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He ran without seeing where. Instinctively, he knew he had to go through the door, and then up. As he left the small underground room behind, he rushed through a dully illuminated space with tables and some sort of large chests and chairs. Those were completely unfamiliar objects and things, but then he saw something he recognized.

The stairs that he’d known from his time.

As he ran, it felt like his feet moved slowly—just like in a nightmare, where the ground was dragging, sucking him in, trying to stop him.

Up the stairs, and then there was a small door, and he stopped before it on the small landing and kicked it with his foot.

It opened up with a swoosh and a crack when the door hit a wall.

There was no storage room like in the Eilean Donan he had known. No firewood, no sacks of oats, no weapons that hung on the walls. There were no sounds of the castle that he’d known—no pounding of the hammer against the anvil, no laughter and talking of warriors coming from the great hall, no squawking of geese and chickens from the outside. It smelled different…like something fruity and like old wood and dust, but also…clean.

There was a narrow corridor with some sort of square panels hanging on the walls, beautiful paintings on them the likes of which he’d never seen in his life. The corridor was illuminated by a small green lamp with a sign of a fleeing person that pointed to a heavy arched door. He hurried down the hallway, clutching Bryanna’s body to his.

And all he could think was, Please, let her be alive… Please let her be alive… God, I’ll do anything. Take my life, if ye need one. Take me, just please, let her live.

But his luck had run short. He pushed the heavy door with his shoulder, and it didn’t budge. He grunted and fell against the door with all the power and weight that he could muster…

Shut. Completely closed.

“Heeeelp!!!” he yelled. “Someone! Heeeeelp! I need a healer!”

Nothing.

Then the scent of lavender and freshly cut grass tickled his nose.

“Ye need to hurry, lad,” a female voice said, and a woman appeared by his side. A pretty, freckled face, a small nose, red hair under a green hood.

She leaned to the door, fiddling with the lock. This must be—

“Sìneag?” asked Raghnall. “The Highland faerie?”

“Aye,” she said distractedly. “Ye have to forgive me for crashing the rocks in yer underground. It was necessary to keep the lass with ye… Och, these modern locks! But I will help ye now.”

The door opened, letting the gray daylight in and blinding Raghnall.

“Hurry,” Sìneag said, already stepping into the small, empty courtyard. The ground was made of rocks, and short, dark walls, towers, and more stairs surrounded Raghnall as he stepped into it. He looked back at the keep.

Lit by gray daylight, this wasn’t the Eilean Donan that he’d known. This was a castle, aye. But it looked so different! It was smaller, and everything was made of rocks. The construction of the tower itself was completely different. There were more rooms, and more windows, and the roof…the roof was made of something he couldn’t even describe.

In the meanwhile, Sìneag ran through the courtyard towards an arched gate—much smaller and much more impractical for warfare than he was used to. Again, fiddling with the lock, she looked at him over her shoulder. “Now ye must go over the bridge and towards the small buildings on the other side. Yell for help, and people will come. When all is done, ye will have only one chance to go back to yer time. Only one, Raghnall. If ye decide to go back to 1310, ye wilna be able to return to Bryanna.”

He swallowed. He hadn’t even thought about what would happen afterwards. “It doesna matter. All I care about is that she lives.”

Sìneag nodded, and the big gate finally gave in. She stepped aside, opening the gate for him. “’Tis where I leave ye, Raghnall. Remember. One more time.”

He didn’t even nod, but ran through the gate and onto the long, stone bridge that led to the other side.

His feet pounding against the stone of the bridge, he glanced around. Lit by the clouded afternoon light, the same mountains and hills he’d known grayed around him. There was no Dornie—not the one he’d known, anyway. Hidden among the trees and on the hills, the buildings seemed to be made of pale yellow and white polished stone. No thatched roofs, no smoke coming out of chimneys… And that long bridge over the loch in the distance. There were no boats on the loch, but some sort of iron carriages of bright colors—red, green, black, silver—stood on the other side of the water.

His head spun. He commanded himself to stay focused and to only concentrate on the woman in his arms.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was on the other side of the bridge. Marveling at how easy it was to run on the surface of the ground that resembled smooth, polished stone, he approached the buildings where he saw several people standing outside. As he skidded to stop, they all turned to him, and their conversations died. Standing in a line, about a dozen people were frozen, staring at him open-mouthed. They were all dressed so richly and so strangely. Thin, impractical clothes of bright colors and tight fits. Men with short hair, women with some sort of paint on their faces, and all in breeches… And then they looked at his waist, at his sword, and started to back away.

Aye, if he’d had any doubts before, he didn’t have them anymore. He had traveled in time.

And he needed to ask for help. “Healer!” he yelled.

A woman shrieked, hiding behind a man.