The Key (3 page)

“Well, 'tis good 'tis not yer problem then, isna it?”Duncanmuttered, following her gaze.

“Aye. Tis well and good. Howbeit, as I said, I be thinkin' 'tis well past time the beddin'
began. C'mon, Aelfread.”

Grinning widely, the smaller woman nodded and hurried after Seonaid as she crossed the
room toward the head table. Duncan had eaten his meal at that table, seated next to his
bride, but once that chore was finished he had abandoned it in favor of getting
rip-roaring drunk with his men, something he now concluded was impossible since he still
felt as sober as an English virgin. Now he watched blankly as his sister moved toward the
space he had abandoned, his mind slow to grasp her intentions. That was his first hint
that the ale had been affecting him after all. His second hint came when he lunged to his
feet to catch her back and found himself sprawled upon the floor, having tripped over the
bench he sat on.

By the time Allistair and the other men had raised him back to his feet, razzing him all
the while, 'twas too late. Seonaid and Aelfread were dragging his wife to the stairs. She
looked a little less than willing, but his sister and cousin looked quite unconcerned by
this lack as they hauled her along by the arms.

“I can dress myself, thank you very much,” Iliana offered the protest again, but Lady
Seonaid had been ignoring her since dragging her up to the room. Since before that even,
she thought with exasperation, her gaze sliding to the much smaller redhead who was now
rifling through her once neatly packed chests.

When the two women had appeared at her side at the table announcing 'twas time for the
bedding, Iliana had stilled, panic rising up in her. In an attempt to delay, she had
claimed that she was still thirsty, but Duncan's sister and her tiny cousin had not even
seemed to hear the excuse. Grabbing her arms, they had tugged her from her seat and headed
for the stairs, dragging her protesting form behind.

Once in the room, the door had been slammed shut and the little one had stalled to ransack
her chests, while Seonaid had concentrated her attention on “helping” Iliana out of her
gown... Completely uncaring of the fact that Iliana did not wish her “help!”

A gasp drew her exasperated smuggles to a halt and Iliana glanced toward the smaller woman
as Aelfread slowly raised a sheer white tunic from one of the chests. Something squeezed
tight around Iliana's heart as she peered at that gown Her mother had had it made special
for her and presented it to Iliana to put in her chest for her wedding night. At the time,
they had both thought it perfect for a first night for husband and bride. But then, they
had thought she would at leastlike the man she would marry. They had never imagined
circumstances like this.

Her teeth clamping together with a snap, Iliana glanced furiously toward Ebba, who had
been cowering uselessly in the comer of the room since their arrival. 'That will not do.
Ebba, fetch my cream gown."

The maid hesitated, then moved cautiously forward, sorting through the clothes Aelfread
had strewn on the floor until she came across the thick, warm gown in question. One that
left everything to the imagination.

Lady Seonaid, of course, ignored her wishes in this as well. “Nay, ye'll wear the white
gown,” she announced, continuing to tug Iliana's clothes from her body. “Bring it here,
Aelfread.”

“I said I would wear the cream-colored one,” Iliana snapped sharply as the shorter of her
tormentors moved forward.

“The white one is nicer.” “I like the cream one better.” “My brother will like the white
one.”

“I do not care what your brother” Iliana cut her own words off as Lady Seonaid went still.
Had she offended her? Angering the Amazon who towered over her was something Iliana was
not quite brave enough to do. Iliana was a little above average height at five-foot-six,
but Lady Seonaid was a good five inches taller and quite a bit stronger. She also seemed
the rough-and-tumble type. A barbarian like the rest of these people Iliana thought
irritably, then frowned when Seonaid continued to simply stare at her.

“What is it?” she asked stiltedly when the silence became unbearable.

“You...” Seonaid gestured helplessly unable to say that 'twas the other woman's figure
that had her attention. 'Twas the type of figure she herself had longed for as a teen, all
soft curves and plains.

“Oh, give me the blasted gown,” Iliana snapped in exasperation, reaching out to rip the
sheer gown from Aelfread's hands. 'Twas a drafty old castle and she'd had enough of this
ridiculousness.

She donned the gown as Seonaid watched, and then the woman turned to the door. “Get ye
into bed. Aelfread and I'll go see what is takin' the men so long.”

Iliana nibbled at her lip as she watched the women go, then whirled to face Ebba. “Fetch
me that belt Francesco gave Papa. Tis in the chest this gown was in.”

Ebba's eyes widened in honor. “Oh no, my lady. You can not wear that contraption.”

