The Key

  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.

  Duncan suddenly 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.

  Duncan shivered 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, Duncan eased 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, Duncan rubbed 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. Duncan had 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, Duncan thought with a sudden frown. Just the thought of bedding her made him stiff as a dead cornish 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! Duncan thought 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 did Duncan, 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, Duncan eased 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, Duncan simply 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!

  Duncan smiled 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, Duncan released 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 corner 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, Duncan slumped. "I feared I may have been less than gentle with ye yester eve, lass. 'Tis sorry I am, I was fair fou. 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 never ever been too drunk to bed a woman and could not believe that he would be so last night of all nights.

  "Aye."

  Duncan tugged 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," Duncan murmured 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," was Duncan'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.

  "The bed linens?" Ignoring the way his wife had suddenly stiffened beside him, Duncan peered at them in feigned confusion. "Why would ye be needin' the bed linens?"

  There was complete silence as the men peered helplessly at each other while Seonaid watched in confusion; then Angus suddenly turned on him irritably. "Just give us the bleedin'--I mean the bloody--I mean--Just give me the damn things!"

  "All right, all right. No need to sic a splore. Seonaid, turn yer head." He waited until she had done so, then rose, gathered Iliana in the top linen, and carried her to the side.

  All four visitors peered at the bed then, taking in the splotch of blood with differing reactions. Lord Rolfe appeared relieved. Lord Angus looked satisfied. Lady Seonaid seemed stunned, and the bishop simply smiled in approval. Then Lord Rolfe turned to gesture to someone in the hall and Ebba rushed in. Stripping the linen off the bed, she hurried out of the room with it, barely sparing a glance for Duncan, who stood naked as the day he was born, a bundled Iliana his only cover.

  "Well." The laird of Dunbar nodded, his face brilliant red as he shifted toward the door, dragging Seonaid with him. "Well done...we'll...Will ye be down to breakfast...?" His voice faded away, the red of his face deepening at his son's grin as he shook his head. "Well, then...We'll...er...leave ye to it. Shall we? Gentlemen?" He glanced about for Lord Rolfe and the bishop, only to find that they had already exited. "Good night, then--I mean...er..." Nodding with relief as he reached the door, he pushed his daughter through, followed, and slammed it closed.

  When the arms holding her suddenly started to shake, Iliana peered at Duncan, stunned to see that he was shaking with silent mirth. She took a moment to wonder what he thought was so funny, then kicked her feet unhappily. "Set me down."

  When he did so, Iliana clasped the bed linens closer about her and turned to glare accusingly, "You ruined by mother's bed linens." That only seemed to make him laugh harder. Iliana stamped her foot furiously. "'Tis not funny, my lord. My mother and I spent many hours embroidering those linens. They were very special to me. I would have an explanation as to why you ruined them."

  Duncan's laughter slowed at that and he did manage a slightly repentant look, then he sighed and shook his head. "'Tis sorry I be, madame wife. Me amusement is not at ye. I have jest never seen me da so overset. He was a picture, he was." His laughter ended on a sigh as he took in her solemn face. She obviously did not see the humor. Tilting his head, he eyed her curiously. "Didna yer mother explain the facts o' life to ye, lass?"

  "Of course she did." Iliana glared at him for thinking it might be otherwise.

  "Well, I didna mean to insult ye with the question," he soothed. "'Tis just that ye appeared a muckle muddled about the blood. 'Tis no shame in that," he added hastily when she started to stiffen up again. "Me sister, too, was a mite confused by it, ye noticed?"

  "Aye, I did notice," Iliana said warily.

  "Well, Da and I have never explained the facts o' life to her. There seemed no need when her betrothed could not be bothered to collect her."

  He fell silent for a moment, taking in her expression, then sighed. It seemed obvious to him that while she might have been given some of the facts of life, she had not been fully educated; She had started worrying her lower lip the moment he mentioned Seonaid's ignorance.

  Shifting, he explained delicately, "The blood is caused by the maiden's veil."

  Iliana's eyes narrowed at that. Her mother had not mentioned anything about a maiden's veil. Mayhap he meant the bridal veil, she thought pensively. He quickly disillusioned her of that.

  "Ye see, a lass is born with a wee bit o'...er...flesh. Skin...in there." He gestured vaguely toward the apex of her thighs. "The first time she and her mate...join...the veil be torn and there be blood. The blood proves she came to her man a virgin." He watched her expression closely, satisfied that she understood when she began to look horrified.

  "So ye see, they wished fer the sheets to prove ye were untried ere yester eve."

