“’Tis no brave to go riding about a country ye ken nothing about. ’Tis foolish.”

“Aye,” Ian allowed fairly, then added, “But she showed no fear when we stopped her. The wench simply introduced herself and told us what she was about.”

“That just shows she doesna even have the sense to be afraid,” Duncan muttered, but had to wonder himself. Iliana was proving herself to be a bit more than he had first thought she was. The cold, prissy image he’d had of her did not fit with a lass who went charging off on her own in a foreign land in search of spices. She seemed to have one or two surprises up her sleeves…not to mention under that damn belt of chastity of hers.

“Is there something amiss, Lady Dunbar?” When Iliana merely continued to stare at the servants working across the room, Adina McInnes glanced at her husband questioningly. But he merely shrugged his own uncertainty.

Frowning, Adina turned back to the younger woman. “Lady Dunbar? Lady Dunbar!”

Iliana turned finally at the strident note in her hostess’s voice, concern wrinkling her brow. Then, understanding struck and her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, you mean me? Of course! I am sorry. I fear I am not used to being called ‘Lady Dunbar’.” She paused, flushing brightly, and shrugged helplessly as she admitted, “’Tis the first time I have been addressed so.”

Lady McInnes relaxed and laughed lightly. “Aye, ’tis fair odd to be addressed by one name all yer life, then suddenly find yersel’ with a new one.”

“Aye.”

“Mayhap ’twould help if I addressed ye by yer given name?”

“Oh, aye. That would be fine,” Iliana agreed at once. “You must call me Iliana.”

“And I am Adina and my husband is Robert,” Lady McInnes announced, then lifted an eyebrow. “Ye seemed preoccupied by our servants…Iliana. Is anything amiss?”

“Oh, nay. ’Tis just…Well, truthfully, I was noticing how well dressed they are.” Her gaze slid around the room again, running over the impeccably clean plaids on every servant present.

“Ahhh.” There was a depth of understanding in that drawn-out word. “Then no doubt ye are wondering why yer own servants are not so well garbed?”

Biting her lip, Iliana nodded reluctantly.

“Well, me dear, ’tis no from lack o’ coins, I can tell ye that,” Robert McInnes announced, joining the conversation. “’Tis a well-kept secret, but what with his sheep and the plaids their wool produces, yer husband is rich.”

“Duncan makes plaids?” Iliana asked with surprise.

“Aye. Well, no hissel’. But his people do. They make a muckle coin from it, too, I can tell ye. They make some o’ the finest plaid in Scotland.”

Iliana’s eyebrows raised at that. “But then why do they all dress so shabbily?”

There was silence for a minute, then Adina McInnes sighed. “My dear, there are a few myths about the Scots that ye may have heard ere coming?”