The Key

The Key

Dunbar Keep,ScotlandJune 1395

“Marry what?”

“Not a what! Awho . And as I have already said, the king would consider it a great favor
if you would marry Lady Iliana Wildwood.” Lord Rolfe Kenwick glared at the Scot before
him, silently cursing King Richard II for sending him on this quest. This was the second
wedding he had arranged in as many months, the first being that of his own cousin Emmalene
to Amaury de Aneford. He supposed he should be grateful that that wedding had been easy.
This one was proving next to impossible.

“An English.” Duncan Dunbar grimaced in distaste at the idea. “Aye. Tis sure I am that he
would consider it a favor fer me to take one o' his pasty-faced cows off his hands. What
is she, one of his by-blows?”

“You” His temper finally snapping, Rolfe grabbed for the hilt of his sword.

“Nay.”

His sword half out of its sheath, Rolfe paused and glanced at the man who had spoken.
Bishop Wykeham. King Richard had pressed the retired prelate back into service to marry
Emmalene and Amaury. That chore done, however, he had not been allowed to return quietly
to retirement. Nay. On their arrival at court to report the success of their mission, they
had learned of another marriage that must take place in haste, one to protect Lady
Wildwood. Oddly enough, to afford that protection to Lady Wildwood, her daughter must
marry as soon as possible, and to someone who lived as far from Wildwood manor in
southernEnglandas they could manage on such short notice.

Scotlandhad seemed the best bet. The problem was that they needed a nobleman who was not
already betrothed and who could be bribed into marriage. There were few men like that
around. Most of the nobility saw their children betrothed ere they were walking. The only
man who came close to fitting their needs had been Angus Dunbar, the aging widower and
clan chief of theDunbars.

Unfortunately, Angus had made it more than clear that he had no interest in remarrying, no
matter what was offered as an incentive. Just when Rolfe had thought he would have to
return to his king in failure, the old man had suggested they make the offer to his son,
Duncan. Nearly thirty though he was, he was still unmarried. His betrothed had died young,
and rather than arrange another match for his son, theDunbar had left it forDuncanto tend
to in his own time.

“Nay,” Bishop Wykeham repeated now in answer to the Scot. “Lady Wildwood is the daughter
of a wealthy baron who died while in service to the king inIreland.”

Sighing, Rolfe let his sword slide back into its sheath, adding, “She has a most generous
dowry.” “Hmm.”Duncan's lips pursed in obvious disappointment. “How generous?”

Rolfe repeated the amount King Richard had quoted to him, frowning slightly when the Scot
showed no reaction. Shifting, he added reluctantly, “If that is not enough, the king has
agreed to add to it.”

Duncancontinued to stare, apparently unimpressed.

“How much is the king willing to add?” Angus asked, speaking for the first time since
leading them to his son.

“He would go so far as to double it,” Rolfe admitted reluctantly, worried that by the lack
of response of theDunbarseven that would not be enough. Much to his amazement, the
youngerDunbarcursed at that, drew his sword, whirled away with a roar, and charged off
across the courtyard, his plaid slapping against his legs as he ran.

Everyone in the bailey paused to watch him race madly toward a small group of men
practicing at battle. Reaching the nearest of them, he released a second roar and raised
his sword high. That warrior immediately brought his own sword up and the clang of metal
meeting metal rang through the bailey. As if it were some sort of cue, all who had stopped
went about their business again, wholly unconcerned by the man's daft behavior.

Turning slowly to Angus Dunbar, Rolfe raised one eyebrow in question.

“He be thinkin' on it,” the old Scot explained with a toothy grin. “We'll go in an' have a
mug o' ale while he decides.” Turning away, he started up the steps to the keep.

Shaking his head, Rolfe glanced at the bishop. “What think you?”

“I think we should have a mug o' ale and await his decision,” the bishop murmured with
amusement; then seeing the younger man's bewilderment, clapped a hand on his back, urging
him toward the stairs. “You have not had much experience of Scots, have you, my boy?”

