by Lynsay Sands
"Aye." Angus nodded solemnly. "Yer life has changed now that ye've taken a wife. But so has hers. 'Tis the way of things. Ye need to accept that and make the best of it."
"Perhaps," Duncan muttered unhappily.
"There is no perhaps about it, boy. As far as I can see, Iliana has done all that is in her power to make our home more pleasant. Tell me, what have you done for her?"
"She's done it all fer hersel', not me," Duncan grumbled, not ready to concede yet.
"Has she? Well now, I did not notice that she instructed Elgin to cook fine fare only fer her but continue to offer slop to the rest of us. Neither did I notice that she had her room cleaned but left the common rooms to ruin. Nay. In fact, my room was cleaned and filled with fresh rushes just last week under yer lady wife's orders, and I ken that they cleaned Seonaid's room, too, and yet they have not got to clean the one she and her mother have been using. It seems to me she leaves the consideration of her own comfort last."
Duncan was silent, a startled look on his face. This was something he had to consider.
Iliana surveyed the room with displeasure. For two days she had lain in bed, staring at the filthy rushes and stained tapestries of her husband's room. And for two days the sight had stung her nerves like salt in a sore.
It was her own fault, she supposed. She had not really needed two days to recuperate from her wound but had allowed herself to be persuaded to rest by her mother. In truth, she supposed she had been hiding up here, just as she had been hiding up here while her mother was ill. It had been easy to do. Once again, Duncan had taken to sleeping in Seonaid's vacant room, leaving her to her own devices. But then, everyone had seemed to leave her to her own devices. Even her mother had not offered her company to pass the time and distract her. According to Ebba, the woman was spending her time regaling either Duncan, Angus, or both men with tales of Iliana's childhood. The very idea made her cringe.
This, the third morning after the attack, she had decided she'd had enough of lying about. There were things to do. She had responsibilities. The first of which was to clean this room. She only hoped it would not be as large a task as the great hall had been.
With that question uppermost in her mind, Iliana cleared a small space on the floor with her foot to peer at the wood beneath the rushes. She nodded her satisfaction on seeing that, while it was dusty, there was no sign of the hardened spills that had filled the great hall.
"There is no need to scrub."
Iliana glanced up and smiled slightly at her maid's relieved words. "Nay," she agreed easily. "Merely a good sweeping once the rushes are removed."
Ebba sighed at that, and Iliana felt the chafe of guilt. The maid had been running up and down the castle stairs for the last two weeks, fetching this or that; first for her mother, then for Iliana herself.
"Laird Angus is arranging for men to fetch fresh rushes, but why do you not take the women and go out and collect heather to add to them?" she suggested impulsively. "I shall see to removing these and sweeping up."
When Ebba glanced at her doubtfully, Iliana felt herself flush with shame. Ere coming to Dunbar, the woman would never have been surprised at the idea that Iliana was willing to work. But she had done little real labor of late. Not for the last two weeks.
"Take your time," she added firmly now. "The fresh air will do you good."
"You are sure?"
When she nodded, the maid beamed at her and hurried off.
Iliana turned to survey the room again, sighing as she realized just how much work she had set herself up for. But she did not regret it. Her mother had taught her well the importance of treating one's servants with consideration.
"What has you looking so thoughtful, daughter?"
Iliana glanced up as her mother entered the room and managed a smile. "Good morn, Mother. How do you today?"
"Very well." Pausing at Iliana's side, she kissed her cheek, then glanced about the room. "Ebba has gone to collect some heather."
"Aye. I sent her."
"So she said. I sent Gertie with her," Lady Wildwood murmured, then raised her eyebrows. "With your maid gone, who is it you plan to have empty and sweep the room?"
"I thought to borrow some of Duncan's men to move the chests but will remove the rushes myself."
"What of your side?"
"Gertie has put on a liniment to keep it from paining me. So long as I do not overdo--"
"You shall not overdo because ye shall not do it."
Iliana whirled toward the door at that announcement from her husband, and eyed him with displeasure as his words sank in. "'Tis little enough effort to push a broom around, husband. Surely--"
"Then 'twill be easy work fer the men I send to do it."
