He continued that way for what seemed forever to Iliana, licking, nibbling, and kissing the flesh around the belt, her belly, the sensitive curve of her hips, her thighs. She was positive that he was trying to drive her mad and was thrashing violently on the bed when he finally reached for the key and unlocked the contraption.

Iliana had barely gasped her relief of being free of the obstruction when his head suddenly bowed between her legs once more, his kisses finding the very core of her. Startled and already almost mad with passion and need, Iliana cried out and began to buck beneath him, every muscle in her body seeming to convulse at once. When it ended and she was left with only the occasional small spasm, she lay limp on the bed, positive she would never be able to move again.

She was wrong. Duncan showed her that a short moment later as he began to caress her again.

Sunlight was pouring in through the window when Iliana awoke the next morning. Smiling, she sighed and stretched on the bed, then rolled onto her side, frowning when she saw that the spot beside her was empty. Duncan had already left the chamber.

Stifling the disappointment that that realization brought her, Iliana sat up on the bed and frowned. She was in Seonaid’s room. It was where they had put her after the fire the day before. The fire that had devoured her room and every stitch of clothing she owned, she realized suddenly with dismay. But before she could get too worked up over that, Ebba rushed in carrying a collection of gowns.

“Lord Duncan sent me up with these for you,” she explained excitedly, dumping the gowns on the bed, then picking them up one at a time and spreading them out. “Are they not lovely?”

Iliana reached out to brush a hand gently over the material of one of the gowns. “Aye. They are lovely,” she said unhappily, bringing amazement to her maid’s face.

“Are you not pleased at his thoughtfulness?”

“Oh, aye, ’twas thoughtful. I hope their owner does not mind,” she added with a bit of asperity.

Understanding dawned. “Ah. You fear they were his mistress’s castoffs,” she guessed correctly, then shook her head. “Fie on you. Think you he would be so insensitive? These are his mother’s gowns. Can you not tell by the quality? No village girl would have such finery.”

“His mother’s?” Iliana murmured faintly, noting now that while they were of good quality, they were somewhat old-fashioned.

“Aye. And that is not all. He has spent the morning talking with your mother while you slept and now has sent Allistair to seek out the material merchant.”

Iliana’s eyebrows rose at that. “He has?”

“Aye.”