“Nay,” Rolfe admitted with a slight frown.

“Well, I have had some small opportunity to deal with them and I should tell you, they are
not like the English.”

“Aye.” Rolfe grimaced. “I had come to that conclusion myself.”

***

“Ho! And what is it has me brother so afire?”

Recognizing his sister's voice,Duncanplowed his free fist into the jaw of the man whose
sword was locked with his own Without waiting to see him fall to the ground, he turned,
drove the tip of his sword into the ground, grabbed Seonaid up in a bear hug, and whirled
her around. “Congratulate me, sweetling. Tis a happy man I be.”

“I can see that, brother.” She laughed breathlessly as he dropped her lightly back to her
feet. She

stepped back, grinning broadly, andDuncansaw that she was accompanied by their two
cousins, Allistair and Aelfread. “Now tell me why,” his sister said.

“What is it I have dreamed of doin' since I turned eighteen? What is it I have worked the
men near to death fer? What would I ask fer were I given a wish?”

Hands propped on her hips, Seonaid Dunbar tipped her head to the side. “Enlarge the castle
and replace the crumbling old wall that surrounds it?”

“Aye.”Duncancould barely contain his glee. “We shall do that now. That an' more. We shall
dig a new well. Purchase fine horses. We shall e'en increase the size o' our flock o'
sheep!”

“And how would ye be plannin' to manage all that?” Seonaid asked skeptically.

“With coins from the English king.”

“Oh, aye,” Seonaid shared a disbeliving glance with the men around them. “And why exactly
would the king ofEnglandbe givin' ye so much wealth?”

“He wants me to marry an Englishman's whelp.”

“Marry?” The word was a bare whisper. Seonaid looked stunned, even a little hurt, and
Duncan's amusement faded, replaced with the beginnings of guilt.

Seonaid was his only sibling. She had been his only playmate as a child until their uncle
had died and his children, Allistair and Aelfread, had come to live with them. Then it had
been the four of them rolling and romping in the muck, tromping through the woods, and
hunting or playing at games of war. When it had come time for the two boys to train in
battle, Aelfread and Seonaid had joined in the practice sessions as if it were their
right, and no one had said them nay. Both women now handled the sword with a skill equal
to any man's.

“She must be a cow for the king to pay so handsomely,” Allistair said with disdain as he
moved to stand beside Seonaid.

“Aye, the veriest cow,” Aelfread agreed, taking up position on Seonaid's other side.

Ignoring his cousins,Duncanpeered silently at his sister, taking in her pale face and
pinched lips. Like him, she had inherited theDunbarheight almost matching his own six
feet. But whereDuncanwas thick through the shoulders and chest, she was svelte, and
whereDuncanhad their father's wavy red-brown tresses, Seonaid had inherited their mother's
coloring. Her hair was black as night, flowing straight down her back like water out of a
pail. She was strong, beautiful, twenty-four years old, and still not wed.

Cursing,Duncanturned away.

“Where be ye going?” Seonaid grasped at his arm.

Covering her hand with his own, he flashed her a reassuring smile. “I've some hagglin' to
do,” he murmured, then gently pulled free and headed for the keep.

He would marry the English. He would marry her for the money. But he would also marry her
for Seonaid, for he would ask a favor of the king in return.Duncanwould see Seonaid
married. He would

have the king force Lord Sherwell, his sister's betrothed, to either fulfill their
betrothal contract or set her free to marry another. Either way, she would no longer
beleft in the limbo that made her so unhappy.

Duncanhad decided.

“The English be comin'!”

“What?” Angus Dunbar shook his gray head and roused himself from the semi-stupor he had
been enjoying to peer around. The stablemaster's young son was slipping back through the
open door of the keep. “Ho! Lad! What was that?”

'The English be acomin' over the bridge!" the boy cried, his faced wreathed in excitement
as he turned away and slammed the keep door.

“Damn!” Staggering to his feet, Angus gave the man who lay slumped at the table beside him
a shake. “ Duncan! Wake up, lad. She be here. Wake up, damn ye!”

