The Key

by Lynsay Sands

  Duncan glanced up from examining his unconscious wife to see that his father had risen to his feet and now stood glaring accusingly at the dismayed cook. "Nay, Da. She lives," he said quietly. "'Sides, we are all eating what she did."

  The old man's gaze moved to Iliana and worry plucked at his brow. "Well then, what the devil has happened? Is she ill?"

  Kneeling at her mistress's other side, Ebba pulled a pinch of some herb from the bag at her waist. Waving it beneath the unconscious woman's nose, she sighed as Iliana stirred enough to turn her head away from the annoying smell.

  "She's fainted," the servant announced grimly, lips tightening as she noted that Iliana's face was flushed. Reaching out, she touched her lady's heated skin.

  "Why? What be the matter with the poor lass?" Angus asked gruffly, moving to stand behind the woman and peer over her shoulder at Iliana's face.

  "Work."

  The older man stiffened at that, eyebrows rising. "Work?"

  "Aye. Too much work and most like too much sun," she said accusingly, then turned to glare at Laird Dunbar. "Lady Iliana has worked herself like a serf since arriving here. First she was scrubbing, then today she was working in the garden all day, digging and dragging heavy plants. 'Twas a fair bit sunnier than she is used to just now. And more work than she is presently used to as well. Add that to the upset of her father's death, her worry over her mother since then, as well as the added worry of the trip here and--" She shrugged on a sigh. "I should have warned her to take it easier."

  "I noticed she seemed a mite pale when she arrived here. Scrawny, too."

  "Aye, well, let us lock you up in a windowless tower for near a month, and most oft without food, and we shall see how hale and hearty you look," Ebba muttered bitterly, resenting what she considered to be a criticism.

  "Locked up?" Duncan finally spoke, shocked.

  Ebba glanced at him then. "Aye, locked up. 'Tis how Greenweld punished her when he grew tired of her trying to escape to rescue her mother."

  "Greenweld?" Seonaid murmured, not having been privy to all the reasons behind the marriage. All she had been told was that the king wished the wedding, not the reasons why.

  "Her stepda," Duncan told the girl now, bringing a sneer to Ebba's lips.

  "Nay," she nearly spit the word. "'Tis true Greenweld forced Lady Wildwood to marry him, but the king will soon have it annulled. 'Tis why he sent Iliana to you. To get her away from the man so that he would no longer be able to use her safety against her mother. Now that she is safe, they have no doubt already petitioned for an annulment."

  Sighing, Ebba felt Iliana's face again and frowned. "I am worried that she has had too much sun. She was ill with it once as a child and has been kept from the sun since. She got a fair bit of it today. She knows better."

  "She most like did not realize how much she was getting," Cook murmured, moving to join them now that Angus no longer blamed him for her condition. "While 'tis true 'twas sunny, 'twas also chill. She would not have noticed the sun so much."

  Angus frowned. "Aye. She is not used to the ways here. We must remember that. Keep an eye out fer her. Make sure she gets less sun and plenty o' rest." He glanced at his son meaningfully as he added that last bit.

  Duncan rolled his eyes. While he was glad no one knew that the marriage was not yet consummated, it was a bit galling to be blamed for her exhaustion when he had not enjoyed the benefits of it. And it looked as if he would not be enjoying them again tonight. So much for the seduction he had planned.

  "Did she really get locked in the tower fer tryin' to escape?" Elgin asked curiously, and everyone went silent as they awaited the maid's answer.

  "Aye. Greenweld is a devil. After forcing Lady Wildwood to marry him, he sent Iliana away to Greenweld keep to use her safety against her mother. Iliana tried to escape almost right away. She sneaked from her bed, crept to the stables, took a horse, and tried to get away, but was heard and caught."

  "What happened then?" Angus asked.

  "His man, Chisholm, sent word to Lord Greenweld who sent the message back that he had his permission to beat her should she try it again."

  "And still she tried to escape again?" Seonaid sounded impressed.

  "Three times," Ebba announced with pride. "Each attempt was better planned than the one before. The last time she made it as far as Wildwood and nearly reached her mother. That scared Greenweld into having her locked up."

