Worrying her lower lip, she tugged fretfully at the skirt of the pale cream dress Ebba had chosen for her to wear. 'Twas the best she had. No doubt it would be ruined by day's end as well. Grimacing, she dropped back to lie upon the bed with a sigh. What could be more foolish than worrying over a gown when she was expected to marry and perform intimacies with that creature below?
Her gaze caught on the drapes above the bed and she frowned. They were a lovely shade of cream with embroidered dark red and blue flowers underneath, though she could have sworn...
Sitting up, she stood and turned to stare at the bed. Aye, 'twas more a brown with burgundy and muddy blue flowers on the outside. No doubt the effect of smoke from the fire. Were she to hazard a guess, Iliana would say that the bed drapes had not been cleaned in at least ten years. Perhaps more. She would not hazard a guess as to the state of the bed linens themselves.
"'Tis a shame we have no flowers for you to hold."
Iliana whirled to gape at her maid as she brushed fretfully at the stains on the yellow gown Iliana had worn earlier.
"Flowers?" she exclaimed, bringing Ebba's startled gaze to her own. "Flowers! What for? So that I might look pretty while marrying into this family? I suppose you think we should put bows on sheep on the way to the slaughter as well?"
Ebba merely stared at her mistress blankly. She had never seen the young woman lose her temper so before. Her gaze became incredulous when in the next moment, her mistress tore off her veil and launched herself at the bed, ripping at the linens that covered it.
"I shall not sleep on these despicable, disgusting--Where are my bed linens?"
Ebba blinked. "Your what?"
"My bed linens!" Iliana snapped. "My mother and I have been preparing for years for the day when I marry. We prepared bed linens, Ebba. Where are they? Surely she sent them with you?"
"Oh, aye." Setting the yellow gown down, the maid began sorting through the dozen or so chests Lady Wildwood had insisted must go with her daughter to Scotland, despite Lord Greenweld's protestations. He had not been able to protest overmuch with Lord Rolfe and the bishop there.
"Here they are!" Straightening, she held up a set of soft, pure white linens, their edges hand-embroidered with flowers and peacocks. "Will these do?"
"Aye." Iliana reached for them, her expression tender as she recalled the many hours she had sat with her mother by the fire working upon them. Sighing, she lifted the material, rubbing it across her cheeks and enjoying its clean softness. Then she closed her eyes, her mind immediately drawing forth a picture of her mother's face. A knock at the door drove the image away.
"Who is it?" Ebba asked, a nervous shake to her voice.
"Lord Rolfe. 'Tis time."
Opening her eyes, Iliana met Ebba's uncertain expression, then sighed and nodded.
"Just a moment!" Ebba called.
Handing her maid the linens, Iliana picked up her veil and covered her face. "Strip the bed and remake it. I will not sleep in filth. Then find some servants to assist you in moving the trunks against the walls."
"Shall I unpack them?"
"Nay. Not 'til we've cleaned this sty up some," Iliana said grimly, moving to the door. Pausing, she glanced back. "Have a bath brought up. My husband bathes tonight or he does not sleep on those linens."
She may have no choice regarding marrying the barbarian below, but she could choose how that marriage went, Iliana decided grimly. She would not live like this. He could beat her, throttle her, even kill her, but she would not live like this. She would rather be dead, she thought bleakly, opening the door and moving out to take the arm of a worried-looking Lord Rolfe. He had obviously heard her last words to her maid.
Duncan laughed along with the others at his sister's jest and tipped his tankard to his mouth, swilling down half its contents before lowering the mug to peer at his bride. She sat at the main table next to his father, the same grim expression gracing her face that had tightened it since coming downstairs on Lord Rolfe's arm. She had held it throughout the wedding, saying her vows in a dead voice, making it more than to one and all that she was not overjoyed by her fortune.
Duncan had slowly moved from irritated to furious during the ceremony. He was aware of the circumstances behind this wedding, he was saving her from her stepfather. He was her Sir Galahad. And how did she thank him? By making it obvious that she would wish herself anywhere but here and humiliating him in front of his own people. Hell! The worst of it was, by the time his wife had arrived for the wedding, he had been able to fully see again...and he found her oddly appealing.
Grimacing, Duncan glared at her. He did not have a clue what appealed to him so. Her hair was brown. 'Twas a lovely shade of brown, a mixture of the color of walnuts and cherry wood, but brown all the same. He had always been partial to blondes before now. Her eyes were large and gray, rather like a rainy day. He'd always preferred green eyes. Her nose was small and straight. That was fine, but her lips were heart-shaped, sweet and full. Duncan had never seen lips quite like hers. They were enough to give a man ideas, and had been giving him many diverse and erotic ones for the past several hours.
His friends and clansmen were not helping much. What with their jests and good-natured teasing about the night ahead, they were only managing to fan the fire that had already been growing in his nether regions at an alarming rate. It seemed no amount of ale was going to drown it either, for he had been pouring that liquid down his throat steadily all night and still it had not dampened his ardor any. He was becoming fair impatient to bed her, and that fact was infuriating when she was making it so obvious that she did not feel the same way.
"Does yer gaze fer yer wee wife become any hotter, it'll set the rushes ablaze. Mayhap ye should take a dip in the loch."
Tearing his eyes from his bride, Duncan glanced at the man who had spoken. Flame-haired, as tall as he himself was, and near as wide, Allistair was as much a friend as a cousin. Or at least he used to be, Duncan realized with regret. That closeness had dissipated somewhat over the last few years as he had begun to take over some of the responsibilities of clan chief from his father. As more and more of his time was taken up with the task, Duncan had less and less time to spare for hunting trips with Allistair, Aelfread, and Seonaid. Not that those three had drifted apart. If anything, his absence had seemed to push them closer together.
"No night swim'll be helping what ails him, Allie," Aelfread murmured with amusement, sharing a look with Seonaid that made Duncan's sister grin widely.
"Aelfread's right. I'm thinkin' there be only one thing that'll quench the fire that's burning him up and that's he and his bride finally gettin' down to the business o' houghmagandie."
Duncan stiffened at her use of the Gaelic word for fornication. She may fight like a man and be able to drink them all under the table, but there were just some things a woman shouldn't do. Brows drawing down in disapproval, he slammed his tankard onto the filthy tabletop and snapped, "Ye'll no be acursin' like that, Seonaid! Do ye do so again I'll wash yer mouth out with soap meself."
Unimpressed, she rolled her eyes at this threat and laughed. "'Tis no good usin' such threats with me, me true-sworn brother. 'Tis far too late to be atryin' to change me ways and amakin' me into a lady like yer wife." She glanced toward Iliana with distaste. "She's a puny lass. Prissy as the day is long, too. I doona ken how ye'll be aputtin' up with 'er."
"Well, 'tis good 'tis not yer problem then, isna it?" Duncan muttered, 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 to
ward 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 started 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 struggles 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 least like 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 corner 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 horror. "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 to Italy. 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 drop to hang and worried her lip as she examined 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.
Chapter Three
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 set Duncan on 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 turned 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."
Duncan blinked, 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," Duncan said fin
ally. "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 arms 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.