by Lynsay Sands
Deciding she rather liked the sound of that oath, Iliana smiled widely and drew his head down to hers for a kiss.
"Iliana?" Shaking off the web of sleep that had been drifting gently over her, Iliana sat up in the bedside chair, her gaze immediately alert as she saw that her mother had awakened. It was a week since the older woman had arrived. A week during which Iliana had not left the room but once when Duncan had dragged her off on his horse. Since that sojourn into the woods, she had remained in the room, taking her meals and sleeping there, spending the hours of wakefulness hovering anxiously over her mother.
"Mama?" Reaching for the woman's uninjured hand, she clasped it gently and leaned closer. Lady Wildwood did not look much better than she had upon arriving. The bruises she bore were only just beginning to fade and her eyes were all but sealed shut with the swelling. "Can you see?"
Lady Wildwood started to shake her head but paused at once, wincing in pain. "Nay, but I can smell the scent your father brought you back from his trip to Spain," she explained.
"How do you feel?"
Her mother smiled grimly. "How do I look?" At Iliana's hesitant silence, she grimaced. "That is about how I feel."
Iliana squeezed her hand sympathetically, then reached gently to brush a strand of hair from her mother's damaged face. "Gertie went below to collect some mead to put some of her tonic in. We've been giving that to you to keep you sleeping while you heal. She should return shortly."
The hand in hers shifted impatiently. "I do not wish to sleep. I have no doubt slept for days already."
"A week," Iliana agreed quietly.
"Aye, well, that is long enough."
"Gertie thought you would heal swifter if--"
"Bruises and broken bones take time to heal no matter if the patient sleeps or not. She would just have me sleep through the pain."
"Mayhap," Iliana agreed quietly. "And mayhap that is not such a bad idea. You--"
"'Tis a bad idea," Lady Wildwood disagreed at once. "The pain my body gives me is naught compared to the pain of losing your father. 'Sides, I seem to have done naught but sleep these last months since his death. 'Tis time I awoke and faced life."
"But you have faced life," Iliana argued. "You arranged for my marriage and even managed to escape Greenweld yourself."
"I sent a letter to the king and fled Greenweld as soon as I knew you were safely away," she corrected, then turned her face toward Iliana, seeming to try to see through her swollen eyes as she asked gently, "Have you been all right? All is well with you?"
"Aye," Iliana murmured at once, eager to ease her mother's worry.
"Your husband is kind to you?"
Iliana hesitated over answering that. Saying that Duncan was kind to her was slightly overstating the case. On the other hand, he was not unkind to her. She did not know exactly how to classify their relationship. They had seemed to do little but argue until they had consummated the marriage. Their relationship had recently taken a vast turn in direction, but she was not sure how exactly. Her husband was demanding and passionate, yet at the same time gentle as a lover. But they had not exactly talked since the afternoon that she had fallen in the dung heap and lured him to their bed. The only time they had even seen each other since her mother's arrival was the day she had gone to complain of the noise his men were making. She did not think what they had done in the clearing he had dragged her to would be considered meaningful conversation.
Iliana had not seen him since then. She had awoken later that same day to find herself sleeping on her corner pallet. Ebba had told her that Duncan had brought her back to the keep, carried her there, laid her down, and gently covered her before leaving to rejoin his men working on the new rooms. This time, Iliana had slept through the racket along with her mother. She had not managed to do so in the days between then and now, but neither had she gone out to complain of the noise again. Firstly, the noise had not disturbed her mother's drugged sleep in the least. And secondly, silly as it might seem, she found herself shrinking from facing her husband again. Every time she thought of that morning in the woods, she flushed a brilliant red. The things he had done to her. Dear Lord, the things she had done back. He had said he wished to see his wife unladylike, and gain his wish he had. She had behaved no better than an animal there in the woods. Her own cries and screams still echoed in her ears. If she closed her eyes she could feel the grass cool and damp beneath her back and the chill morning breeze drifting across her sweat-dampened body as her husband's lips had traveled across her aroused skin.
