Chapter Four
Duncan gaped at the contraption she wore, but had barely taken in the leather straps with the gleaming lock in front before she turned to flee toward her chests. Nothing on earth could have stopped him from leaping the bed to reach her side.
Catching her about the waist, he tugged her backward, twisting so that they landed side by side on the bed. He then threw a leg over both of hers and leaned up slightly so that he could peer once more at the contraption she wore.
"Damn." The word came out in a hiss of air as he examined the apparatus. Catching her hands easily in one of his own when she started to struggle, he held them above her head, his eyes never leaving the belt. "What be it?" he asked with awe.
"'Tis a belt of chastity," Iliana admitted grimly, then caught at her lower lip and began to worry it between her teeth.
"I have never seen the like."
"'Twas invented by Francesco Carrarro. A...a friend of my father's."
"How did ye come by it?"
"Father brought it back from his last visit," Iliana answered reluctantly. "He gave my mother and myself both one."
"And yer mother had ye wear it to ensure yer chastity 'til ye reached me," he guessed, giving the front strap an experimental tug. "'Tis leather."
"Aye," Iliana gasped, her head turned to the side to avoid the stink of his armpits as she tried to tug her hands loose. Damn, he smelled foul.
Shifting, he turned her abruptly onto her stomach so that he could look at the back of it, taking in the way the center strap was sturdily fastened to the belt there.
"Let me up," Iliana snapped over her shoulder, embarrassment flushing her face.
Duncan ignored her, his gaze wandering to the cheeks of her bottom on either side of the leather. 'Twas a fascinating sight. The round, smooth pink flesh, separated by the dark brown leather. Reaching out, he caressed one cheek lightly and smiled. The belt was a great relief to him. For a moment, he had thought he had gotten more than he had bargained for in a wife. Pinching one perfect cheek for the scare he'd had, Duncan smiled over her startled squeal, then flipped her onto her back again, his gaze turning to the lock that held the contraption closed.
"How do ye undo this?" Slipping a finger beneath the center strip, he ran it along her skin until it rested against her womanhood, where he gave the leather a gentle tug.
"A key," Iliana answered thickly, then swallowed.
"Where be the key?" His finger slid back up along the belt, setting off a clamoring within Iliana that occupied her briefly. She was damn relieved when his hand stilled and his head raised toward her in question.
Clearing her throat, she met his gaze. "I..." Pausing, she swallowed and tried again. "I will give you the key if you take a bath."
Duncan stilled, confusion his only expression. "A bath? 'Tis not July yet. Why the devil should I take a bath?"
"July?" Iliana frowned. "What has that to do with it?"
"I bathe twice a year," he told her proudly. "The last day o' every January and every July. Why would ye wish me to change that and bathe in the middle o' June?"
"Because...because I find your odor offensive?" she offered timidly.
"What?"
"I said--"
"I heard what ye said, woman! I am not deaf. What the devil do ye mean?"
Arms stretched above her head and lower body trapped beneath his, Iliana was beginning to feel like a sacrificial virgin. Temper flaring, she snapped, "You smell like a chamber pot! I do not care to be near you and I will not give you the key unless you take a bath!"
Duncan pulled back to stare at her in dismay, completely flummoxed by her audacity. "Ye are denyin' me rights as yer lawful wedded husband?"
"Nay! I deny you nothing," Iliana contradicted at once, trying to sound reasonable as she added, "But if you will not do me the courtesy of taking a bath, I will not--"
"Ye are denyin' me!" he accused, storm clouds gathering on his forehead.
"Nay, I--" Her words died as he suddenly released her and threw himself from the bed.
"Well! We shall just see about that!" he snarled, collecting his discarded clothes.
Sitting up slowly, Iliana anxiously watched him dress. "What will you do?" Her mouth tightened when an angry look was her only answer. He was nearly fully dressed ere she gave in and asked, "Will you have the wedding annulled?"
