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Davina waggled a scolding finger at him, though her lips twitched with a grin she couldn’t quite suppress. “I’m not about to give you your payment before it’s due.”

A low laugh rumbled from his chest, and he unfurled a wolfish grin. “I’ll just have tae wait, won’t I? Though I cannae say I mind the chase.”

Her face flushed, but she was determined not to show him how easily his words affected her. She shook her head, sat up straight, and tightly placed her hands in her lap. “Let’s focus on the matter at hand.”

He nodded, a smile still playing on his lips. “As ye wish, lass.”

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus. “Did you learn anything else about Ewan? From the handshake?”

“Aye.” Broderick’s expression shifted, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more calculating. “The lad has his sights set on havin’ many a wee bairn.”

Her brow furrowed. “Him? Wanting children?” The thought was absurd. A man like Ewan Gordon, with his pristine manners and fastidious nature, knee-deep in messy, crying babes? It was almost laughable.

Davina’s lips spread into a slow, wicked grin. A plan began to form, catching fire. “Well, then,” she murmured, leaning back in her chair. “I know exactly what I’m going to do to finish him off.”

Broderick arched a reddish-brown eyebrow, his grin widening with expectation. “Dare I ask?”

She shot him a sideways glance. “Oh, you’ll see. Supper will be interesting, I promise you that.”

Broderick chuckled, the sound rich and low, curling through her belly.

“I hope you have a strong stomach, though,” she added, rising and clasping her hands before her.

He cocked a curious eyebrow. “Lass, I’ve seen worse than whatever devilry ye’ve got planned.”

She tilted her head, mischief dancing behind her eyes. “We shall see.”

∞∞∞

Broderick leaned against the counter of the serving room, his arms crossed over his chest, fingers drumming impatiently on his biceps. The room smelled of roasted meat, mingling with the faint tang of fresh herbs from the kitchen hearth beyond.

He blew out an exasperated breath, shifting his weight. “Where are ye, lass?” he muttered, his words swallowed by the clatter of dishes being prepared.

The kitchen door swung open, and the maid scurried in with a tray of steaming dishes. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, a few strands of hair clinging to her damp brow beneath her linen cap.

“Excuse me, milord,” she said briskly, shoving past him, setting the plates onto the counter. “I’ve no time for ye lurking about like some barn cat.”

“Where’s Davina?” he asked, straightening.

The girl shrugged, her oval face already flushed from the heat of the kitchen. “I’ve no idea. But she’d best get here soon, or Lord Tammus’ll have her hide. And that guest of his…” She rolled her eyes. “I doubt he’s the patient sort.”

Broderick smirked faintly. “Nor am I.”

Before the maid had a chance to respond, Rosselyn charged through the door. The lamplight highlighted the chestnut hues in her braided hair, and her cheeks were flushed with a rosy tint.

“Beatrice, Cook says that the breads are done,” Rosselyn stated curtly, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Hurry up. She’s yelling loud enough to wake the dead.”

Beatrice huffed, grabbed a basket from the counter, and disappeared back through the door.

Rosselyn turned, her piercing eyes locking onto Broderick. “You!” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “I can’t believe you!”

Broderick blinked. “What have I done?”

“You know exactly what!” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Putting such daft ideas in Davina’s head. What were you thinking?”

Broderick frowned, his brow furrowing. “Lass, I’ve no idea what ye’re on about.”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me.” Her hands flew to her hips. “She told me why you’re here. I thought it was a fine idea at first, but this? You should be ashamed of yourself. Getting the baby involved?”

Broderick’s confusion deepened. He straightened, his arms falling to his sides. “The baby? What baby? What in blazes are ye talkin’ about?”

Rosselyn opened her mouth to elaborate, but the door swung open once more, and Davina stepped into the room, an infant perched on her hip.

Broderick’s eyes immediately went to her flushed cheeks, her red face a stark contrast to her dark blue gown.

The baby squirmed uncomfortably, letting out a soft whimper.

“She’s your responsibility,” Rosselyn said flatly, shaking her head as she brushed past Davina. “I’ll have no part in this madness.”

