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.