The Key Page 18

  "Of course."

  "Hmm." Shaking her head, Lady Wildwood took her own turn at the game "Checkmate."

  Iliana blinked at the board. Her mother had turned the game with one simple--and almost impossible--move. Sighing, she sat back and peered at her irritably. "You have not been well."

  "Nay. I have not."

  "I thought you would appreciate the company."

  When her mother merely stared at her, Iliana glanced away uncomfortably.

  "All is not well with your husband." It was an accusation and Iliana sighed as she shrugged.

  "Well enough, Mother. How well would you expect? We are newly married. Still getting to know each other."

  "Aye. Well, it seems to me 'tis hard to get to know someone should you not spend any time with him."

  When her daughter merely stared stubbornly at the chessboard and did not answer, Lady Wildwood lifted the game from her lap, where it had rested, and set it aside.

  "What are you doing?" Iliana asked in dismay, hurrying around the bed to stop her when she folded the blankets back and shifted her legs to the floor. "You cannot get up, Mother, you are still too weak."

  "I will not get any stronger lying about on my back," was Lady Wildwood's pragmatic answer. "'Sides, I believe 'tis time I met my son-in-law."

  "Nay. If you wish to meet him, I will send Ebba to ask him to come to see you. But under no circumstances are you going to get out of that bed. You have been far too ill and are still weak."

  "Ebba?"

  "My lady!" The maid's eyes were wide as she hurried across the great hall toward her. "You are out and about."

  Iliana grimaced at the words. "Aye. My mother has decided to join the table for sup. She would like a bath and..." Her voice trailed away as a burst of laughter drew her gaze to Lord Angus and several other men seated at the trestle table. Duncan was nowhere in sight, nor was there a single female present, yet every place at the tables was filled, and several men were left to stand about, chatting with the others. Iliana had never seen so many men within the keep walls. Not even when the men had been working on the new rooms. "What goes on here?"

  "Lady Seonaid's betrothed was here."

  "Lord Sherwell?" Iliana's eyebrows rose when her maid nodded. Ebba had told her nearly two weeks ago that the other woman had fled the keep to avoid her marriage. Seonaid had run off the day after Iliana's mother had arrived. Her maid had also informed her that men had been sent to track Seonaid. They had returned with the news that the girl had fled to St. Simmian's, a nunnery to the north. Iliana's only reaction to that information had been to wonder why she herself had not been that clever. Now her eyes moved over the laughing men around the table, pausing and widening slightly at the sight of Lord Angus in a fine gold doublet. "What--"

  "'Tis Lord Sherwell's," Ebba interrupted to inform her, having followed her gaze. "Lord Sherwell wished Lord Dunbar's plaid, so Lord Angus insisted he must trade his own clothes for them."

  "Why did Lord Sherwell wish for Lord Dunbar's plaid?"

  "To prove he was a friend to the Dunbars. 'Twill see him safely through those lands friendly to the Dunbars does he wear Dunbar colors."

  "Really?" she asked with interest, then pushed such thoughts aside as the sight of Elgin coming out of the kitchen reminded her of her purpose in being downstairs. "My mother wishes to come below for sup this evening." She paused to grimace at Ebba's expression and nodded.

  "I know. I have told her she should rest, but she will not listen. Mayhap if her leg had truly been broken as we first suspected, she would have the sense to stay abed, but as it is she wishes a bath to prepare."

  "I shall see to it," Ebba answered.

  Murmuring her thanks, Iliana turned to hurry back upstairs. She had been anxious about leaving it in the first place, but on finding the hallway empty of men had warily braved going below to search out Ebba. The hallway had been empty these past two days. The three rooms Duncan had planned on adding were done. The upper floor now boasted six rooms, a hallway twice its original size, and a new railing. Iliana had yet to see these added rooms but was too wary of running into Duncan to explore them, so she hurried back to her mother to assist her with her bath and dressing.

  "You are fortunate, daughter; your cook is excellent. I do not believe Jean-Claude could have made this meal better." Lady Wildwood's words were deliberately said loud enough for Elgin to hear. As expected, he puffed up under the verbal petting, pride swelling him so that he fairly beamed at one and all around the trestle tables.

