The Key by Lynsay Sands
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
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.
"I don't think they meant to kill Iliana."
Duncan glanced toward his father in surprise.
Shaking away thoughts of his wife's near death, Duncan lifted the ale he had just poured for himself, grimacing over the way his hand shook as he brought the drink to his mouth. He was surprised by the depth of the emotion the attack had wrought in him.
"Nay," Duncan agreed at last, setting his mug back on the table and peering at his father. "Ye think 'twas one of Greenweld's men come fer her mother--to kill her before she can have their marriage annulled."
Angus nodded slowly. "'Tis the only thing that makes sense. 'Twas common knowledge that Lady Wildwood has inhabited yer chamber since her arrival. 'Twas not common knowledge that she would not be there this eve. I did not even ken that."
The very same thought had occurred to Duncan. So far as he knew, only he, Iliana, and her mother had been aware of the change in sleeping arrangements. The assassination attempt must have been meant for her mother. "Think ye then that one of Greenweld's men managed to slip past the guard at the gate?"
"Aye. Hundreds of people enter and leave the bailey every day. The men would not be watching for a lone man on foot. 'Tis the only way he could have got in."
"I shall have to double the guards on the gate. Check all coming and going. I'll also arrange a search of the castle and bailey, then take a large party to search the woods, and the rest of Dunbar land as well. If he is still here, we shall catch him."
"Hmm," Angus murmured. "No doubt the cowardly bastard is gone by now, but better safe than sorry."
They were both silent for a moment, then glanced up as Lady Wildwood entered the room.
"Gertie is finished now," she announced. "Iliana is resting."
Nodding, Duncan shifted under his mother-in-law's gaze, then got uncomfortably to his feet. "I must speak with the men about what I wish done on the morrow," he muttered, easing his way around her, so eager to leave that he did not notice when she leaned toward him slightly and gave a gentle sniff.
Angus noticed, however. He also noticed the frown upon the woman's face. Curious, he raised his eyebrows at her as she stepped to the table and sank down next to him.
It was a moment before she acknowledged his questioning glance by murmuring, "Much to my distress, I have learned that all is not well with our children, my lord, and we must help them solve this trouble."
An hour later, she was smiling again as she rose to her feet. "'Tis a sound plan, my lord. Mayhap we can yet salvage this muddled marriage."
"Indeed," Angus murmured, standing as well and taking her hand to kiss it with a gallantry that surprised her.
She was blushing brightly in reaction when footfalls announced Duncan's return. Flushing a deeper rose at his raised eyebrows, she muttered her excuses and fled.
Angus watched her go with a gleam in his eye, then smiled and shouted for Elgin as his son joined him at the table.
"'Tis late. Elgin will have returned to his cottage."
"Oh, aye." Angus got to his feet again. "I shall have to see to it myself, then."
"What?"
"A bath."
"What?" Duncan could not have been more shocked had the man announced his intent to don a gown. "But 'tis not yet the end of July."
Shrugging, Angus moved toward the kitchen. "What matter is that? There are women present now. Attractive women, I might add." The grin he tossed over his shoulder was lecherous. "Lady Wildwood is a fine-looking female. She deserves a bit of effort. Certainly more than the wee bit of time and trouble that taking a bath will cause me. Women don't like a stinking man, son. Even a stinking man in fine clothes does not impress them. Unless they reek so bad themselves that they cannot smell them."
Duncan glowered over his father's words, trying to take them in. His father had never taken more than two baths a year, and yet now he was willingly calling for one. It made no sense. In fact, the only thing that he seemed able to grasp was his father's last statement and that made him frown.
"Iliana smells like wildflowers," Duncan murmured, moving to stand by his father, who had paused at the kitchen door. His mouth worked briefly, then he admitted, "She thinks I stink."
"Ah." Angus nodded solemnly, already having been informed of this by the lady's mother.
"'Tis why she avoids me. She says my smell offends her."
"Ah ha." Angus was silent for a moment, then leaned toward his son, sniffing curiously. Nose wrinkling as he caught whiff of him, he straightened and pursed his lips. "Mayhap ye should take a bath, then."
"'Tis not July yet."
"So?"
"So, I bathe twice a year. In January and July. I willna change me habits to please her. 'Sides, ye only bathe twice a year."
"Duncan, ye can't live yer life based on me habits," Angus interrupted impatiently. "I have no wife so bathe when I wish."
"And so shall I."
"Then don't complain to me that yer wife avoids yer embrace, fer in truth ye do reek. 'Sides, I am bathing now," he added, storming into the kitchen and bending to shake the two young kitchen lads who slept on pallets before the fire.
"She is my wife!" Duncan announced arrogantly, following on his heels. "'Tis her duty to--"
"Duty, me arse!" Angus roared, straightening from nudging the second of the boys. His prodding had barely roused the lads, but his-bellow snapped them completely awake and brought them to their feet.
"What?" Duncan stared at his father's irritated face, wide-eyed.
"'Tis not duty yer speakin' o' here, 'tis yer own blasted stubbornness."
When his son's jaw dropped at that, Angus nodded firmly.
"Ye think she should take ye as ye are. Well, me boy, I have news fer ye; the church can quack on all it wants about a woman's duty, but not a one o' these men are married or ken a damn thing about women. Women are not the simple creatures the church makes 'em out to be. In truth, I think they're about as unsimple as can be. And they can make yer life heaven on earth or eternal hell. If yer willin' to suffer the hell, then stand firm on this. But if ye wish yer wife to come to ye willingly, then take a damn bath!"
He paused to take a calming breath before resting his hand on his son's shoulder. "
When Duncan's eyes widened incredulously at that, Angus nodded firmly. "A stickler was yer mother. Liked a clean home. Like yer wife. And liked a clean bed with a clean man in it. She made me bathe once a week. At least."
"Nay," Duncan denied at once. "Ye bathe twice a year--"
"I bathe twice a year now," Angus corrected grimly. "And I wouldn't even do that did I not start to smell so bad I offend even mesel'." Shaking his head sadly, he confessed, "I don't like to bathe. I used to, but no more. It reminds me o'yer mother. We use to bathe together. Frolicking and teasing each other with the water and soap..." His eyes clouded and drifted far away. Back to when his beloved Muireall had been alive. He stayed like that for a moment, memories playing out on his face; then his gaze cleared and he sighed. "It breaks me heart to step into a bath kenning she'll never join me there again. Or anywhere else."
"But no one here at Dunbar bathes more than twice a year."
"Duncan," Angus interrupted, "'Tis fair unpleasant to bathe, then get back into a stinking plaid. No one has complained 'cause they knew ye wished to make a better life fer them. So they kenned they would have to give up some things 'til ye saved enough to do so."
"But we have enough now, and the men don't bathe."
"Because ye haven't bathed. They are following yer example." Suddenly impatient, he shook his head with disgust. "Ye told me yersel' that yer wife smell of flowers, and judging by the way ye said it I would guess it pleases ye. How would ye like it did she smell as ye do?"
Duncan grimaced at that question, already knowing the answer. He had been repulsed by her the day she had fallen in the manure, and he had been even more repulsed by Kelly's stench and filth earlier that evening.
"There ye are, then." Angus nodded at his son's telling expression. "Mayhap ye can then understand why yer wife reacts to you as she does."
Duncan sighed his resignation at that but still complained, "But she is changing everything, Da. Nothing seems the same since she arrived. The keep is clean, the women are clean and wear new plaids, the food is spiced, and my chamber is full of chests."