"For the love of G.o.d, who cares about the ring now? Will you please listen to what I'm trying to tell you? I can't be Isabelle's midwife. I don't have any experience."

She was so desperate to make him listen to her, she grabbed hold of his plaid and started pulling on it.

"Who gave you this ring?"

Dear Lord, he wouldn't let up. She wanted to shake some sense into him. Then she realized she was already trying to do just that, and Iain wasn't moving. She gave up. She let go of his plaid and took a step back.

"You told me there wasn't anyone pledged to you back in England. Were you telling me the truth?"

He took hold of the ring again and twisted the chain around his fingers. His knuckles brushed against the side of her breast, once, then again, and he didn't seem at all inclined to stop that intimacy, even when she tried to pry his fingers away.

"Answer me," he commanded.

The man was furious. She was stunned when she realized that fact. "My uncle Tekel gave me the ring," she said. "It belonged to my father."

He didn't look like he believed her. His frown didn't ease at all.

She shook her head. "It doesn't belong to a young man waiting to marry me. I didn't lie to you, so you can quit glaring at me."

Judith didn't feel at all guilty. She hadn't told him the full truth, but Tekel had given her the ring, and Iain never really needed to know he was holding Laird Maclean's prized possession in his hand.

"Then you may keep it."

She couldn't believe his arrogance. "I don't need your permission."

"Yes, you do."

He used the chain to pull her forward. He leaned down at the same time and kissed her hard, thoroughly. When he lifted his head back, she had a bemused look on her face. He was pleased by that reaction.

The sudden sparkle in his eyes was more confusing to her than his ridiculous inquisition about the ring. "I've told you that you can't kiss me whenever you want."

"Yes, I can."

To prove his point, he kissed her again. Judith hadn't recovered from that surprise when he suddenly pushed her behind his back.

"Patrick, Judith isn't dressed for company. Leave."

"Iain, you happen to be inside his home, not yours," Judith reminded him.

"I know where I am," he replied, his exasperation obvious in his voice. "Patrick, get out of here."

His brother didn't move fast enough to suit Iain. He was grinning, too, and that didn't suit Iain at all. He took a threatening step forward. "Do you find my order amusing?"

Judith grabbed hold of the back of Iain's plaid to keep him from going after his brother. It was a puny effort against a man of his size. It was ridiculous behavior on her part, too. She started pushing him instead.

Iain didn't budge. Patrick did. He put his arm around his wife and led her to the other side of the room. She was about to say something to him, but Patrick shook his head.

He softened the order with a wink, then motioned toward the screen with the tilt of his head, a silent message to his wife that he wanted to hear the argument going on. Frances Catherine put her hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

"I would like you to leave," Judith ordered. "Now." Iain turned around to look at her. She s.n.a.t.c.hed the quilt up and held it in front of her. "This isn't proper."

"Judith, it isn't at all proper for you to take that tone with me."

She wanted to scream. She sighed instead. "I'm not happy with your tone either," she announced.

He looked astonished. He almost laughed, but caught himself in time. The woman really needed to understand her position. "I'll wait outside," he announced in a hard voice. "Get dressed."

"Why?"

"Isabelle," he reminded her. "Remember?"

"Oh, G.o.d, Isabelle," she cried out. "Iain, I can't-"

"It's all right," he interrupted. "There's plenty of time."

He walked away from her before she could make him understand. Judith muttered a very unladylike expletive. She guessed she was going to have to get dressed so she could go outside and make him listen to her. The ignorant man obviously believed one woman was just as good as another when it came to a.s.sisting with a birthing. She was going to set him straight so that Isabelle could get experienced help.

Frances Catherine helped her get dressed. As soon as that ch.o.r.e was completed, she wanted Judith to sit down so she could brush her hair for her.

"For the love of G.o.d, Frances Catherine, I'm not going to a festival. Leave my hair alone."

"You heard Iain," her friend replied. "You have plenty of time. A woman's first baby takes long, long hours of pain, and Isabelle has only just begun her laboring."

"How would you know?"

"Agnes told me."

Judith pulled her hair back over her shoulder and secured it with a ribbon at the base of her neck. "What a lovely bit of information to share with an expectant mother," she muttered.

"The blue ribbon would be prettier," Frances Catherine told her. She tried to subst.i.tute it for the pink ribbon Judith had used.

Judith felt as though she was living a nightmare and even her dear friend was part of it. "For heaven's sake, Frances Catherine, if you don't quit poking at me, I swear you won't have to worry about giving birth. I'll strangle you first."

Frances Catherine wasn't at all offended by that empty threat. She let go of Judith's hair and smiled. "Should I wait up for you?"

"Yes... no, oh, I don't know," Judith muttered as she headed for the door.

Patrick and Iain were standing in the courtyard. Judith came rushing outside the entrance. She stepped on a stone, muttered something under her breath, and then hurried back inside. She found her shoes under the bed, put them on, and then ran back outside again.

"She seems a little rattled," Patrick remarked.

"Aye, she does," Iain agreed.

"Tell Isabelle I'll be praying for her," Frances Catherine called out.

Iain waited until Judith reached his side, then turned his attention to his brother. "Winslow doesn't want anyone to know about this until it's over."

Patrick nodded agreement.