"Admirin' it?" Gavin's accent formed the words into a sharp question. "How did you steal it from the armory?"
"I… didn't. I held it in a clan tent."
Gavin frowned, clearly perplexed, just as she was.
"She's a damnable Sassenach," Ewan said.
"I'm not English. I'm American."
Through narrowed eyes, they observed her as if she were nuts.
How had she moved from the Highland games in North Carolina to this… room with stone walls?
Although it felt like a stupid question, she had to ask. "Is this a castle? In Scotland?"
"You ken 'tis, Lassie. Caithmore Castle," Gavin grumbled.
"Don't call meLassie. I'm not a dog."
Gavin scowled. "Then, pray tell us, what is your name?"
"Danielle MacRae."
Ewan expelled a loud bellow, then spoke aside to the giant. "What do you think's the meaning o' this, m'laird? The MacRae has sent one o' his daughters as a peace offerin'?"
"He has no daughter," Gavin muttered. "'Haps Wilona sent her. Or 'haps she is Wilona." His glare sharpened. "Best explain yourself afore I think you're a form-changing witch."
"I'm not a witch! And I have no idea who Wilona is." Something was extremely off-kilter. No way in hell did she conjure this from her imagination. Nor had she ever run into any modern Scots with accents this pronounced, but of course, she hadn't been to Scotland before either.
Her mind spun as she tried to remember what Ranald had said in the tent… the sword was almost four hundred years old, and Gavin MacTavish had wielded it. And yet here stood a man named Gavin before her.
"Are you a MacTavish?"
"You ken I am. Else you would nay be here, would you now?"
She swallowed hard, knowing her next question would sound idiotic. "What year is it?"
Ewan guffawed.
Gavin's expression remained sour. "You'll not trick me, wench. I ken what you're doing. Acting all daft and innocent."
"Just… just tell me what year. Please!" Though she didn't want to know, she had to.
"The year of our Lord, sixteen hundred and thirty, as you are well aware."
Dani's throat closed up, and she grew lightheaded. 1630? She swayed against the stone wall. "That's impossible!"
Time travel isn't a real thing.
"Whoever sent her, they've sent a daft one, certain sure." Ewan smiled, his brown eyes sparkling.
"Nay." Gavin studied her with focused intensity. "I'm thinking they've sent the canniest one of all. To throw me off my guard… and kill me." His square jaw hardened.
"I would never want to kill you! Or anyone else." How could she convince him to calm down? He was obsessed with thinking she wanted to murder him. "I'm a… distant MacRae cousin. From the States." After she remembered the United States didn't exist in 1630, she said, "America… the colonies. I mean you no harm. I come in peace." She held up her hands, palms outward. There, she hoped that would placate him.
"You were sent for his bride, aye?" Ewan winked.
"Um."Bride?Dani's pulse thumped in her ears.