  "Did he harm her?" The question was asked in unison by Duncan, Angus, and Seonaid. Ebba met their narrowed gazes briefly, then peered down at her mistress. Iliana would not want her to speak of the beatings she had received. She had too much pride to want anyone's pity, as much as Ebba felt she deserved it.

  "We should put her to bed," Ebba murmured instead of answering the question.

  Duncan grabbed the servant's arm and stared into her face, reading the answer there for himself. His expression tightening, he released her and bent to pick up his wife, then carried her toward the stairs. His father followed, fretting like an old woman as he ordered that she must get more sleep, and take things much more easily.

  Iliana opened her eyes, stared at the draperies overhead, then glanced to the side, eyebrows rising slightly as her gaze fell on her husband's sleeping form. She was in bed.

  Frowning, she peered down at herself, eyes widening as she saw that she no longer wore her gown. Raising the bed linens, she peered down the length of her body and sighed with relief as she saw that she still wore Francesco's belt, then frowned once more. She did not recall coming to bed. In truth, she did not much recall the day before at all.

  Letting the linen drop back to rest against her skin, she briefly searched her mind for the memory of how she had gotten there. It was the stiffness in her arm as she raised her hand to rest it above her head that brought back the memories she sought.

  Oh, aye, she had worked in the garden all day. Then at dinner she had sat down to take sup but had been so stiff and sore that she had barely managed one mouthful of food. Exhausted and light-headed, she had feared fainting. She must have done so, for the next thing she recalled was waking up as Ebba undressed her. The woman had shushed her questions and urged her to sleep as she had gone about the chore, and Iliana had given in to the instructions.

  The next time she had opened them 'twas to find her husband crawling into bed beside her. Iliana had muttered a complaint at him for disturbing her but managed little more before dropping off again, only to awake in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of his cursing. Unable to sleep, he had risen to quit the room, had tripped over one of her chests, lost his bearings, and was having difficulty finding the door. She had listened to him curse and stumble out of the room, then dropped off again, only to later be awoken by his return as he muttered and cursed his way out of his clothes and back into bed.

  The distinct odor of ale had reached her as he had shifted restlessly about. It was not surprising really; Duncan ever seemed to reek of the stuff. His plaid carried the scent like the clouds carried rain. Still, the smell had been fresh on him last night, and she was sure he had slipped below for a tankard or two. Probably to help him sleep, she had decided, and pretended to be asleep, ignoring the way he had tossed and turned beside her.

  She had nearly drifted off again when he was suddenly out of bed once more, dressing himself and making his way from the room. And so the night had passed for her with her husband up and down, in bed and out. He could not have slept long.

  That thought in mind, Iliana eased carefully out of bed now, not wishing to disturb him. Grimacing at her aching body, she was as quick as she could manage about her ablutions in the early morning chill of the room.

  She tended to her more personal needs first, careful to be sure Duncan was sleeping before seeking out the key to Francesco's belt. After the difficulty she'd had fetching it from the bed drapes the first morning, Iliana had taken to hiding the key between the upper mattress of feathers and the lower one of straw. Now she sought it out
and undid the belt, sighing in relief as the cool air hit her skin.

  It was with some regret that she replaced it moments later and returned the key to its hiding place. Iliana had started to straighten from the foot of the bed when she suddenly paused to take it back out. 'Twas not really a very good place to hide it, she thought suddenly. She had always found that the best place to hide something was in plain sight. That being the case, she cast a swift glance at her husband, then quickly and quietly slid the key onto the ring of keys Laird Angus had given her the day before.

  Smiling in satisfaction, she moved silently to the door and eased it open, grimacing over the squeaking it immediately set up. A glance at her husband showed him stirring and starting to roll onto his back. Iliana crept quickly out into the hall and tugged the door closed once more. His exclamation as he realized that the bed was empty beside him brought a grimace to her face.

  Sighing, she shrugged and started down the hall. She had done her best not to wake him, she reassured herself, then pasted a smile on her face as she spotted Laird Angus stepping from his room near the top of the stairs.

  "Good morn, my lord."

  Angus whirled, eyes widening when he spotted her. "Yer awake!"

  "Aye." She raised an eyebrow at his surprise.

  "Ye should be resting, lass," he told her, frowning now. "We would not have ye ill."