  The meal had gone pleasantly enough. Elgin had made the finest meal Iliana had enjoyed at Dunbar to date. Lord Angus, wearing Lord Sherwell's fine new doublet and braies, had been making an effort all evening to make her mother feel comfortable and welcome. He had even gone so far as to flirt shamelessly with her throughout the meal. Iliana supposed she should not be surprised. Even with fading bruises marring her hands, arms, face, and neck, her mother was an attractive woman. Noting the blush his behavior had brought to her mother's cheeks and her shy smiles, Iliana had almost jumped up and kissed Angus's wrinkled old cheek in gratitude. Her mother had been so frighteningly pale ever since her arrival that the ribbons of color on each cheek were a relief, and Iliana had relaxed and listened idly to the conversation her mother shared with Duncan and Angus, both of whom sat on her mother's right. Iliana had organized those seating arrangements.

  When she and her mother had come below to sup, it was to find everyone else already at table. Duncan had been seated between his father and his cousin, Allistair, but all of his attention had been focused on his father as the older man spoke to him. Only Allistair had seemed to notice their arrival. The Dunbar warrior had immediately urged the men to slide along the bench, following the action himself, to make room between himself and Duncan.

  Not having seen her husband since the incident in the storage room, she had not been eager to face him. Stepping quickly forward, Iliana had dropped onto the bench next to Allistair, forcing her mother to take the space next to Duncan. She had spent the meal seemingly completely absorbed in her food but had really been listening to the conversation around her.

  Once again, listening in on conversations between her husband and someone else had shown her another side to the man she tended to think of as a great stinking bear. Duncan's every action and word toward her mother had been gentle and polite. In truth, his behavior was almost chivalrous. He had also talked with her mother more openly than he had ever seemed to do with her, telling of his plans for the keep and listing what was already accomplished. The upstairs rooms were not only finished being built, all but one were furnished as well. She had also learned that the men had immediately turned their efforts back to the wall, and that was nearly done as well. Then, too, she had learned why there suddenly seemed so many more men in the keep. It seemed that several of the men had been off on a mercenary expedition, but were now finished and returned home. With the crowds that now filled the keep, Iliana could well understand her husband's desperation to enlarge Dunbar.

  "You shall have your room back tonight."

  Iliana stiffened at her mother's words, her own thoughts flying to the four winds. "What?" she asked, grabbing desperately at her arm when the woman turned away to gesture for her maid to approach.

  Glancing back, Lady Wildwood frowned slightly at Iliana's obvious dismay, but nodded. "Now that I know that your husband has gone to the trouble of building extra rooms, it seems only right that I use one."

  "But--" Iliana paused when her mother reached out to caress her cheek gently.

  "Do not fret, child. He seems to be a good man. All will be well." Her mother kissed her gently on the cheek, then turned toward her maid. "I am ready to retire, Gertie."

  "Aye, my lady."

  Iliana continued to sit where she was as her mother's maid helped her to rise, until she took a step away from the bench, leaving a clear view of her husband. Duncan met her gaze, the expression in his eyes and the smile on his face telling her th
at he had overheard her mother's words.

  Rising abruptly, she stepped over the bench after her mother. "I shall help you," she announced nervously, sliding her hand beneath her elbow to take some of her weight.

  Duncan paused outside the door to the bedchamber and took a deep breath. Hard as it was to accept, he was nervous. It had been so long since he had held his wife in his arms.... And then there was her reaction to him in the storeroom. Shrugging such thoughts away, he straightened his shoulders and opened the door.

  The room was semi-dark, lit only by the glowing embers in the fireplace. By the dim light they cast, Duncan could just make out his wife's form in the bed. Easing the door closed, he moved uncertainly toward the bed.

  Iliana was already asleep. Or pretending to be. He supposed he should not have expected anything else. A hearty welcome would have been too much to hope for after the way she had avoided him these many days. Sighing, he shrugged out of his plaid and quickly lifted his shirt off over his head, dropping both items to the floor. He then lifted the linens to crawl into bed, only to freeze and stare at his wife beneath the sheet. She wore her undertunic, which was not unusual--she often wore that to bed--or had when refusing him his rights. It was the bulky outline of the chastity belt that made him stiffen.