Iliana's expression darkened. “I can and I will. Fetch it.”

The maid hesitated briefly, then did as she was told. Finding the item, she grimaced with
distaste as she held it out to her.

Iliana took the leather belt sadly. Lord Wildwood had always endeavored to bring back odd
and exotic gifts from his travels. This was one of the oddest. He had gained two of the
belts on his last trip toItaly. Her father had laughed heartily as he had produced one for
both his wife and daughter, explaining it to them as he did. They were an invention of his
friend, Francesco Carraro. He'd called them "belts to

maintain chastity."

Iliana shook her head as she thought of the man. She had no idea what would make him
create the silly thing. 'Twas a belt made of thick leather, but with a wide center strap
that attached to it at the back, then slid between the thighs and was fastened to the belt
in the front by a metal lock. It looked most uncomfortable.

Undoing the lock, Iliana let the center strap chop to hang and worried her lip as she
exarmned the ridiculous thing. Then, stiffening her resolve, she grimaced and yanked her
gown up to fasten it on. 'Twas an awkward trick to manage. She had to grab at the strap
hanging behind her and draw it up between her legs.

Locking it into place, she nodded her satisfaction, then peered at the key. What to do
with that?

She peered around the room briefly, then glanced up at the bed drapes. Giving a shrug, she
tossed it atop them, checked to be sure 'twas not obvious through the heavy cloth, then
scampered into bed as the boisterous sound of approaching voices warned of her husband's
imminent arrival.

Blushing brightly, Iliana watched as her husband was carried into the room by a bunch of
men, laughing loudly and jesting in Gaelic. She was momentarily glad she couldn't
understand them. Angus Dunbar was at the head of the group. Winking at her, he ordered the
men to setDuncanon the ground; then they all began removing his clothes.

Iliana's eyes became great, round holes in her head as they removed his plaid and then the
long shirt he had worn beneath it. Her mother had prepared Iliana well for her wedding
night and had even given her an idea of what to expect a naked man to look like, but the
body exposed to her now was a bit more than she had ever imagined.

Truth to tell, it was a lot more, she thought faintly, her gaze finding and fixing on his
manhood. There was no way in heaven that that thing was going to fit inside her, she
thought with dismay. By God! 'Twould rip her to shreds. 'Twould

Iliana reined her thoughts in viciously, reminding herself that 'twas not a worry. She
wore the belt of chastity. The key was hidden and would remain so until her husband
bathed. But what if he did bathe?

She was forced from that worry to more immediate ones as the men hurried her husband to
the bed and drew the linens back to put him in beside her.

For a moment, her scanty gown was revealed to one and all, then Iliana tugged the linens
back over herself, fearing they might see the leather of the belt through the thin
material of her gown.

Iliana waited as Ebba followed the men out, catching the worried glance the woman threw
over her shoulder. Then the door closed, leaving her alone with her husband. It was not
until she tinned to peer at him solemnly that she realized why the men had had to carry
him. Her husband was thoroughly sotted and now that the men who had supported him were
gone, he could hardly sit upright.

“Get out of this bed.”

Duncanblinked, the meaning of her words slow to weave their way through the ale pickling
his brain. “Get out?”

“Aye. You will not sleep in this bed until you have taken a bath.”

“Bath?” He appeared to catch on to the last word and shook his head as she shifted until
she sat facing him. Her knees drawn up under the linens, she rested her feet beside his
body, and contemplated him grimly.

“Nay,”Duncansaid finally. “I do no bathe 'til July.”

“Then you do not sleep here until July,” she announced primly.

He was still trying to absorb her words when she suddenly slid her feet forward, rested
them on the hip facing her, and gave him a push that sent him toppling off the bed.

Iliana fully expected him to rise up from the floor, furious and ready for a fight. Taking
a deep breath, she tried to prepare herself for the battle ahead, but after several
moments of silence, she began to worry her lip nervously. After several more moments, she
managed to gather the courage necessary to move hesitantly to the edge of the bed and peer
cautiously down at him.

He lay silent and still on his back upon the floor. Iliana had the brief, mad fear that
she had killed him, but then she saw that his chest was rising and falling slowly and she
relaxed. It seemed he was just unconscious. Iliana was not sure if that was due to the
drink he had consumed or from hitting his head on the floor, but she was too relieved to
care overmuch either way. For tonight at least, she need not fear his displeasure.