  Smiling slightly at his concerns, Iliana slid her hand through his arm as they moved to the stairs and started down them. "Thank you, my lord. But I feel quite well now. A bit stiff perhaps, but much better than yester eve."

  "Ye slept well?" he asked, still looking worried, and Iliana nodded.

  "Aye...Well, for the most part," she added wryly as she recalled Duncan's restlessness. "I fear my husband had an excess of energy last night."

  His eyes narrowed at once. "He woke ye up last eve?"

  "Aye," she murmured, then seeing the anger begin to cloud his face added quickly, "I do not think 'twas deliberate. In fact, I know 'twas not. As exhausted as I was, 'tis sure I am I would not have awoken at all but for the fact that he could not find the entrance in the dark."

  "Could not find...?"

  "Aye. But then there was all that in and out, in and out...." She shook her head as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "It fair made me dizzy. Oh, my! There is Elgin. I must apologize for dinner last eve and assure him 'twas good. Excuse me."

  Angus was gaping after her when he heard a footstep behind him.

  "Morning, Da."

  Whirling, he took in the exhaustion on his son's face with disgust. "A wee bit tired this morn, are ye?"

  Duncan's eyebrows rose at the sarcasm behind the question, but nodded. "I was up most o' the night."

  "Aye. Iliana told me, ye randy bastard," he snapped sharply. "As exhausted as she was, could ye not let her be for one wee night?" On that note, he whirled away and stomped across the great hall to the trestle tables, leaving Duncan staring after him in bewilderment.

  "Me lady!" Elgin eyed her with some concern as Iliana approached. "Are ye feeling a'right this morn? Mayhap ye shouldna be up."

  "Thank you for your concern, Elgin, but I am fine. 'Twas just exhausted I was yester eve. I feel much better now," she assured him, then offered an apologetic smile. "Actually, I am more concerned now with you and your feelings."

  "My feelings?" He appeared surprised.

  "Aye. You made one of the finest meals it has been my pleasure to sit down to and I fear I made a poor show of appreciating it."

  "Oh." He flushed with pleasure but shook his head. "There is no need to worry, me lady. I understood."

  "Nay. You worked very hard on the meal, Elgin, and it was lovely. In fact, I am now quite looking forward to this evening's efforts. If they are half as good, 'twill be a great success."

  "Thank ye, me lady. 'Tis kind o' ye to say so." He hesitated briefly, then added, "Me lady, I did wonder if..."

  Iliana raised her eyebrows at his hesitation, then prompted. "Aye?"

  "Well..." He glanced down at his plaid, scratching absently at one of the many stains on it, then sighed. "Ebba was a'talkin' yesterday about yer mother's cook, and she was sayin' that he had a...er...fine hat and an apron that helped to keep his clothes clean, and I was awonderin'--"

  "You need not say another word," Iliana assured him, noting for the first time that his plaid was so speckled with food that 'twas difficult to tell what colors had originally been used in the pattern. "We will purchase material to make a proper apron from the merchant as soon as he arrives. In the meantime, mayhap we can find something suitable." Her gaze slid to the bloodstained bed linen hanging from the railing at the top of the stairs as she spoke and she grimaced. It had hung there since the wedding and she would be more than happy to have an excuse to remove it. Cutting out the stain, cutting up the rest, and making an apron out of it for the cook was as good an excuse as any.

  "Aye," she said determinedly. "We shall find something suitable this very day."

  "Thank ye, me lady." Elgin grinned widely, then began backing toward the kitchen door. "Now ye best be settin' yerself down an' I'll bring ye some nice pasties. Ye need to be keepin' yer strength up."

  Smiling, Iliana moved to take her place at the table, her mind distracted by a new worry. The state of Elgin's plaid had reminded her of her plan to see to new plaids for everyone. She had spent very few of the coins her parents had put in her chests on the spices and now had every intention of using what was left on ensuring that her people were garbed in a fitting manner.

  Distracted by such thoughts, Iliana did not notice the way Angus was glaring at Duncan. Neither did she notice the half-accusing, half-suspicious glances her husband sent her way, as if suspecting she was to blame for his father's animosity. In fact, she was so distracted that when she finished her meal and stood to leave the table and Duncan said he would have a word with her, she merely smiled absently, nodded, and walked away, leaving him glaring furiously after her.

