Page 10 of Laird Of Her Heart

“I am Dominic Dundragon. Laird of the Macintosh Clan of Dar.”

Even though she’d known, a shiver danced through her. She stared down into her cup. “Dominic is not a Scottish name.”

“Nae.” He chuckled. “It’s from the Latin, Dominicus, meaning Of the Lord. I was born on a Sunday.”

“I see.”

“And now…” He leaned closer. His breath bathed her face. “Maggie of Seattle, why were you sleeping in the ciorcal cloiche?”

“The what?”

“The stone circle.”

“I wasn’t sleeping there.”

He frowned. “All right. What were you doing there?”

Well hell. How to answer that? She could hardly tell him the truth. She didn’t even believe the truth herself. And if she had somehow stepped into the thirteenth century, it probably wasn’t wise to suggest she had magically traveled through time. It would be damn inconvenient if they burned her as a witch. “I was…lost.”

“Lost?”

The thread of disbelief in his tone annoyed her. “Yes. Lost. Haven’t you ever been lost before?”

“No. I canna say as I have.”

That annoyed her too. He was far too condescending. She blew out a huff. “Yes, well, I got lost. Would you mind telling me where I am?”

“You’re in Dar.”

“Scotland?”

Her question took him aback. He stared at her for a long while before he answered. “Aye. Scotland.”

His perusal made her uncomfortable. She shifted in her chair. Then she said the first thing that came into her mind, which, as always, was unfortunate. “I thought Dar was a castle.”

His brows lowered. “Aye. Dar is the name of my home. My village. My lands. Clearly you know this of us at least.” His sudden suspicion was palpable. “And how did you come by this knowledge, Maggie of Seattle? A woman who does not even know the name of the country she has wandered to the center of?”

She sniffed. “I read it in a book.”

She was not prepared for his response. He reared back and gaped at her. “You…read?”

“Of course I read.” Upon reflection, she should have remembered that few people were literate in this world. Most especially the women. “Everyone in Seattle can read.” She shot him a look. “We’re very progressive.”

“I…see. And what was the name of this book?”

“The Macintoshes of Dar.”

“A whole book dedicated to my clan?”

Oh dear. This wasn’t helping. He was becoming even more leery. She decided to go all in. “It’s my clan too.” It was. Though she was 700 years removed. Everyone in her family had descended from one man, Liam Macintosh, the lone survivor of the Urquhart Ambush.

Dominic stilled. “You are a Macintosh?”

“Yes.”

“The Macintoshes of Seattle?”

Um. Sure. “Yes.”