Cursing, he turned and stormed for the door. Spearing Gertie and Ebba with a look as he approached, he gestured over his shoulder. "See to her wound!" he ordered, then caught Allistair's gaze as he moved through the men. "Post someone to stand guard until I can fetch Duncan back."
He made such a commanding figure as he swept from the room, that one could almost overlook the fact that he wore only the shirt he slept in. A long shirt, thank goodness, that reached nearly to his knees, but only a shirt all the same.
"What is it?" Kelly asked, peering at Duncan with surprise as he eased her gently away from him.
Duncan hesitated briefly, unwilling to voice what had suddenly made him stop her actions. "I'm married now," he pointed out, sitting up on the edge of the bed.
"Aye, and so ye were when ye entered me cottage."
Duncan grimaced at the asperity of her words, then stiffened as she shifted to sit beside him and reached around to grasp him through his plaid.
"Why, yer as limp as wet flax!" she exclaimed with dismay, then stood quickly and shifted before him. "Ne'er mind. Old Kell'll take care o' that."
Dropping to her knees before him, she flipped his plaid out of the way and took him into her mouth. Duncan jerked in surprise at the summary action, then simply stared at the top of her head as she labored over him. Her hair was as red as fire. Or would be if she washed it more often, he thought, frowning at the dull, greasy look of her locks. In comparison, Iliana's hair shone like polished wood and smelled of lemons and honey. He had asked her about that the day in the woods. How did she make her hair smell so? He loved that smell. He had buried his face in it and breathed that scent the whole time he was loving her in the grass. God, just thinking of it made him hard.
Kelly gave a murmur of satisfaction as he grew within her mouth, shattering the image of Iliana in Duncan's mind. Opening his eyes, he peered down at her, stiffening when he thought he saw movement on her scalp. Lice? he wondered with dismay, unsure why he was so horrified. Lice were common enough, but...He would bet her entire dowry that Iliana had no lice.
"Ye've gone soft again!"
Duncan grimaced at that complaint, then pushed the woman's head away and stood. Stepping over her, he left the cottage without another word.
He was halfway back to the keep when he came across his father. Pausing on the path, Duncan took in the older man's grim expression and arched his eyebrows. "What is it ye've got in yer craw?"
"Finished lazin' about, are ye? Ready to return to yer wife? Ye do remember her, do ya not? Wee lass. Bonnie."
Duncan was a bit surprised at the apparent depth of his father's anger over the matter, but the fact that he was merely added to his own irritation. He was not at all pleased by the fact that he had walked away from a perfectly willing woman for the very reason that his wife claimed for denying him. "I don't ken what yer so bothered about. Yer the one who was sayin' I should let her get some rest."
The last word had barely left his mouth when his father's fist connected with his jaw. Not having seen the blow coming, and already unsteady on his feet from the whiskey he had been downing all night, Duncan went down like wheat under the blade of a sickle.
Sitting up slowly, he shook his head and raised a hand to rub at his jaw, his eyes moving warily to his father. "What'd ye do that fer?"
"'Cause ye deserved it, ye great Gouk!" Angus roared as his son got cautiously back to his feet. "While ye were off tendin' those blasted baser needs of yers, an assassin was up in yer room, where ye should have been, stabbing yer poor defenseless wife!"
"What?"
"Ye heard me. Someone crept into yer chamber while ye were out and knifed her. She--" Angus got no further. Duncan was no longer listening. He had whirled to race toward the keep.
Chapter Fifteen
"We shall have to tend to the wound," Lady Wildwood murmured once Lord Angus had gone. "Ebba, find my daughter a fresh tunic, please. Gertie--"
"I'll fetch my medicinals." Turning, the old woman hurried out of the room.
"You shall have to remove your tunic, dear," Lady Wildwood murmured, worry creasing her face as she took in the way Iliana was suddenly shivering. Shock was setting in, she realized grimly, and was only surprised that her daughter had remained so calm and matter-of-fact for so long.
Automatically doing as she was told, Iliana tugged her gown upward, lifting it over her head. It was not until she caught the shock on her mother's face that she recalled the belt of chastity. She nearly groaned aloud then.
"What are you wearing?"
Shoulders slumping in resignation, Iliana dropped the tunic and sat upon the bed. "You know what it is."
"Aye." Lady Wildwood nodded slowly. Her own had spared her from Greenweld's advances, though it had cost her many beatings.