  "How many what?"

  Drawing on her patience, Iliana forced a smile for Cailean Cummins's benefit, doing her best to ignore the rather unpleasant smoke wafting from the pipe between his teeth. It had taken nearly half an hour for her to find out where the plaids were made, then another fifteen minutes to track down who was in charge of the operation. She had been sorely disappointed upon meeting that man.

  Cailean Cummins. He was Elgin's cousin. He was also testy, cantankerous, and not prone to liking to deal with females. He made that more than obvious by the way he managed to answer every question with a question of his own. She would also swear he was deliberately blowing the smoke from his pipe directly into her face. He was making what should have been a brief and simple conversation into a torturous trial. And quite frankly, she'd had enough.

  "'Tis not that difficult a question to understand, Cailean Cummins. If you do not know the answer, you need simply say so."

  "I ken the answer," he snapped, affronted enough to take the pipe out of his mouth.

  Having started to turn as if to walk away, Iliana swung back now, eyebrows rising in doubt to hide her satisfaction. "Aye? Well then, how many people are there at Dunbar?"

  "About four hundred."

  "Fine. Then I should like that many plaids."

  His eyes goggled at that, his jaw dropping open to allow his pipe to tumble out. Regaining himself, he quickly tried to catch the well-used item, cursed as he burned himself in the effort, then flushed as he realized just how foul a curse he had used and exactly in front of whom. "Sorry," he muttered. But what did ye say?"

  "I should like four hundred plaids, please," Iliana said patiently. "I shall, of course, pay for them."

  "I...Ye...What..."

  Iliana rolled her eyes as the man continued to stammer at her, then patted his arm soothingly. "You need only tell me if you can supply that many plaids. If you cannot," she added with a pleasant smile, "I shall, of course, purchase them elsewhere."

  His expression now shifte
d from dismayed to offended. Drawing himself up to his full height, which was still a good inch shorter than Iliana, he asked, "Would I be correct in thinkin' ye be buyin' the plaids fer the people here?"

  "Aye, ye would. 'Tis well past time each had a new plaid, do you not think?"

  "Nay, I do not. His lairdship gives them one every year in January. 'Tis only June now. These plaids will last another seven months."

  "They'll last a lot longer with two of them available," Iliana responded at once. "'Sides, with only one, they have nothing to wear while cleaning it."

  "Ye don't clean a plaid, me lady!" He seemed truly taken aback at the suggestion. "They canna keep ye warm should ye clean them."

  Iliana rolled her eyes at that. "Can you or can you not supply me the plaids?"

  He frowned over that, worry plucking at his brows. "My lady, 'tis not that I can not supply them, but his laird--"

  "Has given me a free hand in tending to the keep and its people," Iliana finished. The lie had served her well so far; there seemed little reason to give it up. "As I said, if you cannot supply them, I will purchase them elsewhere." It was an unfair threat to use. She knew he would not wish his people wearing any but their own plaids.

  "He can supply the plaids."

  Iliana glanced toward the door of the hut they stood in front of, eyebrows rising slightly as a tall, robust redhead moved toward them. Mr. Cummins's wife was a good six inches taller than her husband. She also appeared to have a forceful personality. "Tell 'er ye can, Cailie."

  The man grimaced at the order but nodded. "Aye. It would slow me down on filling another order, but aye, I could sell ye the plaids."

  "When might I expect them?"

  "Ere the nooning meal," his wife answered for him.

  "Ere the nooning! Eda, 'tis almost noon now," Cailean protested heatedly.

  "Ye must have that many made, Cailean. All ye needs must do is count them out."

  "Aye, but--"

  "That would be perfect," Iliana enthused. "I can make the announcement at table. I will expect you at noon, then."

  "Aye, me lady," he answered resignedly, then turned to glare at his wife.

  Iliana headed back toward the keep, smiling slightly as she heard Mr. Cummins berate his wife for her interference, and she in turn put him in his place, adding 'twould be nice to have more than one plaid at hand. Her smile faded abruptly, however, as the squabbling suddenly stopped and Mr. Cummins called out a greeting that drew her head up in surprise to see her husband striding toward her.