Iliana blinked at that, positive she had misunderstood. Had her husband, the man who griped and complained about every spot of cleaning she instigated, just suggested he would send some of his precious men to do it for her?
"'Tis most thoughtful of you, Duncan," Lady Wildwood claimed when Iliana remained silent. "But surely 'tis not necessary to waste the time of the men who work on the wall? Mayhap the guards you have posted to watch me could--"
"There is only one guard now," Duncan interrupted. "I sent one of the men to the kitchen to breakfast."
"Well, surely even one could--"
"His job is to guard ye, and he'll do so. I'll take two men off the wall to see to this."
Impossible! Iliana thought incredulously. She must have caught a fever. Her wound was infected; she had caught a fever and was now hallucinating, she decided.
"Well." Lady Wildwood frowned as her daughter remained mute, then sighed and offered thanks for her. "'Tis obvious you have taken my daughter's breath away with your generosity. The offer is greatly appreciated."
Obviously disappointed by Iliana's silence, Duncan moved forward and stooped to pick up the only chest in the room that was his. Turning toward the door with it, he muttered, "I shall remove this to my room, then send some men up to help with the rest."
"Husband?"
Pausing in the doorway, he turned back, one eyebrow arching slightly.
Iliana hesitated, unsure what to say. He had yet to take a bath, and she did not wish to unintentionally make an offer that she was not willing to keep. In the end, she hesitated too long.
His mouth tightening, he shifted the chest impatiently in his arms. "If ye've naught to say, I've better things to do than stand about--"
Iliana caught a glimpse of motion over her husband's shoulder even as the words died on his mouth. The next moment, he stumbled forward, the chest slipping from his hands and falling open as it crashed to the ground. Its contents spilled across the floor, among them a bottle that slid across the rushes to shatter against the wall, filling the room with the biting scent of whiskey.
Iliana and her mother rushed forward as Duncan collapsed atop the now empty chest. Kneeling on either side of his prone form, they peered at the blood gushing from his head, then glanced to the door in unison as a lit torch flew into the room and the door slammed closed.
Neither woman moved for a moment, shock holding them still as the far end of the room exploded into flame. The fire spread swiftly, rushing toward where she and her mother knelt by her husband.
"Duncan?" Grabbing his arm, Iliana tried to turn him over but was unable to move his great bulk until her mother added her own efforts. Once he was on his back, Iliana felt terror well up within her as she saw the pallor of his complexion.
"He is alive, and we must get out of here."
Her mother's calm words broke through her panic, and Iliana glanced toward the flames licking their way toward them. Without discussing it, each of them got to their feet, took one of his large hands in their own and dragged him across the rushes, panic seeming to add strength to their efforts. At the door, Iliana reached out to press against the wooden surface. Frowning when it did not open, she released the hold she had on Duncan and pressed with both hands, but still the door stuck.
>
"What is it?" Her mother was at her side in an instant.
"It will not open."
Lady Wildwood pushed against the door, paling when her daughter's words proved true. "Someone has blocked it." Pounding on the door, she yelled for her guard, but Iliana stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.
"If he were out there, the room would not be afire."
"Well, surely he would not leave?"
"Nay," Iliana agreed, and her mother's eyes widened with understanding. The guard was either dead or unconscious.
Turning away from her stark expression, Iliana peered toward the fire devouring the room. Smoke was rolling across the ceiling above and she could see that her chests were already in flames. Soon the blaze would reach Duncan's feet. The heat almost unbearable, Iliana glanced frantically around the small section of room that was not yet on fire.
Lady Wildwood began to pound at the door again, screaming for assistance, but impatience covered her face when she saw that her daughter had moved to the bedside. "What do you? We must get some attention here."
"The castle is practically empty, Mama. The women are out fetching fresh rushes and the men are out practicing in the bailey. No one will hear us."
