Oh, aye, she had worked in the garden all day. Then at dinner she had sat down to take sup but had been so stiff and sore that she had barely managed one mouthful of food. Exhausted and light-headed, she had feared fainting. She must have done so, for the next thing she recalled was waking up as Ebba undressed her. The woman had shushed her questions and urged her to sleep as she had gone about the chore, and Iliana had given in to the instructions.

The next time she had opened them ’twas to find her husband crawling into bed beside her. Iliana had muttered a complaint at him for disturbing her but managed little more before dropping off again, only to awake in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of his cursing. Unable to sleep, he had risen to quit the room, had tripped over one of her chests, lost his bearings, and was having difficulty finding the door. She had listened to him curse and stumble out of the room, then dropped off again, only to later be awoken by his return as he muttered and cursed his way out of his clothes and back into bed.

The distinct odor of ale had reached her as he had shifted restlessly about. It was not surprising really; Duncan ever seemed to reek of the stuff. His plaid carried the scent like the clouds carried rain. Still, the smell had been fresh on him last night, and she was sure he had slipped below for a tankard or two. Probably to help him sleep, she had decided, and pretended to be asleep, ignoring the way he had tossed and turned beside her.

She had nearly drifted off again when he was suddenly out of bed once more, dressing himself and making his way from the room. And so the night had passed for her with her husband up and down, in bed and out. He could not have slept long.

That thought in mind, Iliana eased carefully out of bed now, not wishing to disturb him. Grimacing at her aching body, she was as quick as she could manage about her ablutions in the early morning chill of the room.

She tended to her more personal needs first, careful to be sure Duncan was sleeping before seeking out the key to Francesco’s belt. After the difficulty she’d had fetching it from the bed drapes the first morning, Iliana had taken to hiding the key between the upper mattress of feathers and the lower one of straw. Now she sought it out and undid the belt, sighing in relief as the cool air hit her skin.