Aye, she had heard a thing or two ere coming to this land, Iliana thought wryly, but most of it was so unflattering she dared not repeat it, so merely nodded.

“Well, there is one myth in particular that says Scots are…er…cheap.” Forcing a pained smile, she cleared her throat. “’Tis not true.”

“Except in Duncan’s case,” Lord McInnis inserted with amusement.

Adina whirled on her husband in horror. “Nay, husband. He is simply very frugal.”

“Hah!” Robert laughed. “Don’t fret, wife. He be friend to me and would not mind me sayin’ he is cheap…and cheap he is,” he announced firmly with some pride. “He also be muckle rich from it. There’s no doubt in me mind that he has a mountain o’ coins hid somewhere. He must. Dunbar plaids sell like cow chips during a cold winter. We even buy some from him.”

“Then there is his trade in protection,” Adina murmured.

Iliana blinked at that. “Protection?”

Robert nodded solemnly. “Dunbar has some o’ the finest warriors around. And the women are damned prolific. They breed ’em by the bushel. Duncan sorta rents them out to those in need when they can afford to hire ’em. He makes a muckle o’ coins that way as well.”

Iliana digested this silently. She was less interested in the fact that Duncan hired himself and his men out to those in need of a strong arm than the knowledge that he actually had a plaid-making enterprise right there at Dunbar. “But if his people make the finest plaids around, then why do they all wear—” Iliana began, stopping when Lord McInnes waved the question away.

“Because he sells them all, lass. He gives his own people only one a year. At the New Year. He sells the rest.”

“I see,” Iliana murmured with a frown.

Adina cleared her throat. “I would like to give ye a proper welcome, lass. Mayhap ye and Duncan will honor us by staying to take sup with us?”

Iliana’s eyebrows rose at that. “Oh, Duncan is not coming.”

Adina arched one eyebrow, her mouth tilting in slight amusement at that. “Oh, I’ve no doubt he’ll be along. He’s hardly likely to leave his wee bride runnin’ about on her own.”

“Aye, well…He does not even know I am here,” she confessed with a sigh.

This only seemed to amuse the older woman more. Leaning forward in her seat, she smiled gently. “My dear child, there is little, if anything, that a laird—and his son—don’t ken, or learn about, here in Scotland.” She paused and sat back then, a smile of satisfaction gracing her lips as the front doors burst open.