Joanna scowled and led the other two women into the drawing room. They skidded to a stop at the sight of Brock and Ashton laughing in chairs by the fire, two empty bottles of whiskey between them.
“Lass!” Brock grinned, his eyes slightly glassy from his drinking.
“Sister!” Ashton chuckled unevenly and then raised an empty glass to Rosalind. “Wife, and mother.” He gave a drunken cheer.
“Ashton!” his mother snapped. “What’s gotten into you?”
“More a matter of what’s gotten into them.” Ashton pointed at the two younger women and then snorted in laughter. It took Brock a second to work it out, and then he started to laugh as well.
“Us?” Joanna shared a glance with Rosalind, who was equally confused.
“Explain yourself,” Regina demanded.
“Bairns,” said Ashton.
Regina shook herself. The word as it came from his lips made no sense. “Bay-urns?” Was he trying to say something Scottish?
“Aye,” Brock cut in. “We began to talk about them, and the next thing we knew, we were celebrating, and then we just sort of . . . kept on celebrating.” Brock had to explain slowly as he had trouble focusing on the words.
“Bairns . . . Oh! Babes!” Regina spun to face the other two women. “Wonderful! Which of you is going to have my first grandchild?”
Joanna sheepishly raised her hand, only to have Rosalind do the same.
“Both of you?” Regina cried out in delight and embraced both women at the same time.
Joanna hugged her mother back, but she was soon scowling at her husband and brother once again. “Why didn’t you stop Rafe and Brodie?”
“Because they were already gone,” Ashton said with a sigh. “Poor Lady Rochester and Mr. Hunt are bound for the Isle of Skye.”
“What?” Rosalind gasped. “Why the Isle of Skye?”
Brock explained what Shelton had told him. By the end, the three women had formulated a plan.
“Once you sleep off the drink, you must go and chase down Lady Rochester and Mr. Hunt. We shall all escort them to Castle Kincade.”
Ashton and Brock looked thoroughly displeased with the idea.
“I think it’s time you two went to bed,” Regina ordered the two drunken men.
Ashton and Brock both laughed at that, but when they looked toward their wives, they sobered a bit.
“I think they’re serious,” whispered Brock.
“Brock. Bed. Now,” Joanna said, and Rosalind gave Ashton a pointed look that required no words.
Both men stood and moved on unsteady legs toward the women. Joanna put an arm around Brock’s back as they allowed Shelton to escort them to an empty bedchamber. Brock collapsed onto the bed, and Joanna had to straddle each of his legs to pull his riding boots off.
“How did you know about the baby?” she asked as she dropped the second boot to the floor.
“I always ken when you leave our bed, Sassenach. It feels empty without you. When you kept leaving me, something felt wrong. So I followed you, my sweet brave lass, and I heard you toss your accounts into the chamber pot.”
Joanna fell onto the bed beside Brock, and he pulled her close, kissing her.
“Are you upset about the baby? You and Ash were quite drunk this evening.”
“Upset? Did we sound upset to you, lass? But I must admit, I am worried. I didna have a good father, nor did you and Ashton. He and I spoke, and we both fear we won’t be good fathers.”
Joanna smacked his chest. “Getting foxed is not what a good husband or father does. Talk to your wives next time. Rosalind and I know you will be good fathers.”
“How can you be sure of that, Sassenach?” He looked so serious and troubled.
“Brock, who raised your siblings after your mother died?”
“I did.”
“Exactly. And did they all turn out well?”
Brock looked suddenly sheepish. “Well, Brodie’s gone and kidnapped a—”
“Besides that . . .admittedly complicated matter.”
“Er . . .” He still looked doubtful.
“At the very least, Aiden and Rosalind are fine. You did that.”
“So you’re saying two out of three isn’t bad?”
Joanna groaned. “When we learn the truth about Brodie, then we can decide whether we need to assess your parenting skills again. But the truth is, you took care of them. Three of them. And not only that, you had to protect them from the abuse and tyranny of your father. If you could manage that under such dire conditions, imagine what you’ll be like raising a child without that fear and abuse looming over you.”