Grabbing a pitcher of ale off the table, he turned his son's head by the hair and splashed
it in his face, then stepped quickly out of the way asDuncancame to sputtering life.
“Rouse yerself, man! Yer bride be here.”

“Me what?” Duncan tried to frown and squint at the same time, but found the effort to
accomplish either task made the pulsing in his head increase to a horrid pounding.
Groaning miserably, he lowered it to the table again.

He had definitely overindulged; in fact, Duncan could not recall the last time he had
imbibed like that. He and his father had been on a binge since the English had left two
weeks earlier. At least he thought it had been two weeks ago. They had been celebrating
ever since. Well, mayhap they had been holding more of a wake. He, Duncan Dunbar, heir to
the title of laird of the Dunbars, had agreed to be married. At the age of twenty-nine, he
was finally giving up his freedom and taking on the responsibility of a wife and,
eventually, children.

Damn. Now he'd done it. He'd gotten himself into a fix that made him fair froth to even
consider. Even the fortune he had been offered no longer seemed worth losing his freedom.
Mayhap 'twas not too late to back out of the deal, he thought hopefully.

“Where the devil did your sister get to? Seonaid should be here to greet the lass.”

Duncan sighed, his hopes for escape vanishing. Were he to back out now, the king would not
be under any obligation to see to Seonaid's long-neglected betrothal. It had been his one
demand before agreeing to the wedding, rather than asking for a doubling of the dowry. His
sister's reluctant groom was to be brought to heel and either forced to fulfill the
contract that had been arranged when they were children, or to set Seonaid free. The
latter option was what Duncan hoped for. He was sure his father would never forgive him
should Sherwell arrive prepared to fulfill his part of the contract.

“Damn ye, Duncan, they are here I tell ye! Rouse yerself, man!”

That bellow near his ear drove all thought out of Duncan's head. Eyes popping open, he was
about to force himself to sit up when a second pitcher, this one full of whiskey, splashed
into his face. That brought him upright at once, cursing and spluttering as the liquid
burned his eyes. “Dammit father, I be awake! Jist give me a minute to”

“There be no minute to give ye. Git up, man!” Grabbing his arm, the Dunbar tugged Duncan
to his feet, then sighed at the sight he made.

“Ye've blinded me! Damn ye!”

“It'll pass. But ye've ale and whiskey all over ye, lad,” his father chastised gruffly,
taking up a comer of his own plaid to wipe roughly at his face.

“Aye, well,ye put it there, didn't ye?” Duncan muttered, grabbing at the cloth moving
across his face and trying to use it to wipe at his burning eyes.

“Never mind that.” Angus tugged the plaid away and straightened it about himself, then
turned toward the door. “Come along.”

“I cannot see!” Duncan protested, still rubbing at his eyes.

“Then I shall lead ye! I want to see the mother o' me grandbabies.”

“We are no even wed yet. Father. 'Twill be awhile ere there is fruit from
it,”Duncanmuttered, allowing himself to be dragged across the great hall.

“Nine months. Tis all the time I'll be givin' ye. Then I expect the squall o' bairns to
echo off these old walls. It has been too long since that sound has filled these hollow
chambers.”

Pushing the keep doors open, his father dragged him out onto the steps and paused as he
saw the riders crossing the bailey toward them.

“Damn,” Angus murmured suddenly. “Damn me all to hell.”

“What?”Duncanscowled into the bleary distance. All he could make out was the blur of a
large party crossing the bailey toward them on horseback.

“She's bonnie.”

“Bonnie?”

“Aye. No beauty, but bonnie. She looks fair delicate, though,” he added, worry obvious in
his tones. “A real lady. Sits her mount like a queen, she does. Her wee back straight as a
sword... Aye, a real lady.”

Duncanwatched the blurred figures draw nearer suspiciously. “What exactly do ya mean by
areal lady? ”

“I mean the kind that'll no approve o' yer sister's shenanigans,” he said dryly, then
shook his head. “Mark me words, lad. Yon wee Sassenach lass'll set this place to rights
straight off.”

