“Aelfread’s right. I’m thinkin’ there be only one thing that’ll quench the fire that’s burning him up and that’s he and his bride finally gettin’ down to the business o’ houghmagandie.”

Duncan stiffened at her use of the Gaelic word for fornication. She may fight like a man and be able to drink them all under the table, but there were just some things a woman shouldn’t do. Brows drawing down in disapproval, he slammed his tankard onto the filthy tabletop and snapped, “Ye’ll no be acursin’ like that, Seonaid! Do ye do so again I’ll wash yer mouth out with soap meself.”

Unimpressed, she rolled her eyes at this threat and laughed. “’Tis no good usin’ such threats with me, me true-sworn brother. ’Tis far too late to be atryin’ to change me ways and amakin’ me into a lady like yer wife.” She glanced toward Iliana with distaste. “She’s a puny lass. Prissy as the day is long, too. I doona ken how ye’ll be aputtin’ up with ’er.”

“Well, ’tis good ’tis not yer problem then, isna it?” Duncan muttered, following her gaze.

“Aye. ’Tis well and good. Howbeit, as I said, I be thinkin’ ’tis well past time the beddin’ began. C’mon, Aelfread.”

Grinning widely, the smaller woman nodded and hurried after Seonaid as she crossed the room toward the head table. Duncan had eaten his meal at that table, seated next to his bride, but once that chore was finished he had abandoned it in favor of getting rip-roaring drunk with his men, something he now concluded was impossible—since he still felt as sober as an English virgin. Now he watched blankly as his sister moved toward the space he had abandoned, his mind slow to grasp her intentions. That was his first hint that the ale had been affecting him after all. His second hint came when he lunged to his feet to catch her back and found himself sprawled upon the floor, having tripped over the bench he sat on.

By the time Allistair and the other men had raised him back to his feet, razzing him all the while, ’twas too late. Seonaid and Aelfread were dragging his wife to the stairs. She looked a little less than willing, but his sister and cousin looked quite unconcerned by this lack as they hauled her along by the arms.

“I can dress myself, thank you very much,” Iliana offered the protest again, but Lady Seonaid had been ignoring her since dragging her up to the room. Since before that even, she thought with exasperation, her gaze sliding to the much smaller redhead who was now rifling through her once neatly packed chests.