Feeling it was safe to allow her curiosity free rein now that he was unconscious, she let
her gaze slide to his manhood. Her eyebrows rose as she stared at it. Iliana had seen
chests and anus and legs before, but this was something new. 'Twas a most curious
appendage. The only description she could think of was to say that it looked like a large,
angry pink mushroom was growing out of his groin. Most interesting, she decided, and
wondered how it might feel.

After glancing nervously at his face to be sure that he was still unconscious, she reached
out tentatively to run one finger lightly over it, only to pull quickly away in surprise.
The skin was soft and smooth. Not what she had expected. But that was not what had made
her react as if she had been bitten. At her mere touch, her husband's manhood had reared
up, seeming to grow an inch or so out of his body like a tree seeking the sun.

Fascinated, Iliana turned her attention to the rest of him. Her husband was a fine figure
of a man. His arms and shoulders were at least twice the width of her own, as was his
chest. It tapered down into a narrow waist and hips, and finished off with truly
magnificent thighs and calves. His feet were a bit odd, however, she decided, taking in
the way his second largest toes poked up a bit higher than the big toes.

Duncansuddenly snorted and snuffled in his drunken sleep, and Iliana glanced toward his
face warily, but he settled and began to snore lightly. Releasing her breath in a slow
sigh, she returned to her side of the bed, blew out the candle, and eased onto her back,
worrying over her husband's reaction when he awoke in the morning and remembered her
tossing him out of their bed. No doubt he would be furious. But she would not live in such
filth, and she would not allow so filthy a man to touch her. Her mother had taught her too
well for that.Begin as you mean to go on , Lady Wildwood had always said. And she

was following that advice, Iliana reassured herself as her husband's snores lulled her
into a deep sleep of her own.

Duncanshivered and started to turn onto his side, then grunted as he collided with
something hard. Opening his eyes, he stared at the white linens hanging before him,
bewilderment briefly gnawing at his brain.

Then he realized that the bone-chilling cold beneath his back and buttocks was the drafty
castle floor, and that the white cloth before his eyes was a bedsheet. He'd fallen out of
bed.

Grimacing,Duncaneased into a sitting position, groaning as his back protested the shabby
treatment it had received. He was getting too old to be subjecting his body to cold, hard
stone for a bed. There had been a time when he would have simply bounded from the floor
after a night spent there and gone cheerfully about his day. This was no longer that time.
His back was aching, his head throbbing, and he'd be damned if the early morning light
pouring through the chamber window was not blinding him as well.

Sighing,Duncanrubbed the back of his neck to ease its aching and glanced toward the bed,
his movements stilling as his gaze fell upon the young woman sleeping there. Who? Oh, aye.

He'd been married the day before, he remembered and smiled to himself. She looked fair
worn out, his little bride. He could not recall, but was sure that he had worked her hard
through the night.Duncanhad never let too much drink stop him before.

Moving to sit on the side of the bed, he eyed her silently. He had found her appealing
when she was awake, but while sleeping, with no sign of the stiff disapproval on her face
that he had borne since meeting her, she looked even more so. Reaching down, he scratched
his nether regions and smiled to himself. No doubt he had loved the disapproval right out
of her.

'Twas a shame he could not recall it, however,Duncanthought with a sudden frown. Just the
thought of bedding her made him stiff as a dead comish hen. 'Twas sore irritating that he
could not remember the act. Scratching his scalp above one ear, he peered at her a bit
irritably.

No doubt she would recall. She had not drunk overmuch at sup. Come to that, she had not
eaten overmuch either, mostly picking at the food presented. In truth, she had looked more
repulsed than anything by the fare. There seemed very little here that pleased her. What
if his loving was one of those things?

The thought was a bit dismaying. If he had been too drunk to even recall now what he had
done, mayhap he had been too drunk to offer her the tenderness and care bedding a virgin
required.

Damn!Duncanthought with sudden alarm. If that was the case, she would no doubt awake to
spear him with one of those cold looks she had given everything since arriving. Except his
father, he thought. Angus Dunbar had not garnered one of her despising looks yet. It
seemed she did not find him as despicable as she didDuncan, his home, and the rest of his
people. He was almost jealous.

Well, he decided, he would not have it. If he had treated her roughly last night, he would
correct that now, before she could wake up and give him one of those looks. On that
thought,Duncaneased the bed linens down to her waist and gazed at what he had revealed.
The women had dressed her in a gown of purest white, but the material was so thin and
diaphanous it looked pink where her skin showed through.

For a moment,Duncansimply stared. His father had called her “bonnie but no beauty” when
she had first

arrived and mayhap he was right, but at that moment, she looked as good to him as a
platter of haggis to a starving man.