Duncanfrowned over that. To his mind, there was nothing that needed setting to rights
atDunbar.

“All well.” The older man sighed resignedly. “We couldna expect to live the grand
bachelor's life forever.”

“Which one do you think he is, my lady?” Iliana Wildwood gave a start at that question and
drew her eyes from the two men standing on the keep steps to glance worriedly down at her
maid.

Seated in the wagon that held all of their belongings, Ebba's plain face was aglow with
excitement. An excitement most likely born of the fact that they would no longer be
sleeping in the open, Iliana thought with a sigh, but she could not blame the other woman.
They had been riding from dawn to well into the evenings, and camping in two inches of
mud, for over a week.

“Of course, you do not know either,” the maid murmured apologetically when her mistress
remained silent.

“Nay,” Iliana admitted faintly, her now troubled gaze returning to the men in question.
She had assumed that the younger of the two was to be her husband, but now realized that
she could be wrong. Young women were married off to old men all the time, but she had not
even considered that. Not once during the long, dreary trip here had she thought to ask
what her betrothed was like. If he was cruel or kind. Strong in battle or not. If he had
all his teeth and was healthy.

Sighing, she shook her head in self-disgust at her own oversight. And oversight it had
surely been. Though to be fair, shehad been slightly distracted of late, what with her
father's death and her mother's predicament. Between one worry and another, she had quite
neglected to consider the possibility that her husband might be much older than herself.
Considering that possibility now, she began to nibble at her lip anxiously.

Both men were attractive in their own way. 'Twas obvious they were father and son. The son
appeared to be in his late twenties, while the father was at least fifty. The son's hair
was a reddish brown and long and wavy. The father's hair was a mass of wiry white strings
that shot in every direction from his head. The son's face was hard and strong, all planes
and edges like the land they had crossed to reach him. The father's, just so, but with
Innes of character to soften it. Both men had generous mouths, strong noses, and eyes she
suspected could be both hard and gentle. They were also both tall and hard and lean of
body.

“ 'Tis the younger one,” Bishop Wykeham murmured from where he rode at her other side,
drawing a grateful smile from Iliana that lingered until they reached the base of the
steps. Then she got her first really good look at the two men. Her smile was immediately
replaced with a frown of dismay as she took in their tattered garments and filthy faces.

Iliana had paid little attention to the people in the bailey as she had crossed it. Now
she shifted, craning her neck to peer about, and immediately began to worry at her lip as
she saw that they appeared in need of a good cleaning and some attention. Their clothes
were worn and stained, their hair shaggy and unkempt, and most of their faces dirty. As
for the bailey and the keep itself, both were in sore need of repair.

“LadyWildwood.”

Iliana turned at that bluff greeting, unaware that she was still frowning as she met the
gaze of her future father-in-law.

Startled by her expression, the older man reached back to grab his son's shoulder. “Help
'er down, Duncan,” he ordered, giving his son a shove forward that sent him stumbling into
the side of her mare.

Iliana peered wide-eyed at the grimy hands that were now raised in her general direction,
then glanced to their owner's dirt-streaked face and red-eyed, squinting state. Swallowing
unhappily, she reluctantly released her reins and slid off her mount. He caught her easily
and set her gently on the ground, and Iliana swiftly stepped away from him, unable to keep
her nose from wrinkling at the heavy, stale scent of ale, spirits, and sweat that wafted
from him.

Despite his squinting,Duncanevidently caught her action, for he raised an arm to sniff at
himself, then shrugged. He smelled fine to himself, though she smelled finer. There was
the scent of wildflowers about her.

“My lords.” Iliana dropped a curtsy, then hesitated and peered toward the bishop for help.
She felt quite out of her depth in this situation, and she had no idea what to say or
do.This was the man she was to many. A veritable stranger... who stank.

“Mayhap we should move indoors, Angus,” the bishop suggested gently. “It has been a long
journey and refreshments would not go armss.”

