention about a Highlander—he always keeps his word.”

And as she sighed a relieved breath into his chest, she looked up and met his eyes. “But Raghnall,” she whispered, “what if that Highlander in my vision is you?”

His eyes widened, and he blinked faintly as he looked into nothingness, fear and pain on his face.

She knew then that she should have never said it. Because he said nothing, and that said everything to her.

It was exactly what he was afraid of, too.

He broke the connection and let go of her, then stood up, his expression somber. He opened his mouth to say something but then turned to look away from the castle.

And his face went rigid.

Bryanna jumped to her feet to see what was happening, and there, approaching Dornie, was a medieval army with troops as far as the eye could see.

Chapter 24

“Ye must leave, Bryanna, now!”

Raghnall’s voice was ringing in her ears as she stood on weak legs, not knowing how she’d made her way back to their bedroom. Her chest contracted, struggling to get enough oxygen, and her hands shook as she opened the door.

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock, you have to get back! Of course she had to get back, right freaking now. Only nothing had changed and the damned rock was still under a huge pile of rubble.

And while Raghnall had run into the barracks in the inner bailey, calling all archers and warriors to arms, she had run like a coward into their bedroom to get her purse. Then she would go to the basement and try to lift those rocks and clear the way out until her fingernails split and her fingers bled.

But as she opened the door, a wave of shock hit her like a concrete wall.

In the middle of the room was Seoc, standing amid shards of plastic and two transparent pools of liquid shining on the wooden floor, early-morning light reflecting from the insulin.

A sound came out of Bryanna’s throat, something that resembled a pained bird’s cry…

Her purple purse was in Seoc’s hands, and her things were scattered on the floor—her wallet, her cards, the pack of tissues… Her diabetes kit was open and hung from his other hand.

He looked up at her, his eyes big, confused, afraid…

And then the wolf cub Raghnall had described was back. His eyes turned narrow and wild, eyebrows as rigid and straight as a line, nose wrinkled as he reached to his belt and stepped back, pointing a small knife at her.

Her heart broke. How could a child have been treated so badly that this was his response to having been caught breaking something? What must he have gone through? He was probably just curious and didn’t think to ask if he could look in her purse. And of course he didn’t know what he was looking at—the pens, the kit, everything else.

“Get back, witch!” he cried.

But that little wolf cub, with no ill intent, had broken the only chance she had to survive for much longer here.

Fear and dread squeezed her gut like a vise.

“Oh, good Lord…” she whispered as the image of her carried in the arms of a Highlander flashed in her mind. That image became bigger and brighter and, if it was possible, more real. The vague, blurry features of the Highlander’s face became clearer, as though emerging from the fog, and she could see the dark, obsidian eyes and the battle scars and that dark beard under high cheekbones.

As she’d suspected for a while now, it was Raghnall who carried her.

He may also be yer destruction.