Seating herself on the bed next to her daughter, Lady Wildwood took one of Iliana's hands into her own. "I have suspected that all was not well in your marriage but hoped that with time...I had no idea things were so bad. Does he beat you?"
"Nay! Of course not!" Iliana exclaimed with dismay. "Why, he beat old Willie for daring to raise a fist to his wife. Duncan would never harm me physically."
"Then he is cruel to you mentally," she murmured unhappily.
"Nay. Even in anger he says naught that could be considered cruel. He is a most reasonable man."
Lady Wildwood's confusion was obvious. "Then he must be stupid. A buffoon?"
"Mother! How could you think that?" Iliana asked in horror, defending him at once. "You have met him. He is most intelligent. Why, just look at what he plans for this place. He is intelligent and ambitious and hardworking--"
"Then why do you wear the belt?" her mother interrupted with frustration, and Iliana fell silent, too embarrassed to answer.
"She does not wear it all the time, my lady," Ebba said helpfully. That information, however, only seemed to confuse the woman more.
"Does not wear it--Then the wedding has been consummated?" Her daughter's blush was answer enough, and Lady Wildwood's gaze became sharper. "Is he rough in bed?"
Flushing a deeper crimson, Iliana shook her head.
"Well, then, why?"
Iliana considered lying, but in the end just blurted, "He smells."
Lady Wildwood blinked at the blunt words, then disbelief began to fill her eyes.
"Truly he does, Mother. Surely you have noticed? You sat right beside him at sup. He bathes only twice a year and--" Iliana's voice died as she noted her mother's bewildered expression. Turning, she cast a pleading glance at Ebba.
Her maid was more than game to back her up on this. "She speaks the truth, my lady. This whole keep reeked when we first arrived. The rushes had not been changed in a year, and Lady Iliana ruined at least two dresses by merely sitting at table the first night. It took four women three whole days just to scrub the filth off the great hall floor." She hesitated, her gaze moving to the younger woman briefly before she finished. "Truly, the change Lady Iliana has wrought here is miraculous, but it gives a false impression."
"I see," her mother said solemnly, "And is this the only problem in your marriage?"
Iliana nodded.
"I see," she repeated, then rose as Gertie bustled back into the room. "You had best lay down on your side," she suggested as Gertie poked through her bag.
Giving up trying to read her mother's thoughts, Iliana shifted her legs onto the bed. Reclining, she rolled onto her side, facing away from the door so that the wound to her side was easily accessible. Then she raised her arm over her head and out of the way, wincing as the old woman began to clean the injury.
Duncan stormed up the stairs, guilt driving him as much as concern. Had he not strayed from his marital bed, this would not have happened.
Furious with himself, he snarled at the crowd outside his bedchamber, pushing through them and bursting into the room. The sight that met him was enough to bring him to a halt before he had even really managed to step through the doorframe. He was aware of his mothe
r-in-law and his wife's maid's presence on the periphery of his consciousness. He even took brief note of the old hag now tending his wife's wound. But really, all of Duncan's attention was focused on the frail-looking woman on the bed.
Relief that she still lived was his first reaction. He closed his eyes briefly and gave up a silent prayer of thanks. His wife lived. And no matter what she did to provoke him, he would not neglect his duties again. He would see to her safety.
Whispers from the people behind him drew his attention to the fact that he had left the door wide open. Duncan immediately reached back to slam it closed, then strode to her bedside. He was sorry he had done so almost the very moment that he paused to peer down at her. She had on nothing but that damned belt of hers. The sight of her clad so was enough to set his blood pounding and frustrate him all at once.
Embarrassed by what he considered his own lack of control, Duncan dropped his gaze to the floor in an attempt to regain himself. Unfortunately, that merely replaced one blood-boiling emotion for another as he spotted the ripped and bloodied gown at his feet. Bending, he picked it up and looked it over carefully, taking in the size of the hole and the amount of blood soaking the cloth. He peered past Gertie at the wound. It was a relief to see that, while it had bled freely, it did not appear to be life-threatening. But that hardly cooled his temper. Her beautiful, flawless skin was now flawed. And by his failure. The scar she would bear would be the proof of his lack as a husband.
"What happened?" he asked, and she told him.
Silence descended once she had finished; then Duncan whirled on his heel and strode from the room. The door had barely crashed closed when he began bellowing orders and arranging guard duty; then he stomped below once more, trying desperately to ignore the pain he had seen in his wife's eyes.