“Morning sick.” Rogan cast a troubled look toward the closed door. “It’s plaguing her this time.”

“Should I go see if I can help, or anything?”

“It only makes her madder when you try.” Feeling helpless, Rogan moved his shoulders. “With Liam she had a couple days of queasiness, and that was the end of it. She’s more insulted than anything else that she’s not sailing so easily through this one.”

“I suppose every pregnancy is different.”

“So we’re discovering. She’ll want tea,” he said and started to rise.

“I’ll make it. Really.” She got up quickly, touched a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

“She likes it brutally strong.”

“I know.”

Shannon went into the narrow galley. The plane was very much like its owner, she decided. Sleek, efficient, elegant, and organized. She found several different types of tea and, considering Maggie’s condition, went for the chamomile.

She stopped what she was doing to look around when the door to the lavoratory opened.

“Steadier?”

“Aye.” But Maggie’s voice was grim, somewhat like a warrior who’d just survived another bloody battle. “That ought to do it for today.”

“Go sit down,” Shannon ordered. “You’re still white.”

“A sight better than green.” Maggie sniffed, eyed the pot. “You’re making flowers.”

“It’s good for you. Here.” She handed Maggie a box of crackers she’d found in a cabinet. “Go sit down, Margaret Mary, and nibble on these.”

Too weak to argue, Maggie went back to her seat.

“I’m sorry,” Rogan murmured, slipping an arm around her.

“Don’t expect me to say it’s not your fault.” But she snuggled her head against him and smiled over at Liam, who was busy deciding whether he would draw with or eat the crayon his father had given him. “Do you know what I’m thinking, Rogan?”

“What are you thinking, Margaret Mary?”

“That I strolled through the world’s easiest pregnancy with that little demon there.” She aimed a steely look when Liam lifted the crayon toward his mouth. He grinned and began to attack the coloring book with it instead. “Could be this one’s a bit less comfortable because we’re going to have a sweet-tempered, biddable child who’ll never cause mischief.”

“Hmmm.” He eyed his son, and managed to grab the fat crayon before Liam could draw on the wall of the plane. The boy howled in protest and shoved the coloring book to the floor. “Is that what you’d like?”

Maggie laughed as Liam’s temper rolled through the cabin. “Not on your life.”

Brianna had spoken no less than the truth. The Dublin house was lovely. Tucked behind graceful trees and gardens, it had a beautiful view of the green. The furnishings were old, with both the distinction and the elegance wealth could buy. Chandeliers dripped, floors gleamed, and servants moved with quick and silent efficiency.

Shannon was given a room with a welcoming four-poster bed, a muted Aubusson, and a stunning O’Keefe. She’d no more than freshened up in the bath before a maid had tidily unpacked her bag and set her toiletries on the Chippendale bureau.