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enough quiet but deep rage that a smart man would start running.
    "Bastard," she hissed. "Lying, lecherous bastard. Ye are fouler than the slime at the bottom of a midden heap."
    "Duck," said one of the Camerons.
    Diarmot heard the shifting of everyone at his table, indicating that they had heeded that warning. He watched somewhat dazed as Ilsa raised the heavy jug she held. It occurred to him that she intended to throw it even as she did so.
    Suddenly, Connor grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to the side. Diarmot heard the jug lightly scrape the top of his chair, then winced as it shattered on the floor behind him. When he sat up straight and looked toward the doors, Ilsa was gone. He thought it highly unfair when the Camerons all glared at him.
    After all, he was not the one cursing and hurling ewers.
    "She must have become irritated upon meeting my children," Diarmot said and took a drink of his ale to hide his unease.
    "What children?" demanded Sigimor.
    "My daughter Alice, the only child my late wife gave me, and five others."
    "Five others? Five bastards?"
    "I am nay fond of that word."
    "Isnae that a pity. I suggest ye gain a tolerance for it, because I suspicion ye are about to hear it a lot and nay directed at your bairns. Ye ne'er told my sister ye were wed before nor about your habit of breeding women like some cocksure stallion set loose in a field of mares in season."
    Diarmot was annoyed at the way his brothers snickered, but ignored them to reply to Sigimor's insult. "Why do ye assume I ne'er told your sister? Mayhap she ne'er told ye."
    "She would have told Tait."
    "And what makes him so blessed?"
    "He is her twin."
    It just kept getting worse, Diarmot mused, and inwardly cursed. "That doesnae mean she will tell him every little secret."
    "Weel, she does. He kenned about ye ere we did. And, Ilsa would have spoken up about your lechery. Aye, loud and long. Such lechery would have appalled her and ye wouldnae have gotten into her bed so cursed fast. We would have been asking ye some hard questions ere ye handfasted as weel. What did ye do, push her into the room full of your bairns with nary a word of warning?"
    To his dismay, Diarmot could feel the sting of guilt's color upon his cheeks and he glared at Sigimor. "She wanted the nursery. I showed it to her."
    Sigimor shook his head. "Ye werenae such an ill-tempered, unkind sod when we kenned ye. I think that beating knocked more than your senses awry." He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "I am now wishing I had let the others come along so that we could all take a turn beating some sense and charity into your thick head."
    "What others? There are more of ye? Just how many cursed brothers does she have?"
    "Fourteen. Three sets of twins. Ilsa is the only lass. Has two score and seven cousins, too, and only three of them are lasses, but then ye kenned all of that."
    Diarmot scowled at Gillyanne who was laughing so hard she had to cling to Connor for support. All three of his brothers were doing a poor job of hiding their own amusement. He saw absolutely nothing funny about this. A doting father or brother was well known to be a problem for a husband. He was beset by a doting army of huge redheads.
    "Why dinnae ye just assume I dinnae recall any of it," Diarmot said. "Play the game. Tell me exactly who Ilsa Cameron is and how I came to be handfasted to her." He gave Sigimor a cold smile. "Mayhap it will bestir my memory."
    "I have heard that a sound knock upon the head can help," said Tait, slowly rising from his seat, his hands clenched into hard fists.
    "Sit, Tait," Sigimor ordered, nodding when, after a moment of hesitation, Tait obeyed. He then looked at Diarmot. "Fine, we shall play your game. Ilsa met ye when she stopped our cousins Ivar and Marcus from knocking ye senseless. They considered the lass at the inn theirs, ye ken, and felt ye were trespassing, Ilsa is probably regretting the fact that she didnae see that wee incident as proof of a