The Key

by Lynsay Sands

  Iliana groaned and tugged the linen back up over her head.

  She heard Angus's voice chiding her husband, "What the devil be the matter with ye, lad? Guard yer tongue! Ye'll hurt her wee feelings." There was a pause, and then her father-in-law spoke again to Duncan. "Come along, you. Ye shouldna be up. We'd best git ye back to bed ere ye fall over." She heard them move toward the door. "How's yer head?"

  "Achin'," she caught Duncan mutter, and she fought the urge to peer out at him.

  "Aye, well. We'll pour some uisgebeatha into ye and fix ye up right fine."

  Duncan's only response was a grunt.

  Sighing with relief as she heard the door close behind the two men, Iliana lowered the linen. A touch on her hair brought her glance to her mother. Her expression as she caressed the damaged tresses was mournful.

  "Is it very bad?"

  Lady Wildwood smiled wryly at that, then nodded. "Aye, I fear so."

  Iliana shifted in the bed, then asked, "What of my eyebrows?"

  "Those will grow back. We must just be grateful that you were not burned. Your gown went up in flames. Had Angus not been a quick thinker and covered you with his own body to smother the flames..."

  "Aye. We are fortunate to even be alive." She closed her eyes wearily, then popped them back open. "What of the guard?"

  "His throat was slit."

  Iliana blanched and her mother nodded solemnly. "The worst of it is that Greenweld's man is still out there. Angus had the men search the keep again, then searched the inner and outer bailey, but they could not find him. Whoever he is, he is clever."

  "You found nothing?"

  Angus nodded unhappily at his son's question. "We even searched the keep again but found nothing that would hint that there was anyone here who should not be."

  "Damn."

  "He is clever, I shall give him that."

  "Too damn clever," Duncan muttered bitterly. "He almost succeeded this time."

  "Aye. Were it not for the fact that Iliana and her mother remained calm, I should have lost all o' ye." He shuddered even as he said the words, but Duncan did not notice. He was sunk in bitter reflection.

  "Once again I failed to protect her. 'Twill not happen again. I shall not leave her side until the bastard is found."

  Angus frowned as his son got to his feet. "But I thought we had agreed 'twas her mother the man is after."

  Duncan nodded. "Unfortunately, me wife seems to be cursed with the dubious skill of getting in the bastard's way. Repeatedly. So, I will guard me wife. Her mother is yer problem."

  "My problem?" he asked warily.

  "Aye. As me wife, Iliana's safety is my problem. As laird here, her mother's safety is yours." He grinned suddenly. "Guard her well. Iliana would be mighty upset with ye did ye let her mother come to harm." Turning on that note, he headed up the stairs, leaving his father staring after him.

  "My problem," Angus muttered again, then glanced up as Allistair entered the room.

  "I have informed the men that we would be searching the woods on the morrow. Is there anything else ye wish from me ere I retire?"

  "Aye. Fetch one o' the men to me. I would have a guard at Lady Wildwood's door this--" He paused, suddenly recalling the sweet smell of her as he had held her in his arms earlier that day, soothing her and reassuring her that her daughter would be well. Iliana had been covered with soot at the time, her gown in scorched tatters about her body as Gertie had worked over her. Despite his worry over his daughter-in-law, Angus had found it difficult not to notice the sweet scent of the woman in his arms, and how good she felt there.

  "Ye wish a guard fer Lady Wildwood this night?" Allistair asked when Angus continued to sit, lost in thought.

  Giving his head a shake, the older man blinked at his nephew, then stood. "Nay. Nay. I'll tend to it mesel'. There is naught else this evening. Ye may go to yer bed. Sleep well," he added as the younger man nodded and turned away.

  Reaching for his tankard of whiskey, he downed a good deal of it, then set it aside and got to his feet. Straightening the English surcoat he wore, he headed up the stairs, planning what he would say as he walked. He would announce that he felt she needed a guard and as laird it was his duty. He would insist on having the maid dismissed and on himself sleeping on the servant's pallet in the room. 'Twould be an uncomfortable bed, but he could see to her safety. Besides, mayhap she would offer him a more comfortable alternative.

