“Nay. Even in anger he says naught that could be considered cruel. He is a most reasonable man.”

Lady Wildwood’s confusion was obvious. “Then he must be stupid. A buffoon?”

“Mother! How could you think that?” Iliana asked in horror, defending him at once. “You have met him. He is most intelligent. Why, just look at what he plans for this place. He is intelligent and ambitious and hardworking—”

“Then why do you wear the belt?” her mother interrupted with frustration, and Iliana fell silent, too embarrassed to answer.

“She does not wear it all the time, my lady,” Ebba said helpfully. That information, however, only seemed to confuse the woman more.

“Does not wear it—Then the wedding has been consummated?” Her daughter’s blush was answer enough, and Lady Wildwood’s gaze became sharper. “Is he rough in bed?”

Flushing a deeper crimson, Iliana shook her head.

“Well, then, why?”

Iliana considered lying, but in the end just blurted, “He smells.”

Lady Wildwood blinked at the blunt words, then disbelief began to fill her eyes.

“Truly he does, Mother. Surely you have noticed? You sat right beside him at sup. He bathes only twice a year and—” Iliana’s voice died as she noted her mother’s bewildered expression. Turning, she cast a pleading glance at Ebba.

Her maid was more than game to back her up on this. “She speaks the truth, my lady. This whole keep reeked when we first arrived. The rushes had not been changed in a year, and Lady Iliana ruined at least two dresses by merely sitting at table the first night. It took four women three whole days just to scrub the filth off the great hall floor.” She hesitated, her gaze moving to the younger woman briefly before she finished. “Truly, the change Lady Iliana has wrought here is miraculous, but it gives a false impression.”

“I see,” her mother said solemnly, “And is this the only problem in your marriage?”

Iliana nodded.

“I see,” she repeated, then rose as Gertie bustled back into the room. “You had best lay down on your side,” she suggested as Gertie poked through her bag.

Giving up trying to read her mother’s thoughts, Iliana shifted her legs onto the bed. Reclining, she rolled onto her side, facing away from the door so that the wound to her side was easily accessible. Then she raised her arm over her head and out of the way, wincing as the old woman began to clean the injury.

Duncan stormed up the stairs, guilt driving him as much as concern. Had he not strayed from his marital bed, this would not have happened.