  "Ye've got it back on."

  Iliana sighed at the tone of his voice and gave up all attempts at feigning sleep. Opening her eyes, she peered at him unhappily. "Tis sorry I am, husband, but--"

  "Sorry? Nay, yer not sorry." Glaring at her irately, he let the linen drop back to cover her with disgust. "Yer cold. Yer one o' those women I have heard about who don't enjoy the mating and will do anything to avoid it."

  "Nay!" Iliana denied at once, grabbing at his hand when he turned to move away. "I do enjoy it. Truly," she assured him when he sneered at the claim, then added, "Truly I do, but I find I can not enjoy it when your scent is so foul that it distracts from the pleasure you give me. Could you not just bathe and..." Her voice trailed away to silence as he tugged his arm free.

  "Aye, ye would like that, would ye not? Do I bathe, surely ye will favor me with yer attentions," he sneered. "Well, I will remind ye once again, wife, that 'tis yer duty to submit to me. Ye are denying me a husband's rights, which gives me every right to put ye aside."

  Iliana stilled at that threat, and he gave a harsh laugh.

  "What is the matter? Surely ye don't care? Nay, of course not. Did ye care, ye wouldn't refuse me yer favors."

  When Iliana merely stared at him silently, he turned away in disgust. "Worry no more. I'll not sully yer precious linens with my foul smell. I'll take mesel' off to a more welcoming bed."

  Iliana stared blankly at the door as it closed behind him, his words repeating themselves in her head. A more welcoming bed. Did he intend to seek his pleasure elsewhere? Her eyes narrowed at the very thought, anger welling up within her at the idea of his sharing the passion and intimacy they had experienced with someone else. Teeth snapping together, Iliana pushed the linens aside and got to her feet, only to pause.

  She had refused him. Did she wish him back in her bed as he was? Iliana shifted uncomfortably. She did not care for his stench. Could she put up with it to keep him from straying?

  The years ahead rolled out in her mind, Duncan coming to her after a day of hard labor, his body slick with sweat, glistening in the firelight. He would shrug his plaid to the floor, then his shirt. Shadows from the fire would dance across his wide chest and strong legs as he moved toward her, took her in his arms, and...she would catch a whiff of him.

  Groaning, Iliana crawled unhappily back into bed. While the idea of his seeking his pleasure in another bed was most distressing, the idea of being forced to welcome him into her own when he smelled of the stables was really no better.

  "Yer a buxom wench, Kelly." Duncan addressed the enormous breasts that floated before his eyes. They were bulging out of the top of the low-cut gown that bound them. Thinking they meant to attempt escape at any moment, he reached out to push them down, back into their strappings. But the movement unbalanced him somewhat, and he ended up grabbing one of the massive mammaries through the gown that covered it and holding on as he swayed where he sat.

  I'm drunk, he realized with dismay, then decided it didn't matter and raised the nearly empty pitcher in his other hand to his mouth and gulped the last of the liquid down.

  "That's enough, that is." Grabbing the pitcher from him, Kelly set it on the small table next to the bed where Duncan sat. When he scowled at the loss, she laughed slightly and took his empty hand, placing it against her other breast. "Ye've been a naughty man, me laird, not comin' to see me fer so long. Kelly's missed ye."

  "Aye, well, I've been busy." Duncan's head lolled forward, landing between her generous breasts.

  "Aye, with yer English wife." The woman pouted, but when Duncan did not raise his head to see it, she frowned slightly and tugged his head back. Her lips tightened when she saw that his eyes were closed and he appeared on the verge of sleep. "Yer in yer cups, ye are."

  His eyes opened at that and he grinned, one hand dropping from her breast to slip around and pinch her behind. "Aye, but not so far in it I cannot doin' me business."

  "Aye, well, I've yet to see the day when yer that fou," she agreed with dry amusement, then gave him a gentle push that sent him dropping back onto the bed.