Iliana cringed even as she asked the question. The consequences of such an action were horrendous even to consider. She would be returned to Wildwood in shame and her mother would likely be well and truly trapped with Greenweld. That could not happen. Her gaze rose instinctively to the drapes above the bed where the key rested.
"Annulled?" Duncan turned on her, drawing her gaze back to his face. "Now that would be a trick, would it not? The bloody linens are probably already ahangin' from the railin'. Ye recall them, do ye not? Yer mother's linens with my blood on them?"
Iliana nodded her head slowly, relief rushing through her. He could not have the marriage annulled. Everyone thought it consummated. "What will you do then?" she asked now, but got no answer as he finished dressing and stormed out of the room.
Duncan pulled the door closed with an angry bang. Pausing, he lifted one arm to sniff at it and scowled. He smelled just as he should in June. That did not seem good enough for his wife, however. It seemed she would have him bathed and powdered like one of her English dandies. Well, he would not have it. Should he give in on this, next she would have him wearing braies and hose. An indecent outfit as far as he was concerned, what with the way they clung to the body, emphasizing the lumps and bumps of a man's personal apparatus.
Nay. He bathed every July and January and had done so for a long time now...and he would continue to do so. If his wee wife thought to change him, she could think again. And should she continue to refuse him his rights...well, he would just have to see to it that she did not refuse, Duncan decided, recalling the brief image he had been given of her in naught but the small scraps of leather and the lock at her groin.
'Twas a damn exciting contraption no matter its name. And his wife had a luscious figure. He would not mind seeing her in that belt again. Hell, he would rather see her without it.
So much for the wedding night, he thought gloomily, leaving the door to stride down the hall. He should set her aside. Have the wedding annulled no matter the fact that everyone would then know that it had not been consummated. But damned if she did not now have the same attraction as a gift all wrapped up and left on his bed Christmas morn. Duncan dearly wanted to unwrap her.
Mayhap he could, he thought suddenly, as he reached the top of the stairs leading down to the great hall. Aye, mayhap he could. He would have a talk with the smithy.
Iliana sighed dismally and forced herself to get up and dress. She ran into some small difficulty right away. The belt of chastity was good for keeping unwanted intimacies at bay but was quite inconvenient when it came to certain personal needs. It would have to be removed.
Still clad in only the belt, she stepped onto the foot of the bed, grasped an end post to maintain her balance, and stretched a hand up to feel around in the drapes that were gathered over the bed. It did not take long to realize that this was not a good hiding spot. It seemed she had thrown the key farther than she had meant to. She could not feel it.
A knock at the door made her stiffen. "Who is it?"
Ebba's voice answered and Iliana relaxed with a sigh. Calling out to her to enter, she immediately turned back to the bed drapes, this time poking at the underside of them, trying to pop the key out.
"My lady!" Ebba gaped at her briefly, then hurriedly closed the door and rushed to her side. "What are you doing, my lady?"
"Trying to get the blasted key out of the drapes. Find me something long to fetch it out with. I fear I have an urgent need to relieve myself."
The maid's eyes widened at that, and she made a brief search of the room, coming up with a poker from beside the fire. "Will this do?"
"Aye, it
should." Taking the poker, Iliana began jabbing at the material again.
"Did you...He...You did not wear that thing all the night long, did you?"
"Aye."
After a brief silence, the woman asked, "Was his lordship very put out?"
"My husband passed out on the floor last night. He did not awake 'til morn."
"But the sheets were--"
"He cut his hand and spread the blood on the linens. My best linens," she added grimly.
"He knows not about the belt, then?" Ebba ventured hopefully as she eyed with distaste the single item of clothing her mistress was wearing.
"He knows. He found out this morn after everyone left."
"How did he react?"
"How do you think?" she asked dryly, then cried out with relief as the key finally slid off of the drapes. Dropping the poker on the bed, she jumped to the floor to retrieve the small item, sighing with mingled relief and pleasure as she finally clasped it in her hand.
"What will you do?"