"Child?"
Flushing, Iliana tore her mind away from her thoughts and glanced guiltily at her mother's face. "I am not unhappy, Mother. All is well."
Lady Wildwood did not look convinced but let it go and sighed.
Deciding a change of topic would be expedient, Iliana asked about her imprisonment. "Did he beat you often, Mother?"
"Only every time I disobeyed him," was the dry response. Oddly enough, those words were followed by a satisfied smile as Lady Wildwood told her, "And I disobeyed the bastard every time I saw him."
Iliana stared at her blankly, unsure how to respond to the proud confession. Part of her wanted to berate her mother for putting herself in such danger. The other part--the part that had urged her to attempt escape repeatedly herself--wanted to congratulate the older woman. If nothing else, Greenweld had learned that Lady Wildwood and her daughter were not sheep to be led blindly by the first shepherd with a stick.
Instead, Iliana said nothing at all, but merely squeezed the hand she held in understanding, then glanced up as the bedchamber door opened and Gertie reentered.
Spying the turning of her mistress's head toward the door at the slight sound she made in entering, the servant hurried toward the bed. "Yer awake."
"Aye."
"Never fear, we'll fix that in a jiffy. I'll just put a bit of powder in the mead and--"
"Nay, Gertie. I have done with sleep. I would stay awake now."
"You'll do naught but suffer by staying awake."
"Then suffer I will, for I shall stay awake."
The old woman glared at her mistress briefly, then sighed with resignation and set the powder aside. "Are you thirsty?"
"Aye."
Nodding, the woman seated herself carefully on the opposite side of the bed and helped Lady Wildwood to drink some of the liquid, her mouth tightening at the other woman's pained grimace as the liquid irritated her cut and bruised lips. "You should rest."
"If I did that, I should not be able to eat. And should I not eat, I shall not heal."
"You are hungry?" Iliana smiled as she asked that, somewhat relieved. If she was hungry, her mother felt better than she looked. That was a good sign.
"Aye."
"Then I shall have the cook make you something." Rising, she hurried toward the door. "I shall return directly."
Duncan paused in his work to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his gaze moving automatically toward the door that was now off limits to him. His own bloody room. But now it was inhabited by Iliana's mother. Not that he begrudged her the bed. The woman was in a bad way and needed its comfort more than he. Nay, what he begrudged was his wife's absence. Damn, but he had just managed to gain her attentions. He much resented having them withheld so again.
Duncan had not seen his wife since the day he had made love to her in the woods. He had sought her out repeatedly since then, knocking on the chamber door in an effort to lure his bride away for a bit of houghmagandie. Both times the door had been opened by that English hag servant of the mother's, and he had been told that Iliana was resting after spending the night watching over her mother. He was feeling sore neglected and was also growing worried. It seemed obvious to him that his wee wife was avoiding him, but he could not understand why. He had thought that their time in the woods would have set a new tone to their relationship. It had been an incredibly enjoyable interlude for him, and he was positive she had enjoyed it as much, if not more.
As unfair as it was, Duncan had discovered long ago that women could find their satisfaction time and again, while a man was held back by the need for rest between the times when passion overcame him. And so it had been that day. His wife had stiffened and twisted and cried out at least half a dozen times in the woods, while he himself had been restricted by his own body to finding satisfaction only three times. Not that he was complaining. Those three times had been more than enough to leave him weak in the knees and standing on shaking legs afterward.
He wanted those weak knees again. Howbeit, his wife was not being the least cooperative.
As he frowned at that thought, the door he had been glaring at suddenly opened and the focus of his thoughts stepped out and hurried toward the stairs. Stiffening, Duncan watched blankly as she hurried out of sight, then he dropped the plank of wood he had been holding and started after her.
Elgin wasn't in the kitchens. Iliana paused in the center of the room and peered at the empty tables and the fire where workers would normally be busy preparing the evening meal, perplexed. The kitchen was rarely empty. There was usually at least one person there, cleaning vegetables or performing some other such chore, but just now that was not the case.