Iliana was seated in a small clearing on the edge of a river. The sun was warm and
soothing. Sighing as the breeze caressed her flesh, she closed her eyes and lay back on
the soft grass, allowing the sun to warm her body. She had not lain there long when a hand
began to smooth its way along her cheek.

Opening her eyes, she peered at the man-at-arms kneeling over her. He looked vaguely
familiar and it seemed perfectly natural that he should be there. His hand ran along her
neck, then slid between her breasts, and Iliana purred. Stretching where she lay, she
reached her hands above her head, her body arching upward. A moan slipped from between her
lips when the hand finally moved to cover one breast, kneading and plucking at her nipple
through the material of her gown When Iliana moaned again, his lips lowered to cover hers
and somehow, in her dream, that seemed natural, too. Her mouth opened beneath his when his
tongue sought entrance, her own lips and tongue mimicking his and setting about a love
play that had her curving into the body that now moved to cover hers.

When his lips left hers and began nibbling a path down her throat, she took a deep breath
and opened her mouth to protest at the loss, then froze as the rank smell of sweat mixed
with ale began to tug her out of her sweet dream.

Frowning, Iliana waved a hand vaguely in front of her nose, trying to dispel the smell and
return her attention to the sweet caresses moving along her throat, but it would not go
away. Murmuring aloud, she brought herself fully to wakefulness and forced her eyes open.

Even then it took a moment for her to realize what was happening. She was not on the bank
of a river. She was lying abed. And the familiar-looking man now nibbling away so
industriously at her flesh was her great reeking oaf of a husband... and on her mother's
clean linens, no less!

Duncansmiled against her skin appreciatively.

His little wife was like a red-hot fire, the flames twisting and flickering this way and
that in his hands. Murmuring appreciatively at the sweet smell and taste of her, he moved
his lips along her skin.

When he reached the neckline of her gown, he began pushing at the flimsy material,
fretting over it until her left breast popped free, presenting itself for his attention.
Releasing a victorious exclamation, he dropped his mouth on the rosy aureole at once, then
stiffened as his little wife let loose a scream loud enough to deafen him. 'Twas a scream
a woman loosed only when in horrible peril. Thinking there must be some danger in the
room,Duncanreleased her at once and whirled about. Only there was no danger.

Frowning as he saw that the room was empty but for her chests and a full tub of water, he
turned back to his wife. His eyebrows rose when he saw that she was no longer staked out
on the bed, but had scooted up into the top comer of it and now knelt there, eyeing him as
if he was a madman bent on dismembering her.

“What?” he asked in bewilderment. Then, thinking he understood,Duncanslumped. “I feared I
may have been less than gentle with ye yester eve, lass. Tis sorry I am, I was fair foul.
I promise I'll not be so rough this time.”

Iliana's eyes widened. “You did naught last night,” she said curtly. Shocked, his eyes
widened when she continued, "You

passed out drunk on the floor."

“Nay!” he protested proudly. He had neverever been too drunk to bed a woman and could not
believe that he would be so last night of all nights.

“Aye.”

Duncantugged the blankets aside and peered at the pristine white bed linen. He had just
realized that what she said was true when a knock sounded at the door. Cursing under his
breath, he leapt to his feet and grabbed his sword from where the men had left it lying in
the middle of the floor the night before.

For a moment, as he turned toward her, sword in hand, Iliana had the mad thought that he
meant to run her through; then he slid the blade along his own hand, producing a thin
sliver of a cut that immediately gave up blood. While she watched, amazed, he set the
blade back on the floor, leapt into bed beside her, and quickly wiped his hand on the
bottom linen of the bed as the knock sounded again. Her mother's fine linen!

Iliana opened her mouth to blast him for staining it but did not get the chance. In the
next instant, he had whipped her gown up over her head, thrown it across the room, and
tugged her down to lie beside him. “Come in!”

Iliana ducked beneath the linens with a squeal of dismay as the door opened.

“Good morn,”Duncanmurmured as his father, Seonaid, Lord Rolfe, and the bishop crowded into
the room.

“Good morn, son.” Angus beamed at his progeny as Iliana peeked out from under the bed
linen. “Ye... er... slept well, I hope?” He turned his head away as he asked that,
embarrassment painting a blush on his rugged skin.

“Well. But not long,” wasDuncan's answer, and Iliana reddened at his suggestive tone,
wishing herself dead.

“We are here for the bed linens,” the bishop explained gently when Angus Dunbar could not
seem to do so.