Iliana looked surprised. "Why, take it off, of course." Just as Ebba began to look relieved, she added, "'Twill be nice to be without it for a few minutes at least."
The woman gaped at her. "Surely you do not intend to put it back on?"
"Of course." She frowned over her maid's disapproving expression. "I told you last night, Ebba. I shall not live like this. I will have a clean home, a clean bed, and a clean man in it. If it kills us both," she added on a mutter as she unlocked the belt.
"Gilley." Duncan caught the smithy's arm as he drew abreast of him and urged him to a halt, forcing a stiff smile to his own lips as he did. He had meant to have a word with the man directly on leaving the bedchamber that morn. Howbeit, he had been caught up by one concern or another all morning. Now, when it was nearing midday, he had finally managed to get away long enough to seek out the locksmith. "I would have a word with ye."
Gilley hesitated, then nodded. "Aye, but yer da is awaitin' me inside. He wishes another set o' keys made. Fer yer bride," he explained when Duncan looked perplexed.
"Why would she be needin' a set o' keys?"
"She is chatelaine now," the man pointed out with surprise.
Duncan grunted over that, then shrugged it aside. "I shall be quick. 'Tis about locks and keys I wished to speak with ye as well. Ye see, I have this lock I need to unlock, but I have no key and kenned mayhap ye could tell me how to do it?"
He blinked. "Well, if ye bring it to me, I can surely do it fer ye."
Duncan imagined carting Iliana to the locksmith's hut, setting her on his table, and throwing her skirts over her head to reveal the lock. Nay, 'twas not an option. The tale would reach every corner of the keep ere the nooning meal. Besides, he did not like the idea of having another man's eyes on his wife's belt of chastity. Or what it hid.
"Nay. I canna be doin' that. 'Tis not possible." He shook his head firmly. "Ye'll have to be tellin' me how to do it on me own."
The locksmith frowned. "I canna be tellin' ye how, less I be seein' the lock in question. If ye canna bring it to me, then surely I can be goin' to it?"
"Nay. Ye canna." He scowled irritably. "Just tell me how to open locks."
"If 'twas that easy, everyone would be a locksmith. I canna help ye less I see it."
"Well...Damn!" Reaching for the sword at his belt, he tugged it from his sheath and used it to draw a rough sketch of the lock in the dirt at their feet. "There," he said with satisfaction as he finished the picture. "Does that not help ye?"
The locksmith's eyebrows rose slightly. "What be it?"
"What do ye think 'tis, ye bloody fool! 'Tis the lock."
Gilley shrugged, unconcerned by the insult. "Looks more like a mouse to me."
"Aye. A mouse." Angus's voice sounded by his left shoulder.
Slumping in defeat, Duncan turned to peer at his father. "What do ye want?"
Angus raised his eyebrows but smiled slightly despite his son's irritation. "I was lookin' fer Gilley here."
"Well, I'll leave ye to him then."
"Nay, I'd ha'e a word with ye as well."
When Duncan turned back questioningly, Angus gestured toward the men in the bailey. "Have ye a man or two to spare this afternoon?"
"There may be one or two I could do without," he admitted slowly. Ever since he had turned nineteen his father had been giving him responsibility over Dunbar keep and its people. It had started with a little here and a little there, adding more and more with each passing year until now, he was pretty much in charge of all who served them. Unofficially. Officially, his father was laird and had veto power over any decision Duncan made until he died. In reality, they worked serious decisions out between them, benefiting from Angus's wisdom and Duncan's vigor and passion.
"Good, good. Send 'em up to the keep when ye be gettin' the chance then, hmm?" He smiled at him cheerfully, then turned to Gilley. "Now, about those keys--"
"What be ye needin' the men in the keep fer?" Duncan interrupted suspiciously. He very rarely saw his father so cheerful. The man had been solemn and grim most of Duncan's life. At least since his wife, Lady Muireall, had died. In Duncan's faint memories his mother had been a bolt of sunshine that had made everyone around her happy...including her irascible husband.
