Iliana opened her mouth to blast him for staining it but did not get the chance. In the next instant, he had whipped her gown up over her head, thrown it across the room, and tugged her down to lie beside him. “Come in!”

Iliana ducked beneath the linens with a squeal of dismay as the door opened.

“Good morn,” Duncan murmured as his father, Seonaid, Lord Rolfe, and the bishop crowded into the room.

“Good morn, son.” Angus beamed at his progeny as Iliana peeked out from under the bed linen. “Ye…er…slept well, I hope?” He turned his head away as he asked that, embarrassment painting a blush on his rugged skin.

“Well. But not long,” was Duncan’s answer, and Iliana reddened at his suggestive tone, wishing herself dead.

“We are here for the bed linens,” the bishop explained gently when Angus Dunbar could not seem to do so.

“The bed linens?” Ignoring the way his wife had suddenly stiffened beside him, Duncan peered at them in feigned confusion. “Why would ye be needin’ the bed linens?”

There was complete silence as the men peered helplessly at each other while Seonaid watched in confusion; then Angus suddenly turned on him irritably. “Just give us the bleedin’—I mean the bloody—I mean—Just give me the damn things!”

“All right, all right. No need to sic a splore. Seonaid, turn yer head.” He waited until she had done so, then rose, gathered Iliana in the top linen, and carried her to the side.

All four visitors peered at the bed then, taking in the splotch of blood with differing reactions. Lord Rolfe appeared relieved. Lord Angus looked satisfied. Lady Seonaid seemed stunned, and the bishop simply smiled in approval. Then Lord Rolfe turned to gesture to someone in the hall and Ebba rushed in. Stripping the linen off the bed, she hurried out of the room with it, barely sparing a glance for Duncan, who stood naked as the day he was born, a bundled Iliana his only cover.

“Well.” The laird of Dunbar nodded, his face brilliant red as he shifted toward the door, dragging Seonaid with him. “Well done…we’ll…Will ye be down to breakfast…?” His voice faded away, the red of his face deepening at his son’s grin as he shook his head. “Well, then…We’ll…er…leave ye to it. Shall we? Gentlemen?” He glanced about for Lord Rolfe and the bishop, only to find that they had already exited. “Good night, then—I mean…er…” Nodding with relief as he reached the door, he pushed his daughter through, followed, and slammed it closed.

When the arms holding her suddenly started to shake, Iliana peered at Duncan, stunned to see that he was shaking with silent mirth. She took a moment to wonder what he thought was so funny, then kicked her feet unhappily. “Set me down.”