“What are you doing?” Iliana asked in dismay, hurrying around the bed to stop her when she folded the blankets back and shifted her legs to the floor. “You cannot get up, Mother, you are still too weak.”

“I will not get any stronger lying about on my back,” was Lady Wildwood’s pragmatic answer. “’Sides, I believe ’tis time I met my son-in-law.”

“Nay. If you wish to meet him, I will send Ebba to ask him to come to see you. But under no circumstances are you going to get out of that bed. You have been far too ill and are still weak.”

“Ebba?”

“My lady!” The maid’s eyes were wide as she hurried across the great hall toward her. “You are out and about.”

Iliana grimaced at the words. “Aye. My mother has decided to join the table for sup. She would like a bath and…” Her voice trailed away as a burst of laughter drew her gaze to Lord Angus and several other men seated at the trestle table. Duncan was nowhere in sight, nor was there a single female present, yet every place at the tables was filled, and several men were left to stand about, chatting with the others. Iliana had never seen so many men within the keep walls. Not even when the men had been working on the new rooms. “What goes on here?”

“Lady Seonaid’s betrothed was here.”

“Lord Sherwell?” Iliana’s eyebrows rose when her maid nodded. Ebba had told her nearly two weeks ago that the other woman had fled the keep to avoid her marriage. Seonaid had run off the day after Iliana’s mother had arrived. Her maid had also informed her that men had been sent to track Seonaid. They had returned with the news that the girl had fled to St. Simmian’s, a nunnery to the north. Iliana’s only reaction to that information had been to wonder why she herself had not been that clever. Now her eyes moved over the laughing men around the table, pausing and widening slightly at the sight of Lord Angus in a fine gold doublet. “What—”

“’Tis Lord Sherwell’s,” Ebba interrupted to inform her, having followed her gaze. “Lord Sherwell wished Lord Dunbar’s plaid, so Lord Angus insisted he must trade his own clothes for them.”

“Why did Lord Sherwell wish for Lord Dunbar’s plaid?”

“To prove he was a friend to the Dunbars. ’Twill see him safely through those lands friendly to the Dunbars does he wear Dunbar colors.”

“Really?” she asked with interest, then pushed such thoughts aside as the sight of Elgin coming out of the kitchen reminded her of her purpose in being downstairs. “My mother wishes to come below for sup this evening.” She paused to grimace at Ebba’s expression and nodded.