"'Tis not me. 'Tis yer wife," his father told him easily. "She's made a start on cleanin' up the great hall. She had the women throw out all the old rushes, then set 'em to as-crubbin' the stone floor, and she'll need new rushes to--"
"What the devil was wrong with the old rushes?"
Angus Dunbar raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at his son's show of temper. "Well, lad, they have been there fer nigh on a year."
"And would have lasted another year just fine. We always leave the rushes about fer a year or two ere changin' 'em."
"Aye, 'tis true that we have let things go a bit--"
"Let things go!" Duncan stared at him in disbelief, feeling suddenly betrayed at the mere suggestion that his wife might actually have something to complain about.
"Aye." Angus sighed. "The truth is, son, yer mother wid never have put up with the keep being in the state it has been in since 'er death. I fear I let it get so. I fair fell apart when she died. Sank deep into sadness and never pulled meself back out. I neglected the state o' the keep and even me people--"
"Now, me laird," Gilley interrupted, but Angus waved him to silence.
"Say what ye will, Gilley, but 'tis true and well I ken it. I am no sayin' I did not keep ye all safe. 'S truth, anger was about the only thing likely to get a rise from me. I worked out much anger on many an enemy's neck and chest with me sword. But when it came to the softer needs, I have not been here. Even fer me own children. Howbeit," he went on, when both men opened their mouths to argue. "Iliana is here now and wishes to set the place to rights...as yer mother did ere her, and it fair warms me heart a bit. We are lucky to have her."
Duncan would have had a great deal of difficulty agreeing with that right then but kept his opinion to himself as he turned away. "I'll send two men fer rushes, but no more."
"Giorsal."
"Aye, me lady?" Other than glancing over from where she stood, hands on hips, supervising the women, who were on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor, the servant did not move except to arch an eyebrow in question. Servant or no, there was little doubt that she thought herself the queen bee at Dunbar.
Forcing herself to maintain her patience, Iliana set down the edge of the tapestry she had been helping Ebba with and moved to the woman's side so that she would not have to yell across the room. Her mother had taught her that there was little authority, let alone dignity, in shrieking from a distance like a fishwife selling her wares. Pausing at the woman's side, Iliana graced her with a somewhat cool smile, then announced, "Lord Angus is seeing to fresh rushes for the floor, but I thought mayhap something pleasant smelling would be nice to add to them. Mayhap you could take a couple of women and go collect some--"
"Heather."
&n
bsp; Iliana blinked at the interruption. "Heather?"
Pursing her lips, the woman nodded her head with firm certainty. "Aye. 'Tis what 'er ladyship put among the rushes."
Trying not to grit her teeth, Iliana forced a smile that was even chillier than the first. "That may be so, but I prefer lavender."
Giorsal shook her head at once. "Lady Muireall always put heather--"
"I am not Lady Muireall," Iliana snapped coldly, "and I prefer lavender."
"There is no lavender this far north," the servant announced.
Iliana sighed in defeat, not needing to see the satisfaction on the other woman's face to know when she had lost. "I see."
"There be a muckle o' heather, though."
"I am sure there is," she commented dryly.
"I'll take the women and go find some." Barking a word in Gaelic that immediately drew the other women to her side, she led them away without even pretending to await permission.
Watching them go, Iliana moved dispiritedly to the trestle table and dropped onto its bench with a sigh. She was definitely not having a good day.
The great hall had been empty when she had made her way down that morning. Determined to begin work on setting the castle to rights, Iliana had not bothered with breaking her fast, but had sent Ebba in search of servants. The maid had returned with Giorsal and three other women older than her own grandmother would have been were she still alive. Despite their elevated ages, they had gotten a great deal done that morning, but Iliana began to think that setting Dunbar keep to rights might very well kill her. 'Twas not the work so much. While she could not say she was used to the hard labor she had been performing that morning, she had certainly worked before. The real problem was the women, or at least their attitudes.