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Ewan nodded absently, his attention clearly divided between the conversation and the increasingly fussy baby. “That’s…commendable,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction.

“Commendable?” Tammus echoed, arching a brow. “It’s extraordinary. Stewart Glen’s wool has brought more prosperity to this region than any other trade. It’s what makes this place worth fighting for—worth protecting.” He shot a pointed look at Ewan, as if daring him to disagree.

“Aye, of course,” Ewan said quickly, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s admirable. Truly.”

Davina, her voice laced with sarcasm, interjected smoothly, “And something to look forward to, Ewan, if we’re planning to have children. They’ll grow up surrounded by sheep and wool. Quite the idyllic future.”

Ewan flinched as Cailin let out another burp, the sound wet and ominous. His smile wavered. “Aye…idyllic.” He paled a shade lighter.

Tammus pressed on, seemingly oblivious. “Lass, you must tell him about the dye house your father built. A masterstroke of ingenuity, that was. Saved the Glen a fortune in trade—and put us on the map in every market from here to Inverness.”

Davina’s lips curved in a faint, polite smile. “Milord, if it pleases you, what trade does your family pursue?”

Ewan opened his mouth to respond, but Cailin chose that moment to let out a small, wet hiccup, followed by a wail and a dribble of white vomit spilling down her chin. The color drained from Ewan’s face, and he quickly reached for his goblet, taking a long sip of wine as if to steady himself.

Broderick, sitting back with his arms crossed, grinned like a cat with a mouse. “Poor lad looks ready to bolt.”

Davina shifted in her seat, casting a worried glance at Broderick. “I shouldn’t have done this,” her thoughts confessed. She tried to rise but plopped back down into her chair with anoomph!She reached down and gritted her teeth.

Under the table, Broderick saw her skirt tangled with the chair leg.

She sighed and glanced at Ewan. “Would you mind holding her for just a moment?”

Ewan blanched. “Wait—”

She deposited Cailin into his arms and bent to free her gown.

Broderick rose and rounded the table to assist Davina.

With a sloshing, sputtering eruption, Cailin vomited spectacularly all over Ewan’s pristine tunic.

Ewan recoiled, crying out, his face a mask of horror. “Good God!”

Broderick snatched Cailin from his arms, Davina’s voice a flurry of apologies as Ewan stumbled to his feet, one hand clamped over his mouth. He bolted.

Broderick watched Ewan’s scrambling exit from the Great Hall with a grin.

Tammus slammed his fist onto the table and stood. With a piercing glare he shared between Broderick and Davina, he stood. “A fine impression we’ve made,” Tammus growled before he strode out after Laird Gordon.

Cailin, unfazed, let out a soft coo, then promptly vomited again—this time on Broderick’s chest.

Davina gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh no!”

Broderick froze a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. The rich, deep rumble of amusement echoed through the hall like thunder.

“Well,” he said, grinning down at Cailin, “ye did say supper would be interestin’.”

Cailin laughed and pawed Broderick’s face, smearing white curds on his cheeks.

“Oh, Broderick!” Davina took Cailin from him and gave him a wilted grin, shaking her head as she wiped his face. “I think I’m cursed.”

“Nay cursed, lass,” Broderick said, still chuckling. “Justingenious.”

∞∞∞

Rosselyn snuggled against Nicabar in the golden lamp light of his caravan. “Does the fortune teller—the large man, not Amice—does he have many love interests in the towns you travel to?”

Nicabar furrowed his brow and pushed away, the movement sudden. He sat at the edge of the bed, his back to her, shoulders stiff beneath his linen shirt. “Why?”