Already pale with fear, Lady Wildwood blanched further. Whipping the linen off the bed, Iliana hurried to drop it in the water she had used earlier for her ablutions, then just as swiftly pulled the soaking material out and moved toward the fire to beat at the flames with it. Her main concern was to keep the flames away from Duncan; they were far too close to his inert body for her liking.
Lady Wildwood quickly moved to collect the bottom linens from the bed. After dampening them with what little water was left in the bowl, she moved to her daughter's side, but Iliana shook her head and waved her away.
"Yell out the window," she ordered, coughing. "We must get someone's attention."
Wrapping herself in the wet sheet, Lady Wildwood hurried to the window and screamed at the men who worked below.
"They are coming," she gasped a moment later, returning to Iliana's side and adding her own efforts to battle the fire.
All of her concentration on the task she had set for herself, Iliana did not spare the energy needed to acknowledge her mother's words.
The heat was scorching. The smoke, thick and black, was stealing her breath away, hampering her efforts at fighting the flames. And hacking coughs were wracking her body as the acrid air burnt her lungs. Iliana had never experienced fire before in such a manner; it seemed almost to be alive. She would beat at one spot, damping the flames there, only to find them turning their attack and seeming almost to try to run past her. It was a war she could not win and had little hope of holding off for any length of time at all did help not come soon. Iliana had already been forced backward to stand directly before her husband as she fought the flames. She was managing to slow the spread somewhat, but not by much. In a moment she would be tripping over her husband's legs.
"Dun-can." The name came out on Iliana's cough, but her mother seemed to understand. Giving up her weak efforts to aid in combating the fire, Lady Wildwood began tugging his legs sideways, trying to shift them out of Iliana's path. She had managed to move them a bare few inches when they both heard shouts and feet pounding up the hallway. In the next second, the door crashed open and cool air rushed into the chamber. As if in response, the fire Iliana faced jumped up and forward with a roar of fury.
Crying out, she stumbled backward, tripping over her husband's legs and tumbling to the floor as her skirts went up in flames. She heard her mother's scream join her own; then something heavy crashed down upon her, knocking the air out of her lungs and sending her head bouncing back against the floor.
Chapter Sixteen
"She's awakening."
Iliana opened her eyes at those words, wincing at the pain reverberating within her head as she squinted against the light in the room.
"Thank God!"
Angus and her mother suddenly appeared above her from opposite sides, worry apparent on their faces as they peered down at her.
"Are ye a'right, lass? Ye took a fair knock."
Iliana blinked at those words from Angus, confusion her first reaction until she noticed the burning pain in her lungs and recalled the fire.
"Duncan?" The name came out on a croak, and Iliana winced as she became aware of the pain in her throat as well.
"He is fine." Tears of relief filling her eyes, Lady Wildwood patted her shoulder. "And you shall be too, now."
"Aye," Angus agreed, his own relief apparent. "'Tis lucky ye are. The room went up like a torch."
Iliana closed her eyes at that, frowning. "I have never seen a fire spread so quickly."
"Aye, well, it seems uisgebeatha is fair flammable."
Iliana's eyes opened at that. "Uisgebeatha?"
"The bottle that rolled out of Duncan's chest and smashed into the wall," her mother explained. "'Twas uisgebeatha. Whiskey. Angus thinks 'tis why the fire spread so quickly. The liquid went everywhere when the bottle shattered."
"Aye, it did."
"Hmmm. Well, that bottle was his birth batch."
Her eyebrows rose at that. "Birth batch?"
"Aye. 'Tis a tradition me father's father started. A batch of uisgebeatha is made the day the heir to the chieftain is born and a bottle of it is given to 'em to save 'til the day he takes over. Then he mourns his father's passing and his own raise in position with it."
Iliana had already come to the conclusion that the Scots, or at least these particular Scots, used any excuse they could to drink. Still, the bottle had been saved since his birth, and he would most likely be furious at its loss. "Is Duncan very upset?"
"He doesn't even ken yet. He hasn't awoken." At Iliana's sudden alarm, he patted her arm reassuringly. "Don't fash yersel'. He took a mighty kosh on the head is all. He'll wake soon enough. In truth, he came through better than ye, I think."