“Oh, aye. This way, lass.” Suddenly remembering his somewhat rusty manners, Angus Dunbar
took Iliana's arm and turned to lead her up the stairs to the keep, leaving the others to
follow.

The older man's legs were a fair sight longer than hers. She had to grab up the hem of her
skirt and nearly run to keep up with him. By the time they reached the top step, she was
panting slightly from the effort.

Taking in her breathless state, Angus frowned at her worriedly. “Frail,” he muttered to
himself with a sad shake of the head.

Iliana caught the word but had little time to worry over it as he opened the door
ofDunbarkeep and her attention was turned to what was to be her new home. If she had hoped
that the inside would show more promise than the outside, she had been sorely mistaken.
'Twas an old building. A set of stairs to her right led up to a second floor where a
narrow walkway had three doors leading off of it. Bed chambers, she guessed, turning to
survey the great hall. It took up most of the main floor and was a large, dark cave with
arrow slits for windows that were too high up for the feeble beams of light they allowed
inside to penetrate the gloom in the room. If not for the fire roaring in a large
fireplace against the far wall, she doubted she would have been able to see anything.

Which might not have been a bad thing, she thought with dismay, taking it all in. The
floor was covered with filthy rushes, the walls were marked and smoke stained, the
tapestries that graced them showed the effects of age and neglect, and the trestle tables
and benches looked as if they were quite ready to give up the ghost. Iliana was almost
afraid to sit on them, and not just because they appeared about to shatter under the least
weight, but because they were also stained and splattered with grease and bits of food.

She was appalled. Wildwood, her childhood home, had been run efficiently and well. One
could almost eat off the tabletop there. The floors no longer spotted rushes, but several
rugs that were warmer in

winter and softer underfoot. Iliana had never seen the likes of this place and did not
know whether to burst into tears or turn and flee. She simply could not live like this,
could not manage amid such filth.

“Some ale?” Oblivious of her thoughts, the laird ofDunbarushered her to the table and
pushed her down onto one of those frightful benches. He then reached for a pitcher,
straightened, saw that she had risen to her feet again, and frowned slightly as he pushed
her back onto the seat with his free hand. “Rest, lass. Ye've had a long trip.”

She watched, horrified, as he grabbed a nearby tankard, emptied the dregs of ale that
still remained in it out onto the floor, then grabbed up a pitcher, only to scowl. “ Tis
empty. Oh, aye, I er...”

The man's gaze slid enigmatically to his son, who scowled; then Angus started to turn
toward the kitchen, only to pause and frown as he saw that Iliana had stood once again.
Grunting, he pushed her back down onto the bench before bellowing toward the kitchen door,
“Giorsal! Bring me more ale, wench!”

Turning back, he saw that Iliana had risen once more and his scowl deepened. “Yer rather
like a rabbit, are ye no, lass? I press ye down and ye pop right back up. Settle yerself,”
he instructed not unkindly and pressed her back onto the bench before his gaze slid over
her head.

He began a storm of twitching and nodding then. Iliana began to think the poor man was
suffering a fit, until she glanced over her shoulder and saw his son standing behind her,
squinting at the signals his father was giving him.

Growing impatient, the elderDunbarfinally snapped, “Set yerself beside her, lad. Woo her a
bit.”

“Woo her?”Duncanwas taken aback. “We are getting wed, Da. Not acourtin'.”

Angus Dunbar rolled his eyes at that, then peered at Bishop Wykeham as if for
commiseration. “The young today, eh, Bishop?” He shook his head, then his attention was
caught by a gray-haired woman who entered the room from what Iliana suspected were the
kitchens. “All, good. Refreshments.” Taking the pitcher from her, he handed the empty one
over, then turned to pour the liquid into the tankard he had decided would be Iliana's.
Filling it to the brim, he set it before her, then moved on to first empty, then fill,
tankards for the bishop and Lord Rolfe.

Iliana lifted the tankard she had been given toward her mouth, only to pause and stare
down into the murky drink doubtfully. There appeared to be something foreign floating on
the top of the liquid. It was a bug of some sort.