She had just turned back toward the door, intent on seeking out Elgin or someone who could find him for her, when the door swung open and Duncan strode in. Iliana froze where she stood, her eyes widening at the sight of him. It was obvious he had been working. His usual linen shirt was missing, his upper body bare but for various streaks of dirt among the sweat that glistened there, leaving him with only his plaid hanging about his waist.
The sight of him brought vivid memories back to Iliana, coloring her cheeks with a heat that was reflected in her eyes as he moved toward her. His purposeful stride as he closed the distance between them told her that he had followed her here, and not with the intention of asking how her mother was. Then all thought fled Iliana's mind and she stepped forward to meet him as he reached for her.
He kissed her with a passion that left her breathless and wanting. When he released her lips and his mouth began roaming down her cheek, to her neck, she gasped and released a moan that quickly turned into a groan of dismay. Iliana began struggling in his arms.
Her sudden struggling was enough to bring Duncan back to his senses. They were standing in the kitchen, for God's sake, and here he was, intent on ravishing her right there on the floor where anyone might walk in and find them. Cursing, he scooped her up and hurried to the locked storage closet where the spices and more expensive cooking items were kept. Pausing there, he set his wife down and slipped the ring of keys that his father'd had made for her from her waist.
"What do you do?" Iliana asked with bewilderment as he began searching through her keys.
"Shh, sweetling, all will be well," he muttered, pausing in his search for the key as he came across one oddly shaped one. Bewilderment crossed his face briefly; then he shrugged and continued through the ring until he came to the one he sought. Finding it, he quickly unlocked the storage door and pushed it open, then grabbed his wife's wrist and hurried through it.
The scent of several spices assailed Iliana's nose as she was tugged into the small storage space. She could make out marjoram and nutmeg and the earthier smell of stored vegetables. Then Duncan pulled the door closed and they were enclosed in darkness.
"What--" she began uncertainly, only to fall silent as she found herself tugged into his embrace again, her mouth being ravaged as he leaned her back against what she suspected, from the lumps and bumps pressing against her back, was a sack of potatoes.
Duncan was like a starving man faced with a four-course meal, and all four courses presented on one plate. His mouth and hands were everywhere, seeming to try to touch and kiss every part of her at once. His lips were dancing from her mouth to her cheek, to her ears, to her neck, while his one hand was busy tugging at the neckline of her gown and alternately delving inside of it for a quick squeeze and feel before returning to tugging. His other hand was struggling its way up under her skirts, pushing the gown before it as his leg slid between hers, spreading her own farther apart.
"Husband," Iliana muttered, only to have her lips covered by his again. She tried to keep her mouth closed against the invasion, but when he reached and cupped her womanhood, she gasped in surprise and his tongue slid into her mouth. Her discomfort was forgotten as his tongue twined around her own, and he finally succeeded at nudging her gown aside enough to free one breast for his attention. Iliana moaned into his mouth and arched her back as he began plucking at an immediately erect nipple. Then she felt his other hand spread the folds of her womanhood to caress her and she clutched convulsively at his shoulders, gasping in a breath of air as his mouth slipped from hers, dipping down to capture her exposed nipple.
Unfortunately, it was that gasp that reminded her of what she had noticed in the kitchen and what had made her struggle there. There was no delicate way to put it. Quite simply, Duncan stunk. Again.
Her previous excitement slipping away like so much smoke in a breeze, Iliana straightened as much as she could in his embrace and began to push at his chest.
Frowning at the heel of her palm suddenly pressing into his collarbone, Duncan pushed her hand away and suckled at her nipple, noting even as he did so that it was becoming soft in his mouth. Frowning, he applied more attention to the aureole, nibbling at it gently, but then his wife's hand was again pressing into his collarbone.
"What?" Straightening away from her, he tried to peer at her face in the dim light seeping under the door, but it was not enough for him to see her expression. "Why, sweetling, don't fret so. We'll not be found in here."