  It seemed to Iliana that her mother had barely left the room when the door was opened again, this time for Duncan to enter. Iliana eyed him uncertainly as he crossed the room, trying to gauge the reason for his presence.

  "Yer hair."

  Iliana reached up to touch her shorn locks self-consciously. Her mother had cut most of it off, and her hair now reached no further than her chin and curled about her head in a most untame fashion. "It is very short," she murmured uncomfortably when he merely stared at her.

  "Aye."

  Iliana let her hands drop to her lap and stared at them unhappily. Perhaps it was the after-effects of the fire. Or perhaps it was the stress caused by the two attacks and her worry for her mother, but Iliana suddenly found her vision blurring with tears. They pooled at the corners of her eyes and began to leak down her cheeks.

  Spotting the droplets of water slipping down her face, Duncan moved quickly forward. After a hesitation, he sat carefully on the side of the bed and reached out uncertainly to grasp her hands where they rested in her lap.

  Iliana blinked her eyes, clearing her vision enough that she could see the large, clean hand holding hers, but that only made her cry harder. "You bathed," she sobbed.

  Duncan's eyes widened in surprise at her wail, and he peered at himself curiously for a moment; then understanding covered his features. "I was most like covered with soot. They must have cleaned me up while I was unconscious."

  The last word had barely left his lips when his wife suddenly slid a hand around his head, turned him toward her, and drew his face down to hers. Duncan was so stunned by the action and the passion of her kiss as her lips slid hotly across his, that he merely sat frozen, hardly breathing as she slid her tongue into his mouth. He was actually afraid to move, afraid that it would bring this stunningly sweet interlude to an end.

  Misunderstanding his lack of reaction, Iliana tugged her mouth away and leaned her forehead on his chest, shuddering with silent sobs. It seemed she could do nothing right. Her marriage was in ruins as far as she could tell and 'twas all her fault. She'd been unreasonable. Most men did not bathe much. She'd been to court. She knew the nobility had a distrust of bathing.

  In truth, while the others had stank to Iliana, she had always felt to be the one out of place. Seonaid had been right about Iliana's having had a lonely childhood. She had not had friends. Even at court she had not been allowed to play. She had only been able to stand and wistfully watch as the other children had raced about, muddying their good clothes and laughing. Now, as an adult, she seemed to be repeating that part of her life. Standing by and watching wistfully as her husband took on a mistress who had no problem with his smell and most likely stank herself. Why could she not be like others?

  "I don't want ye to be like others."

  Iliana blinked at that announcement and flushed as she realized that in her distress she had spoken her thoughts aloud. Shuddering around a sob, she raised her tear-stained face slowly to peer at him, positive she could not have heard him correctly.

  "I like the way ye smell, and I don't mind the keep clean and the food tastier. I even like yer hair all short and curly like that. I wouldn't have ye change. And if this marriage is a mess, 'tis sure I am that I had more than a hand in making it one."

  That was when Iliana realized that she must be dreaming. Surely no other explanation would do for what was going on here.

  "'Tis no dream, love," Duncan murmured, letting her know she had spoken aloud again. Standing now, he tugged at the shoulder of his plaid. It unraveled and slid to the ground. He th
en quickly shrugged out of the shirt he had worn beneath it. Dropping that to the floor, he faced her silently for a moment, letting her look her fill before reaching for the linen that was clutched to her chest.

  "Or if 'tis a dream," he said now, tugging the material gently away, "'tis a dream I don't want to end."

  Iliana swallowed and glanced down at herself as the linen slid smoothly across her body. She was clad only in the chastity belt. Her gown and undertunic had both been ruined in the fire, as had all the chests bearing the rest of her clothes. It seemed that the belt was the only thing she had left in the world to wear. That was why, after bathing and before having her hair cut, she had re-donned the item. At that moment, however, she wished it too had burned.