  Smiling at the surprise on his face, she tugged the neckline of her gown down so that her breasts popped out, her smile deepening at the hunger that immediately lit his eyes. "Let us see if ye can still ride the night out, or if that English wife o' yers has ruined ye," she murmured, yanking the skirt of her plaid up to her thighs and crawling atop him on the bed.

  Duncan had just opened his mouth to deride that possibility when the woman leaned forward and plopped her breast into it. Eyes widening, he began to suckle automatically, only to pause as the acrid scent of sweat intruded on his senses. Frowning, he caught the woman by the arms, ending her efforts at tugging up his own plaid, and pushed her away.

  Sighing, Iliana rolled onto her back once more and glared into the darkened room. It was impossible for her to gain her sleep when her mind kept racing over the fact that Duncan was right this minute thrusting himself into another woman's body. The pig, she thought irritably. Was it so much to ask that he take a bath? Even if he would just wash himself down, she would be pleased to remove the belt.

  Muttering under her breath, she shifted onto her side away from the door, then stiffened at the soft click of it opening. She heard it shut softly, then the rustle of rushes as he crossed the room, and anger immediately began to burn within her. So, he had pleasured himself elsewhere, then thought to join her in this bed? If that was the case, he had another think coming.

  Rolling abruptly onto her back, Iliana opened her mouth to blister him with her tongue. The words that would have bubbled forward were replaced with a shriek of horror, however, when she saw the dark form poised over the bed, a knife upraised to plunge into her. If she was startled at the sight, her attacker was equally taken aback by the fact that she was obviously not asleep. A blessing that; it made him hesitate for a moment. Just long enough for Iliana to gather her senses and start to roll quickly away from him.

  Her attacker regained himself at her movement and lunged forward, bringing the knife down as she moved. Iliana felt heat emanate suddenly from her side; then she crashed onto the floor with a thud. She screamed again as she found her legs tangled up in the bed linens, hampering her efforts to get as far from the bed and the attacker as possible.

  The crash of the bedroom door brought an end to her shrieks and Iliana peered warily over the bed, relief making her sag when she saw that her attacker was gone.

  "Iliana!"

  Recognizing her mother's panicked voice coming down the hall, Iliana sighed wearily and began to push at the sheets tangled around her legs. Candlelight lit the room a moment later, and she glanced up to see her mother, Ebba, Gertie, and Lord Angus all rus
h into the chamber. They paused inside the door, peering around the seemingly empty room, until they spotted her on the floor on the other side of the bed. Then her mother handed her candle to her maid and rushed forward.

  "What is it, dear?" Lady Wildwood hurried around the bed, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was dressed only in her undertunic.

  Laird Angus did not miss that fact, however; his eyes were glued to the older woman as she reached her daughter's side and bent to help her anxiously to her feet.

  "Was it a nightmare? Did you fall out of bed?"

  Angus drew his eyes reluctantly from the mother's scanty attire to peer at his daughter-in-law. His gaze was immediately drawn to the splotch of red blooming on her white gown. "Yer bleedin'!" He was across the room before he had finished making that observation.

  Iliana glanced at her side with a frown. The heat she had felt as she had rolled off the bed had been the knife slicing through her side, it seemed. There was a tear in her tunic and blood soaking into it where she had been cut. "'Tis not so bad," Iliana murmured. "'Tis just a scratch, really."

  Ignoring her words, Angus bent to pull the sides of the slit in her gown apart, and examined the cut beneath it. He was frowning when he straightened. "What happened?"

  "Someone came into the room. I thought it was Duncan and rolled over to speak to him, but it was not him--"

  "Who was it?" Lady Wildwood asked, wide-eyed.

  "I do not know. It all happened so quickly. And it was dark. I saw a man, but his face was in shadow. Then I saw the knife." Shuddering, she pressed her hand to her side to ease the pain. "I screamed and rolled off the bed as he stabbed."

  "'Tis good ye did, else ye would not be alive to make these explanations," Angus muttered grimly, then glanced toward the door where a small crowd was gathering. When he did not see his son among them, he turned back to Iliana. "Where is my son?"

  She hesitated briefly, then reached up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

  Lady Wildwood raised her eyebrows at the action, her curiosity piqued.... Especially when thunderclouds began to gather on the man's face.