“What madness?” Broderick called after her, but Rosselyn didn’t look back. The door swung shut behind her.

Before Broderick could press Davina for answers, the bairn let out a small belch. “What’s going on?” he asked, glancing warily between mother and child.

“Broderick, meet Cailin, my daughter.” Davina gave him a sheepish smile and adjusted the baby in her arms. “I’m confessing right now,” she said, her voice dry, “that I’m a horrible mither.”

Broderick raised a brow. “Aye, well, that’s reassuring.”

“I mean it,” she said, though there was a flicker of amusement piercing through the guilt in her eyes. “I’m terrible. Horrible. Desperate . But it’s too late to back out now.” She shifted Cailin again, who let out another small whine. “Come along, now.”

She pushed open the door to the Great Hall, and Broderick followed, his curiosity mounting.

The hall was warm and brightly lit, the long table already laden with food.

Wax candles burned low in the iron sconces, casting golden light over the trenchers and goblets arranged in precise order.

Roasted meats steamed at the center, flanked by platters of greens, fresh bread, and dried fruit.

A faint haze of woodsmoke lingered in the rafters, the scent of sage and rosemary curling in the air .

Lords Tammus and Ewan rose from their seats as Davina entered, their faces marked with confusion.

“Davina,” Tammus began, his tone gruff, “what’s the meaning of this? You’ve kept our guest waiting.”

“My sincerest apologies, uncle…Laird Gordon.” Davina bounced Cailin on her hip. “She’s been fussy all evening, and no one could get her to calm down.”

Ewan shifted in his seat, his gaze darting nervously toward the baby. He adjusted his tunic, his fingers brushing at an imaginary speck of dust, then reached for his goblet.

“Hand her to Myrna, then,” Tammus said, his brow furrowing.

“She screams louder the moment I give her to anyone else,” Davina replied, her tone calm but firm. “I’ll manage. Let’s just sit down, shall we?”

Broderick took a bench along the edge of the hall facing Davina, far from the table but close enough to hear everyone’s thoughts. He crossed his arms, smirking as he focused on Davina. “ Yer right, lass. Yer a horrible mither. Ingenious. Crafty. Bold. But aye, a horrible mither. ”

Davina glanced at him, her frown apologetic. Her thoughts brushed against his like a whisper. “ Don’t forget desperate. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her, I swear it. ”

Broderick chuckled silently, shaking his head.

At the table, Tammus tried valiantly to smooth over the tension, though his scowl betrayed his annoyance.

He leaned in, holding his goblet and adopting a deliberately cheerful tone in an attempt to lighten the mood.

The candlelight flickered across the polished wood of the table, creating shifting shadows on his aged face.

“So, Ewan, what do you think of the land around Stewart Glen? You’ve surely noticed its beauty. ”

Ewan dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and nodded stiffly. “It’s…quaint,” he replied, his voice tight. “Though I confess, I’ve not had much time to explore.”

Tammus chuckled, clearly unimpressed by the lukewarm response.

“Then we’ll have to take a ride on the morrow and show you how this so-called quaint land is the backbone of the finest wool in the Highlands.

Davina’s father—God rest his soul—had the foresight to turn these hills into a sheep farmer’s paradise.

You’ve likely heard of Stewart Glen’s wool, even if you didn’t realize it. ”

Ewan blinked, his brow furrowing. “I don’t believe so.”

“Aye,” Tammus said, his chest puffing slightly with pride. “The very wool that lines the cloaks of lords and bishops alike. Traders come from as far as Edinburgh to buy it. The Glen’s prosperity is no accident, lad—it’s the result of Parlan’s hard work and vision.”

Davina’s eyes widened and she smiled faintly, bouncing Cailin slightly on her lap to soothe her. “Although it’s nice to hear uncle bragging about my father’s endeavors,” her thoughts said. “This is a first. He hates the wool business.”

Broderick snorted. “Then desperation runs in yer family. ’Tis obvious he’s eager to impress the young laird.”

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.”