Iliana blinked at that. "What mean you, my lord? I was not harmed, other than the knock on the head, and I am already awake."
"Aye. That's true enough. Ye took no other injury.... But ye do look kinda funny."
Eyes shooting anxiously to her mother, she caught her glaring at Lord Angus and felt her anxiety increase.
"'Tis your hair, dear," Lady Wildwood murmured in resignation, catching Iliana's expression. "I fear 'tis a mite melted."
"Melted?" Iliana's eyes rounded at that.
"Aye, and ye've no eyebrows or lashes to speak of," Angus added for good measure, his smile becoming more sincere. Then, seeing her dismay, he cleared his throat. "Yer still bonnie to me, lass. 'Sides, the hair'll doubtless grow back."
"Where is she?"
They all stilled at that roar from the hallway. Then the door crashed open and both her mother and Angus straightened to turn toward the sound.
Recognizing her husband's voice, Iliana felt a rush of both relief and panic. Relief because it was obvious from the strength of his voice that Duncan was truly all right, and panic because she did not wish him to see her if what Lord Angus said was true. Her hair was melted and her eyebrows and eyelashes had been singed off by the fire? She could not even imagine the sight she must be.
Grabbing for the bed linens that had been drawn up to her chin, she jerked them childishly over her head and closed her eyes as she heard him stomp across the room.
Duncan's heart seemed to pause its pumping in his chest as his father stepped aside and he saw the linen drawn up over the form on the bed. He had awoken only moments before to find himself in his father's bed, his head pounding with a vicious beat that seemed to make his very teeth ache. Allistair and Ebba had been standing on either side of him. His cousin had managed a smile of relief when his eyes opened, then announced he would go inform Angus that he was awake. But Duncan had called him back as he moved away and questioned what had happened.
The explanations had stunned him mightily. He recalled standing in the doorway to his own chamber, about to leave, but that
was all. Being told that someone had apparently struck him over the head and tossed a lit torch and bottle of uisgebeatha into the room, then blocked him, his mother-in-law, and his wife into the room to die a fiery death had been a shock. Learning that Iliana had tried to fend off the fire with wet linen while her mother shouted out the window for help had raised some pride in him for her ingenious thinking. But when Allistair had told him that Iliana had been engulfed by flames when they crashed into the room, nothing could have kept him in the bed. Not the throbbing in his head, not the dizziness that had assailed him as he rose, nor the way his vision had blurred frighteningly as he had stumbled out into the hall.
Only the sight of her shrouded body could bring him to a halt as the fact hit him that she was dead. He should not be so affected by her death, he knew. She had not been a good wife. She'd refused him his rights and done exactly as she'd pleased despite his orders to the contrary. And yet, his brain seemed suddenly full of her. He recalled with crystal clarity the day she had arrived. He remembered her false bravado as she had refused him his rights the morning after their wedding, saw her face alive with intelligence and good humor as she had spoken with Lady McInnes, smelled the flowery scent that clung to her and felt her in his arms, shivering with desire. He heard her passionate moans in his ears, followed by breathless laughter as he had...loved her? Aye, he'd loved her.
Swallowing thickly, he took the last step to the bed and tugged the linen slowly down to reveal her features now. He did not know what he expected. Charred flesh, he supposed. The rancid stench of death...He certainly did not expect to see her lying with her eyes clenched shut and her nostrils flaring as she breathed.
"Yer alive!"
Iliana's eyes blinked open in surprise. It had not occurred to her that her husband might assume she was dead. Now, however, the stunned little-lost-boy-quality to his voice drew her eyes to his face. Relief, joy, then confusion flickered over his face before settling finally into a perplexed frown.
"What be the matter with ye? Ye look funny somehow." Tilting his head to the side, he narrowed his gaze, noting the hair that usually flowed sweet and fresh about her head appeared to have shrunk and melted somewhat. There were clumps of it laying about her pillow. From the fire, he realized, but could not pinpoint what else it was about her that looked so odd. Then it struck him. "Yer eyebrows and lashes are gone!"
