Duncan rolled his eyes. While he was glad no one knew that the marriage was not yet consummated, it was a bit galling to be blamed for her exhaustion when he had not enjoyed the benefits of it. And it looked as if he would not be enjoying them again tonight. So much for the seduction he had planned.

“Did she really get locked in the tower fer tryin’ to escape?” Elgin asked curiously, and everyone went silent as they awaited the maid’s answer.

“Aye. Greenweld is a devil. After forcing Lady Wildwood to marry him, he sent Iliana away to Greenweld keep to use her safety against her mother. Iliana tried to escape almost right away. She sneaked from her bed, crept to the stables, took a horse, and tried to get away, but was heard and caught.”

“What happened then?” Angus asked.

“His man, Chisholm, sent word to Lord Greenweld who sent the message back that he had his permission to beat her should she try it again.”

“And still she tried to escape again?” Seonaid sounded impressed.

“Three times,” Ebba announced with pride. “Each attempt was better planned than the one before. The last time she made it as far as Wildwood and nearly reached her mother. That scared Greenweld into having her locked up.”

“Did he harm her?” The question was asked in unison by Duncan, Angus, and Seonaid. Ebba met their narrowed gazes briefly, then peered down at her mistress. Iliana would not want her to speak of the beatings she had received. She had too much pride to want anyone’s pity, as much as Ebba felt she deserved it.

“We should put her to bed,” Ebba murmured instead of answering the question.

Duncan grabbed the servant’s arm and stared into her face, reading the answer there for himself. His expression tightening, he released her and bent to pick up his wife, then carried her toward the stairs. His father followed, fretting like an old woman as he ordered that she must get more sleep, and take things much more easily.

Iliana opened her eyes, stared at the draperies overhead, then glanced to the side, eyebrows rising slightly as her gaze fell on her husband’s sleeping form. She was in bed.

Frowning, she peered down at herself, eyes widening as she saw that she no longer wore her gown. Raising the bed linens, she peered down the length of her body and sighed with relief as she saw that she still wore Francesco’s belt, then frowned once more. She did not recall coming to bed. In truth, she did not much recall the day before at all.

Letting the linen drop back to rest against her skin, she briefly searched her mind for the memory of how she had gotten there. It was the stiffness in her arm as she raised her hand to rest it above her head that brought back the memories she sought.