Iliana bit her lip uncertainly. "Is that bad?"
"Nay, nay. 'Tis good. Too damn good, and I have waited too damn long. Hook yer ankles, sweetling."
"Hook my--?"
"Aye, help me hold ye up," he muttered, his face a picture of pain. "Hook yer ankles behind me head."
Iliana did as instructed, then moaned herself and arched into him when he released one hand from holding her hips and moved it between them to caress her again.
"That's it, sweetling," he muttered, urging her to move against him with the one hand still at her hip. "That's it. That's...Damn!"
Iliana hardly heard his curse as he poured himself into her. She was too taken up with the waves of feeling that were crashing through her own body as she succumbed to his touch and the feel of him inside her. She was still shuddering with it when he slid her legs gently off his shoulders and collapsed atop her, crushing the gown that was bunched up at her waist.
"'Tis sorry I am, wee Iliana," he groaned as soon as he could catch his breath.
"Do not be," Iliana gasped back. "I liked it. We must try this quick one again."
A knock at the door had them both peering toward it. Duncan sighed, then growled, "Aye?"
The door opened to reveal Angus. Embarrassment flushed his face as he saw what he had walked in on. Then it was replaced by anger, apparently at having his suspicions confirmed. "Damn ye, Duncan! Ye'll work the poor lass unto death do ye not control yer urges once in a while. Is it not bad enough that the lass gets no rest of a night? Must ye be botherin' her all through the day as well?"
Duncan was amused. "Yer the one who said ye were wantin' grandbabies by nine months' end," he reminded him.
"Well, surely to God ye've planted one in her by now!" the old man snapped. "Ye've certainly been plowin' her enough. Now let the poor lass alone, else she'll not have the strength to survive the birthin'."
Thoroughly embarrassed by this point, Iliana shoved her husband away and leapt from the bed, straightening her gown as she did.
"I need only don my hose, my lord. I'll be along directly," she half-whispered, grabbing the stockings and dropping onto the foot of the bed again to begin tugging them up one leg.
Angus turned his gaze to her, his expression softening along with his voice. "Lass, don't rush yersel' so. A few minutes will not matter so much, and with this muckle brain as a husband ye appear to be needin' whatever strength the Good Lord gave ye." His gaze turned back to Duncan, who was lying exhausted on the bed where Iliana had left him, and he scowled darkly. "Get yer sorry arse out o' bed, man, and dress yersel' quick. Yer wee wife'll need ye."
Iliana stiffened and stared at him at that, but Duncan merely frowned. Unlike Iliana, he had not been taken completely by surprise at the arrival of her mother. Word spread faster in Scotland than a horse could travel, and he and his father had known for several days that Lady Wildwood and two servants were heading for Dunbar. But nothing had suggested she was not in the best of health. Until now.
"Need him?" Iliana asked anxiously. "Is Mother ill?"
Angus hesitated, then sighed. "The servant, Johnny-boy, said she's a muckle mess."
"A muckle mess? What is wrong with her?"
"From what the lad said, yer stepda took his temper to her," he admitted reluctantly.
Gasping, Iliana lunged off the bed and hurried to the door, then whirled back to her chests. After tossing half of one's contents on the floor, she came up with her bag of herbs. Leaving the mess as it was, she hurried out of the room, her hose still on only one leg and dragging on the ground behind her.
Staring after her departing figure, Duncan sighed. "Where does she get the energy?"
"Well, not from any carin' or concern from ye, I can tell ye that much," Angus turned to declare grimly. "Now get up!"
"Oh, 'tis good to see you, my lady!" Johnny-Boy's relief was obvious on his large, weathered face as he rushed to the bottom of the stairs to greet Iliana. Despite his name, Johnny, six foot tall and burly as a barrel, was anything but a boy. He was a good ten years older than Iliana, but had been called Johnny-Boy as a child and somehow, despite the passing years, the name had stuck. "All will be well now."
There was such uncertainty on his face as he spoke that Iliana's anxiety increased tenfold. "How bad is she, Johnny-Boy? He did not take the whip to her?"
"Nay, my lady. Though it may have been kinder had he done so."
When Iliana frowned over that, Johnny-Boy shook his head. "Ma says her ribs are broke, and mayhap her leg. She's not well. Weak. Feverish. Ma was afraid to continue on without a cart or something for her to lie in. Lady Wildwood simply could not ride anymore. She collapsed soon as she knew we were on Dunbar land."
Iliana's legs went weak at that announcement, and she was grateful for Duncan's steadying hand on her arm as he reached her side.
"Did ye order a cart?" Duncan asked Angus as he bent to finish putting his wife's hose on for her.
"Aye," Angus murmured, grabbing Iliana's arm to steady her as Duncan raised her bare foot and stuck it in the hose, then tugged the material upward
Nodding, Duncan straightened and ushered Iliana toward the door, glancing worriedly at her pale face as he did.
Angus had ordered more than a cart. There were twenty mounted men, a cart, and three horses waiting when they started down the stairs. Ebba was already seated in the back of the wagon, her own bag of herbs on her lap.
Hurrying Iliana down the steps, Duncan mounted his horse, then bent and tugged her up before him, barely waiting the moment it took for Angus and Johnny-Boy to mount before turning his beast and heading out of the bailey. Once through the gates, Duncan slowed, allowing Johnny-Boy to take the lead.
Johnny had not been exaggerating when he said Lady Wildwood had collapsed as soon as she had reached Dunbar land. The clearing the man led them to was on the edge of the Dunbar border, a good hour's ride from the keep.
Duncan barely managed to draw his mount to a halt before Iliana slid out from beneath his arms and dropped to the ground. She rushed across the clearing to the side of a haggard old woman who was obviously her mother's maid before Duncan could finish dismounting.
Her gasp of dismay told him more than anything that her mother was in a frighteningly bad way. Sharing a grim glance with his father, Duncan moved to stand behind Iliana, his own face paling as he took in the state of the woman lying on the ground.
That she was weak and feverish was obvious--they had been warned of that--but it was the state of her face that had shocked Iliana and now had the same effect on Duncan. Greenweld had not satisfied himself with breaking her body; he had taken his fists to her face as well. The woman's lip was split, her nose swollen and most like broken, and she bore two black eyes that a raccoon would have been proud of. He cringed to think how she must have looked before setting out on the long journey from Wildwood.
"The bastard," Angus hissed, pausing beside Duncan.
"Oh, mama," Iliana moaned, reaching a hand toward the battered face, then drawing it back uncertainly for fear of hurting her.
Lady Wildwood stirred at the words from her daughter and struggled to open her eyes, but they were too swollen to see through. When she opened her mouth to speak, only a dry croak came out.
"Shh," Iliana murmured, taking the nearest hand. It appeared to be the only place on the woman that was not bruised, cut, or swollen. "'Tis Iliana, Mother. I am here. We are going to take you to Dunbar. You will be safe there," she assured her, then glanced toward the hag. Gertie had been with the Wildwoods since Iliana's grandmother's day and had always been maid to the mistress of the castle, and her wisdom and ability to heal were reknowned. If anyone could repair the damage done to Iliana's mother, it was this woman.
Spying the question in her face, the old woman patted her shoulder. "I have given her something for the fever and pain. She needs rest now."
Nodding, Iliana turned to glance over her shoulder at the wagon rolling into the clearing.