  For a moment, Iliana was too busy considering the blood to think of anything else. To her, blood meant a wound, and a wound meant pain. Her mother had said there was a little bit of discomfort the first time but had not mentioned anything about pain or blood. Then the other part of his explanation caught at her attention and her wide eyes raised to his. "What did they want with the sheet? Why did they take it?"

  Duncan grimaced at the question, knowing before he spoke that she would not like the answer. "'Twas taken to hang over the rail at the top o' the stairs. To prove to one and all that ye came to me pure, and that the marriage was consummated yester eve."

  She did not look pleased by the news, but merely sighed and moved around the bed to her chests. She had begun rifling through the nearest one in search of a gown when she was suddenly grabbed from behind and picked up in a pair of strong arms. Gasping, she grabbed at the arms holding her and opened her mouth to ask her husband what he thought he was doing, then cried out in surprise as she was dropped upon the bed.

  Duncan fell upon her before she had even bounced once upon its soft surface. His mouth muffled her startled cry and his hands moved hungrily here and there, seemingly touching every part of her body almost at once.

  Gasping for breath as soon as his lips left hers, Iliana pushed at his chest in an attempt to remove him, but it was impossible. He did not even seem to notice her efforts as he tugged at the bed linens to bare her body to his view. Iliana immediately gave up pushing at him and caught at those instead, trying to retain the small covering, but she lost that battle as well. The cloth slipped through her clutching fingers until her breasts were bared.

  Much to her combined relief and dismay, the moment he spied those, Duncan left off tugging at the linens, leaving them tangled and bunched about her waist and hips. Eyes lighting up like a child's at Christmas, he released an exclamation and lunged for the two orbs he had revealed, pouncing on them like a miser on money. Testing their weight, he kneaded their softness, then fastened his mouth on one and suckled like a starving child briefly before turning to the other.

  For a moment, Iliana was so stunned she forgot to fight. 'Twas just long enough for a betraying heat to steal through her body, the same heat that had assailed her during her erotic dream. Then her nose wrinkled as it was assaulted by the foul odor of him and she renewed her struggles.

  Duncan was so caught up in the scent, feel, and taste of his bride, it took him a moment to notice her efforts at escape. Once he did, he ignored them. To his mind, she was just a bit frightened by the knowledge he had imparted regarding the first time between a man and a woman. She most likely feared the bedding now. 'Twas to be expected, but 'twas better to get such things over and done with quickly. 'Twas a good thing, too, for he feared the feel of her wiggling beneath him was going to make it fair difficult to
go slow and tender. Damn! She was like a flame and he dry tinder, he thought, then felt something hard press against his groin as she arched and twisted beneath him.

  Stilling, he frowned against the pink flesh of one breast and pressed himself against her again. When he felt the hardness once more, then felt it shift, he released her at once and pulled away in horror, tales of odd men who liked to dress as women flashing through his head. "What have ye got down there?"

  Iliana was so caught up in the struggle, it took a moment for her to realize she had nothing to fight anymore. Once it registered, however, and she saw the stunned, horrified look on her husband's face as he awaited her answer, she frowned in confusion. "What?"

  Duncan reached for the linens tangled around her hips, then paused. Fear flashing across his face, he raised his eyes to her breasts. Aye, they were breasts all right. Rather than remove the linens, he reached down suddenly and pressed his hand to her crotch, barely catching a feel of the hardness there before she scooted away and tried to flee the bed. He let her escape, leaping from the bed himself as she did.

  "What the devil be ye?" he asked hoarsely, facing her across the bed as she struggled to cover herself with the linens without revealing what lay between her legs.

  His eyes devoured her breasts with a sort of desperation now, all fire gone from his face and all color with it. Iliana frowned at this turn of events. "What the devil do you think I am?"

  "I donna ken. Ye've the face and breasts of a woman, but..." Misery twisted his brow as his gaze dropped below her waist. "Ye've something hard where a woman has no business havin' something hard."

  Iliana's eyes widened in amazement as she realized he had felt the lock hanging from the front of the chastity belt and seemed at a loss as to what to make of it. She could not, for the life of her, think what conclusions he was coming to, but was fair sure from his reaction that they were not complimentary. What did he think she had between her legs?

  She was so busy pondering that, that it took her a second to realize that he was moving again, heading around the bed toward her. Giving a squeal, she whirled and started across the bed. A glance over her shoulder showed her husband reaching the side of the bed and lunging for her. She felt a tug on the linens, tried to hold on to the cloth and keep moving, but felt it slip from her fingers as she lurched off the bed and stumbled into the wall beside the door. With nothing left to do, Iliana covered her breasts with her hands and turned warily to face her husband.