  Duncan paused when he saw what she wore, but before he could feel disappointment or upset at the sight of it, Iliana reached for the ring of keys on the rough wooden table beside the bed. When she singled out the odd-looking key he had noticed on a much earlier occasion and moved it toward the lock, Duncan caught her hands and relieved her of the ring. He would undo the lock himself. He had fantasized doing so for quite long enough.

  Holding the keys in one hand, he offered her his other and urged her to sit on the side of the bed. Once she had shifted to sit as he wished, he knelt on the floor before her and set the keys on the bed.

  "Do you not wish to--" Iliana began with bewilderment, then fell silent as his lips covered hers. This time, it was she who sat still and breathless as he kissed her, but not for long. Groaning as his tongue swept inside her mouth, she slid her arms around his neck and clutched him closer as he seemed almost to devour her. It was a sore disappointment when his lips left hers to wander across her cheek, but then they nibbled eagerly at her earlobe as he breathed into her ear, and Iliana shuddered, arching instinctively until her breasts brushed across his chest, the hair there teasing her nipples to small, pebble-like peaks that seemed to beg for his attention.

  As if they begged out loud, Duncan suddenly kissed a trail down her neck and over her collarbone, dropping lower still until he found and laved one eager nipple.

  Iliana knew she was moaning, and embarrassment made her pause briefly until she realized that her husband was not silent either. He was muttering words of appreciation and grunts of pleasure as he suckled at her. Those sounds only managed to enflame her more and she clutched her hands in his hair, tugging on the soft strands slightly until he released her nipple and peered at her. Iliana kissed him with all the pent-up passion within her.

  This time their kiss was rough and hungry. They were both panting heavily when he suddenly tugged his lips away and knelt to attend to her breast again, nipping and biting gently at the tender flesh there. Crying out, Iliana tossed her head back and clutched him closer to her. When he pushed at her shoulders suddenly, she tumbled backward onto the bed. She lay with her legs hanging off of it, her belly rippling and quivering as his lips traveled across it. He licked her flesh along the top of the belt, his hands sliding down to grasp her hips and hold her still as she began to thrash slightly on the bed.

  He continued that way for what seemed forever to Iliana, licking, nibbling, and kissing the flesh around the belt, her belly, the sensitive curve of her hips, her thighs. She was positive that he was trying to drive her mad and was thrashing violently on the bed when he finally reached for the key and unlocked the contraption.

  Iliana had barely gasped her relief of being free of the obstruction when his head suddenly bowed between her legs once more, his kisses finding the very core of her. Startled and already almost mad with passion and need, Iliana cried out and began to buck beneath him, every muscle in her body seeming to convulse at once. When it ended and she was left with only the occasional small spasm, she lay limp on the bed, positive she would never be able to move again.

  She was wrong. Duncan showed her that a short moment later as he began to caress her again.

  Sunlight was pouring in through the window when Iliana awoke the next morning. Smiling, she sighed and stretched on the bed, then rolled onto her side, frowning when she saw that the spot beside her was empty. Duncan had already left the chamber.

  Stifling the disappointment that that realization brought her, Iliana sat up on the bed and frowned. She was in Seonaid's room. It was where they had put her after the fire the day before. The fire that had devoured her room and every stitch of clothing she owned, she realized suddenly with dismay. But before she could get too worked up over that, Ebba rushed in carrying a collection of gowns.

  "Lord Duncan sent me up with these for you," she explained excitedly, dumping the gowns on the bed, then picking them up one at a time and spreading them out. "Are they not lovely?"

  Iliana reached out to brush a hand gently over the material of one of the gowns. "Aye. They are lovely," she said unhappily, bringing amazement to her maid's face.

  "Are you not pleased at his thoughtfulness?"

  "Oh, aye, 'twas thoughtful. I hope their owner does not mind," she added with a bit of asperity.

