Iliana had not seen him since then. She had awoken later that same day to find herself sleeping on her corner pallet. Ebba had told her that Duncan had brought her back to the keep, carried her there, laid her down, and gently covered her before leaving to rejoin his men working on the new rooms. This time, Iliana had slept through the racket along with her mother. She had not managed to do so in the days between then and now, but neither had she gone out to complain of the noise again. Firstly, the noise had not disturbed her mother’s drugged sleep in the least. And secondly, silly as it might seem, she found herself shrinking from facing her husband again. Every time she thought of that morning in the woods, she flushed a brilliant red. The things he had done to her. Dear Lord, the things she had done back. He had said he wished to see his wife unladylike, and gain his wish he had. She had behaved no better than an animal there in the woods. Her own cries and screams still echoed in her ears. If she closed her eyes she could feel the grass cool and damp beneath her back and the chill morning breeze drifting across her sweat-dampened body as her husband’s lips had traveled across her aroused skin.

“Child?”

Flushing, Iliana tore her mind away from her thoughts and glanced guiltily at her mother’s face. “I am not unhappy, Mother. All is well.”

Lady Wildwood did not look convinced but let it go and sighed.

Deciding a change of topic would be expedient, Iliana asked about her imprisonment. “Did he beat you often, Mother?”

“Only every time I disobeyed him,” was the dry response. Oddly enough, those words were followed by a satisfied smile as Lady Wildwood told her, “And I disobeyed the bastard every time I saw him.”

Iliana stared at her blankly, unsure how to respond to the proud confession. Part of her wanted to berate her mother for putting herself in such danger. The other part—the part that had urged her to attempt escape repeatedly herself—wanted to congratulate the older woman. If nothing else, Greenweld had learned that Lady Wildwood and her daughter were not sheep to be led blindly by the first shepherd with a stick.

Instead, Iliana said nothing at all, but merely squeezed the hand she held in understanding, then glanced up as the bedchamber door opened and Gertie reentered.

Spying the turning of her mistress’s head toward the door at the slight sound she made in entering, the servant hurried toward the bed. “Yer awake.”

“Aye.”

“Never fear, we’ll fix that in a jiffy. I’ll just put a bit of powder in the mead and—”

“Nay, Gertie. I have done with sleep. I would stay awake now.”

“You’ll do naught but suffer by staying awake.”

“Then suffer I will, for I shall stay awake.”