Duncan’s kindness in moving her to the bed had been unexpected. It was also appreciated. Iliana was aware that she would most likely have been stiff and sore on awaking had he not moved her, and could only be grateful for his kindness. She supposed it was only right that she thank him for the deed and had been prepared to do so on coming below. Now that she knew he was not available to thank, however, she was more than happy to avoid the necessity for a few hours. It would give her time to sort out her feelings. They seemed to be in a bit of a muddle at the moment. Much to her distress, while Iliana was grateful for his thoughtfulness, it somehow made her feel guilty for refusing him his husbandly rights.

Sighing, she started toward the trestle tables, pausing halfway there as she finally noticed the walls. As per her orders, the servants had apparently whitewashed them while she was gone—and done a miserable job of it. They looked almost worse now than they had before the whitewashing. Something she had not thought possible.

“Ebba!” Turning, she peered about the empty great hall with a frown. It seemed everyone had been to breakfast and gone. She was a late riser this morning, thanks to her maid. Where the devil was that woman anyway? Ebba always presented herself at Iliana’s door first thing in the morning to aid her in dressing. Had she done so this morn, Iliana would not have slept so long. Why, half the morning was already gone and there was much to do.

“Ebb—Oh, there you are,” she cut herself off as the woman hurried through the keep doors and rushed toward her. “Where have you been?”

“His lordship said to let you rest. He said you had not slept well last night.” There was a question in her eyes that Iliana waved away. She was not in the mood to explain that she had slept on the floor for part of the night.

“What is this?” She gestured toward the walls, and Ebba sighed.

“Aye. ’Tis awful, is it not? I tried to tell them they were doing it all wrong, but Giorsal just keep saying ’twas the way Lady Muireall had done it, and kept on about the business.”

Iliana grimaced unhappily. She was sick unto death of hearing that woman’s name quoted at her. “I somehow doubt Lady Muireall liked streaked walls.”

The maid nodded in agreement. “Shall I fetch Giorsal?”

“Aye. Tell her Lady Iliana does it differently and wishes it done again…And again, if necessary, until it is right. If they will not follow your instructions, fetch me and I shall tend to it.”

Her maid nodded determinedly. “Where will you be, my lady?”

“Down in the village. Send someone to fetch me when the spice merchant gets here.”

“Aye, my lady.”