“Oh, aye.” Angus got to his feet again. “I shall have to see to it myself, then.”

“What?”

“A bath.”

“What?” Duncan could not have been more shocked had the man announced his intent to don a gown. “But ’tis not yet the end of July.”

Shrugging, Angus moved toward the kitchen. “What matter is that? There are women present now. Attractive women, I might add.” The grin he tossed over his shoulder was lecherous. “Lady Wildwood is a fine-looking female. She deserves a bit of effort. Certainly more than the wee bit of time and trouble that taking a bath will cause me. Women don’t like a stinking man, son. Even a stinking man in fine clothes does not impress them. Unless they reek so bad themselves that they cannot smell them.”

Duncan glowered over his father’s words, trying to take them in. His father had never taken more than two baths a year, and yet now he was willingly calling for one. It made no sense. In fact, the only thing that he seemed able to grasp was his father’s last statement and that made him frown.

“Iliana smells like wildflowers,” Duncan murmured, moving to stand by his father, who had paused at the kitchen door. His mouth worked briefly, then he admitted, “She thinks I stink.”

“Ah.” Angus nodded solemnly, already having been informed of this by the lady’s mother.

“’Tis why she avoids me. She says my smell offends her.”

“Ah ha.” Angus was silent for a moment, then leaned toward his son, sniffing curiously. Nose wrinkling as he caught whiff of him, he straightened and pursed his lips. “Mayhap ye should take a bath, then.”

“’Tis not July yet.”

“So?”

“So, I bathe twice a year. In January and July. I willna change me habits to please her. ’Sides, ye only bathe twice a year.”

“Duncan, ye can’t live yer life based on me habits,” Angus interrupted impatiently. “I have no wife so bathe when I wish.”

“And so shall I.”

“Then don’t complain to me that yer wife avoids yer embrace, fer in truth ye do reek. ’Sides, I am bathing now,” he added, storming into the kitchen and bending to shake the two young kitchen lads who slept on pallets before the fire.

“She is my wife!” Duncan announced arrogantly, following on his heels. “’Tis her duty to—”

“Duty, me arse!” Angus roared, straightening from nudging the second of the boys. His prodding had barely roused the lads, but his-bellow snapped them completely awake and brought them to their feet.

“What?” Duncan stared at his father’s irritated face, wide-eyed.

“’Tis not duty yer speakin’ o’ here, ’tis yer own blasted stubbornness.”

When his son’s jaw dropped at that, Angus nodded firmly.