Smiling, Iliana moved to take her place at the table, her mind distracted by a new worry. The state of Elgin’s plaid had reminded her of her plan to see to new plaids for everyone. She had spent very few of the coins her parents had put in her chests on the spices and now had every intention of using what was left on ensuring that her people were garbed in a fitting manner.

Distracted by such thoughts, Iliana did not notice the way Angus was glaring at Duncan. Neither did she notice the half-accusing, half-suspicious glances her husband sent her way, as if suspecting she was to blame for his father’s animosity. In fact, she was so distracted that when she finished her meal and stood to leave the table and Duncan said he would have a word with her, she merely smiled absently, nodded, and walked away, leaving him glaring furiously after her.

“How many what?”

Drawing on her patience, Iliana forced a smile for Cailean Cummins’s benefit, doing her best to ignore the rather unpleasant smoke wafting from the pipe between his teeth. It had taken nearly half an hour for her to find out where the plaids were made, then another fifteen minutes to track down who was in charge of the operation. She had been sorely disappointed upon meeting that man.

Cailean Cummins. He was Elgin’s cousin. He was also testy, cantankerous, and not prone to liking to deal with females. He made that more than obvious by the way he managed to answer every question with a question of his own. She would also swear he was deliberately blowing the smoke from his pipe directly into her face. He was making what should have been a brief and simple conversation into a torturous trial. And quite frankly, she’d had enough.

“’Tis not that difficult a question to understand, Cailean Cummins. If you do not know the answer, you need simply say so.”

“I ken the answer,” he snapped, affronted enough to take the pipe out of his mouth.

Having started to turn as if to walk away, Iliana swung back now, eyebrows rising in doubt to hide her satisfaction. “Aye? Well then, how many people are there at Dunbar?”

“About four hundred.”

“Fine. Then I should like that many plaids.”

His eyes goggled at that, his jaw dropping open to allow his pipe to tumble out. Regaining himself, he quickly tried to catch the well-used item, cursed as he burned himself in the effort, then flushed as he realized just how foul a curse he had used and exactly in front of whom. “Sorry,” he muttered. But what did ye say?”

“I should like four hundred plaids, please,” Iliana said patiently. “I shall, of course, pay for them.”

“I…Ye…What…”