Even then it took a moment for her to realize what was happening. She was not on the bank of a river. She was lying abed. And the familiar-looking man now nibbling away so industriously at her flesh was her great, reeking oaf of a husband…and on her mother’s clean linens, no less!

Duncan smiled against her skin appreciatively. His little wife was like a red-hot fire, the flames twisting and flickering this way and that in his hands. Murmuring appreciatively at the sweet smell and taste of her, he moved his lips along her skin.

When he reached the neckline of her gown, he began pushing at the flimsy material, fretting over it until her left breast popped free, presenting itself for his attention. Releasing a victorious exclamation, he dropped his mouth on the rosy aureole at once, then stiffened as his little wife let loose a scream loud enough to deafen him. ’Twas a scream a woman loosed only when in horrible peril. Thinking there must be some danger in the room, Duncan released her at once and whirled about. Only there was no danger.

Frowning as he saw that the room was empty but for her chests and a full tub of water, he turned back to his wife. His eyebrows rose when he saw that she was no longer staked out on the bed, but had scooted up into the top corner of it and now knelt there, eyeing him as if he was a madman bent on dismembering her.

“What?” he asked in bewilderment. Then, thinking he understood, Duncan slumped. “I feared I may have been less than gentle with ye yester eve, lass. ’Tis sorry I am, I was fair fou. I promise I’ll not be so rough this time.”

Iliana’s eyes widened.

“You did naught last night,” she said curtly. Shocked, his eyes widened when she continued, “You passed out drunk on the floor.”

“Nay!” he protested proudly. He had never ever been too drunk to bed a woman and could not believe that he would be so last night of all nights.

“Aye.”

Duncan tugged the blankets aside and peered at the pristine white bed linen. He had just realized that what she said was true when a knock sounded at the door. Cursing under his breath, he leapt to his feet and grabbed his sword from where the men had left it lying in the middle of the floor the night before.

For a moment, as he turned toward her, sword in hand, Iliana had the mad thought that he meant to run her through; then he slid the blade along his own hand, producing a thin sliver of a cut that immediately gave up blood. While she watched, amazed, he set the blade back on the floor, leapt into bed beside her, and quickly wiped his hand on the bottom linen of the bed as the knock sounded again. Her mother’s fine linen!