"Aye, well," Iliana murmured uncomfortably, resisting being pulled back into his embrace when he tried to tug her against him again. "'Tis not so much that, my lord. But--" She floundered briefly, not wishing to anger him by stating the problem, then latched onto the only real excuse she had to offer. "Mama is awake and hungry, and I actually came below to fetch her some broth or--"
"Well, we'll make it a quick one then, shall we?" he murmured seductively, bending slightly to catch the hem of her skirt and begin sliding it up her legs, his fingers brushing over the suddenly tingling flesh of her calves as he did.
Iliana gasped in surprise at the warmth that suddenly pooled in the pit of her belly as his hands slid the length of her legs, then moaned aloud as she smelled what she had inhaled in that gasp. It had been bad enough in the kitchen, a wide open area with the scent of tonight's supper simmering on the air, but in this enclosed space, his scent seemed to outweigh the smell of even the spices that surrounded them. All she could smell was--
"Horse dung."
Duncan stilled at that, his hands clasping her thighs beneath her skirt. "What?"
"I--You have been working with the horses?" she asked carefully.
"Aye." She heard rather than saw his surprise at her guess. "I was helpin' in the stables early this morn. One of the mare's was havin' difficulty foaling and needed a wee hand gettin' the foal out."
Iliana groaned aloud at that. She knew what he had been doing to help out. He had knelt in the straw in the stable, reached inside the animal, grabbed the foal by the legs, and pulled the poor wee beast out of its mother, getting himself covered in blood and muck while he was at it. Then he had most likely wiped himself off with a rag and moved on to hammering away upstairs without ever even considering bathing. In fact, she would bet her life that he had not thought to bathe at all since the day she had fallen in the dung nearly a week before. Day by day he had worked at building the new rooms he wished to add, becoming coated in sweat, dust, and dirt, and never once thought of cleaning up. 'Twas no wonder he smelled like the stables. Actually, worse than the stables.
"How did ye ken?"
Iliana sighed at his question. "I could smell it."
He went completely stiff at that.
Sensing his anger, she stepped to the right and felt for the door. Light spla
yed across both of them as she tugged it open. Wincing at the fury on her husband's face, Iliana decided that, in this instance, retreat might be the better part of valor, and hurried out into the kitchen, nearly running right over a startled Elgin.
"My apologies," she muttered, attempting to hurry past him.
"Wife!"
She did not need to turn around to see that her husband was storming after her. She could hear the thud of his footfalls as he crashed after her. Iliana immediately put on a bit of speed, running for the door. Unfortunately, in her hurry, she didn't notice the fact that her father-in-law was in the room until she collided with him, nearly sending them both crashing to the floor.
Gasping as the senior Dunbar caught her to his chest to steady her, Iliana glanced up into his face and flushed brightly. "Oh, my lord. I--er I was just--My mother is awake and hungry," she babbled nervously, taking a step back from his hold. "I thought to fetch her a bowl of broth and--"
"And me randy bull o' a son jumped ye again," Angus finished for her heavily, reaching out to tug at her gown.
Eyes drawn downward, Iliana saw with some embarrassment that her gown was still out of place, leaving the better portion of one breast in plain view. Flushing brightly, she took over the task of straightening her gown.
"Get ye upstairs, lass, and sit with yer mother. Elgin'll bring some broth to ye. I've a word or two to say to me son."
Nodding with relief, Iliana slipped past him and out of the room, ignoring Duncan's shouting of her name even as his father began to speak to him.
Chapter Fourteen
"Do you not think you have hidden up here long enough?"
Iliana glanced up warily from the chessboard between her and her mother. "What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Shifting uncomfortably under the older woman's keen gaze, she turned back to the game. "I have not been hiding."
"Nay." The dryness of Lady Wildwood's tone was known well by her daughter.
"Nay," Iliana insisted impatiently. "Check."
"I suppose you have been here day and night for the last week out of filial devotion?"