  Understanding dawned. "Ah. You fear they were his mistress's castoffs," she guessed correctly, then shook her head. "Fie on you. Think you he would be so insensitive? These are his mother's gowns. Can you not tell by the quality? No village girl would have such finery."

  "His mother's?" Iliana murmured faintly, noting now that while they were of good quality, they were somewhat old-fashioned.

  "Aye. And that is not all. He has spent the morning talking with your mother while you slept and now has sent Allistair to seek out the material merchant."

  Iliana's eyebrows rose at that. "He has?"

  "Aye."

  Iliana was out of bed in a trice and shifting through the gowns on the bed. After a moment, she paused, disappointment on her face. "But these are all undertunics, Ebba. I cannot go below in any of these."

  "Oh, aye. I almost forgot." Rolling her eyes, the woman moved to the chest beside the door and quickly opened it to shift through its contents. A moment later she straightened, a neatly folded swath of material in hand.

  "Your husband told me this was for you," she announced, returning to her side. "'Twas to be a wedding gift, but he never got around to giving it to you."

  The maid avoided meeting her gaze as she said the last part, and Iliana smiled wryly. No doubt the truth was, Duncan had not given her this "gift" ere now because she had not behaved as a true wife. It seemed last night had changed things. They were getting a new start on their marriage. Mayhap all would turn out well now. In fact, she was determined it would. She and her husband had straightened out quite a few things the night before...hadn't they?

  Frowning suddenly, she considered that. The truth was, she had revealed her soul to her husband, and he had made love to her with a tenderness and passion that had been different than the first time they had consummated the marriage, or even the time he had loved her in the woods. It was the tenderness that had made it different, she supposed. Not that he had been rough those first two times. But this time there had been something different, something more than the passion that had flamed and consumed them both those other times. He had almost seemed to be paying homage to her.

  That must mean something, mustn't it? She wondered over that worriedly, chewing on her lip. In truth, her husband had said very little that would make her think things would be different now. While he had said that he did not wish her to change, he had not said that he himself was willing to do so. He had made no promises to bathe more often or...Or anything, she realized, sinking to sit on the bed.

  "Why do you not unfold it and take a look?" Ebba asked with a frown, bringing Iliana away from her glum thoughts.

  Sighing, she unfolded the material, slightly surprised when she saw that it was a plaid she held.

  "He told me how to help you don it," Ebba announced suddenly with a smile. "He even showed me. Was that not thoughtful?"

  "Aye." Iliana forced a smile and stood. "'Twas most thoughtful."

  She would not despair. De
spite the fact that her husband had made no promises and voiced no pledges, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. He had given her this plaid. It must mean something. Perhaps it was his way of saying what he could not say with words.

  It was time for the noon meal when Iliana arrived below dressed in one of the undertunics and the plaid her husband had gifted her with. Everyone seemed to be at table but for Duncan and Allistair. Iliana took her seat beside her mother and glanced curiously around.

  "You slept late, my dear. Are you quite recovered from our excitement yesterday?"

  Iliana nodded at her mother's question. "Where is my husband?"

  "He is meeting with the material merchant."

  Iliana's gaze narrowed on the older woman's secret smile. "Why?"

  "He has things he wished to purchase," was the obvious answer, and Iliana grimaced at it.

  "What things?"

  "Material, I suppose."

  Before she could question her further, Iliana's attention was turned by Duncan's entering the room. She was aware of his presence the moment he stepped through the keep doors. It seemed to her that the very air itself in the hall was suddenly different, and she could not understand why no one else noticed. She seemed the only person who had sensed his entrance.

  He caught her gaze then and grinned, making Iliana realize that she had been smiling widely at him. Flushing slightly, she lowered her gaze abruptly to her trencher, feeling suddenly shy.

  Her self-consciousness was short-lived, however, for the keep door slammed open behind him, and Iliana peered around to eye it curiously. Allistair was coming through the door shouldering the weight of an unconscious man. It was an injured Englishman.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Duncan stood and scowled at the unconscious man Allistair was half-carrying into the keep.