Page 93 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

The question came out so fast and so entirely serious that Sebastian nearly laughed outright. “Ye want to name the bairn?”

“Aye. I am good at names. I named the new hound, remember?”

“Ye named the hound Stew.”

“He looks like a Stew.”

“He’s a wolfhound, Brian. He looks nothin’ like a stew.”

“He does if ye squint.” Brian crossed his arms, entirely undeterred. “Fine. What about for the bairn, if it’s a boy, we could call him Thunder.”

“Thunder?”

“Aye. Or Bear. Bear’s a good, strong name.”

“Ye want to name me son Bear?”

“Or Rock. Rock MacGregor has a nice sound to it.”

Alba had gone still beside him, one hand pressed over her mouth, shoulders already shaking with barely contained laughter. “Rock MacGregor,” she repeated, voice unsteady. “Council meetings would never be the same.”

“They’d fear him instantly,” Brian said, entirely earnest. “Nay one argues with a man named Rock.”

They all laughed.

“What about Sword?” Brian pressed on, undeterred by the laughter still rolling down the table. “Sword MacGregor. That would strike fear into any enemy the moment they heard it!”

“We are nae naming a bairn after a weapon, lad.”

“Why nae? Ye named yer own sword somethin’, I ken it. I heard ye call it Vengeance once.”

“That is entirely different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because a sword doesnae have to grow up and introduce itself at council meetings.”

“And if it’s a lass?” Alba asked, mostly to see where this would go.

Brian considered this with real gravity, chewing his lip. “Snow. Or Blade. Blade’s a good name for a lass too, I think. Very fierce.”

“We are nae namin’ yer cousin Blade, lad.”

“Why nae? Everyone would ken instantly she’s nae to be trifled with.”

“That’s what her mother’s reputation is for.”

“Aye, fair point.” Brian nodded, entirely satisfied with this logic, before brightening with a fresh idea. “What about Hamish? For a boy. After Hamish.”

Down the table, Hamish’s booming laugh cut through the surrounding noise. “I will nae object to that one, lad. Strong name. Good sound to it.”

“Ye only like it because it’s yer own name,” Fergus called back.

“Aye, and it’s an excellent name for exactly that reason.”

Brian, apparently emboldened by this small victory, turned back to Sebastian with renewed enthusiasm. “Or Fergus. For a lass.”

A beat of silence followed this suggestion before the whole table dissolved into fresh laughter, Fergus loudest among them, nearly choking on his own ale.