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A ileana glanced to the door again, breathing a silent prayer for a few more seconds of solitude.

Another snip here, a tug there, and her task would be complete.

She worried her lower lip with her teeth as she cut tiny holes in the last of Duncan’s clean tunics.

A noise outside the door made her stiffen, setting her heart to a thundering gallop. But soon all was quiet again.

Rolling her gaze skyward, she murmured thanks and slipped the scissors into her sleeve. Then she thrust the rolled tunic into a basket and skittered over to her sewing by the fire. She smoothed her skirt, forcing herself to hum softly, her feet tapping to the rhythm.

In the distance she heard Duncan call for his breakfast to be readied. Moments later he entered the chamber, stamping and dripping water. He moved to stand before the fire as a shudder rippled over him, and he shook his wet hair from his eyes with a hearty growl.

Aileana’s heart skipped a beat. His body glistened, shining like wet gold in the morning light. Aside from his plaid, it was clear that he was naked.

“It is getting a bit cold to be bathing outside now, is it not?” she murmured.

“Nay. It is never too cold to be clean.” He watched her for a moment, gray eyes inscrutable. Then he began to unwind the plaid from his torso. “In truth, you might find the practice a welcome change from your heated baths.”

“Nay.” Aileana kept her gaze trained to the floor, studying the pattern of the thick woolen rug beneath her feet.

She tried to look submissive, but her lips kept twitching upward of their own accord.

“Such sport is not for me. I prefer to stay indoors like all of the other wee creatures who know when it is time to hide against winter’s breath.

” She glanced up and bit her treacherous lips.

“Why just yesterday, I found some of my kin curled in the corner of the hall downstairs.”

Duncan’s gaze snapped to meet hers, and he ceased rubbing a linen towel over his arms and chest. She added smoothly, “It was a nest of puir, wee mousies. Pitiful they were, though clever enough to nip me with their teeth when I squeezed them too hard.”

Duncan stiffened, and she was glad to have reminded him of his earlier insult, comparing her to a tiny mouse caught in the great cavern of his keep.

Aileana twisted a bit of yarn round her finger till the tip turned white, trying to keep her thoughts trained on revenge, rather than the expanse of Duncan’s naked chest. Scarred as he was, it was still a magnificent sight.

Finally he commented, “I hope you got rid of them all.” His gaze flickered. “We’ve no room for creatures either weak or cunning within these walls.”

“Don’t fear,” Aileana murmured. “I remedied the sit uation.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Quite satisfactorily, I think.”

Standing, she flapped the skirt she was pretending to mend and folded it atop the ruined tunics in the basket.

“Now it is time for me to wash up before breaking my fast. Since you are going to be using this chamber at the moment, do I have your permission to go into the kitchen for the basin there?” She gritted her teeth, forcing the words out in a tone of sweet subservience.

Duncan impaled her with his gaze, making her feel both hot and cold at the same time, before turning his back to her. “Aye, I suppose it will be all right this time.” He grabbed a fresh square of linen from the warming rack before the fire and rubbed it over his wet hair.

Aileana felt an unexpected twisting in her belly. He bore scars on his back as well, but the muscles beneath the scarred flesh undulated with every movement in a dance of sheer perfection. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to feel that warmth and strength under her palms.

“Do not linger too long in the kitchens or try to help in serving the meal,” he said, jerking her from her reverie. He stiffened when he commanded, “And meet me at the table in time to break your fast with me.”

The suspicion in his voice stifled the heat burgeoning through Aileana. She murmured her assent and turned to go, focusing again on her plots and plans, and silently counting the minutes it would take until the seeds of her little surprise blossomed into the sweet fruit of vengeance.

Before many minutes had passed, Bridgid puffed to her side at the table.

“Ach, Duncan’s coming, missy, and he is looking for you.

” She shook her head, adding, “Sure he’s bringing the storms of hell with him.

I haven’t seen him so angry since the day he brought you home to live with us.

” Bridgid colored hearty red. “Not that I think poorly on your living here, mind you.”

Aileana concentrated on tearing her bread into chunks. “There’s no need to explain. I know how Duncan feels about me, and it does not hurt me to voice it aloud.”

Bridgid’s face relaxed a little. “Aye, well, be that as it may, he’s in a fine fettle. He’s got cracks of lightning behind his eyes, so you’d best watch yourself.”

Nodding, Aileana picked up her mug of ale and took a big swallow.

Heaven help her, but she’d pulled the lion’s tail this time.

She only hoped she hadn’t gone too far. Over the rim of her mug she saw Duncan approach from across the hall, and a shiver swept up her spine.

When he stopped right in front of her at the table, she gained the full measure of his appearance, and a choking cough escaped her.

“Is something amiss?” he thundered. More than just lightning flashed in his silvery eyes; it was a full-blown tempest.

“The ale,” she choked. “I must have swallowed wrong.”

He stood before her, legs planted in a wide stance.

Many of the hall’s other occupants stopped to stare at the odd figure cut by their fierce leader.

The only normal thing about him was the plaid draped across his torso and thighs.

His long-sleeved tunic and his leggings gaped from scores of holes.

A few large spots were stitched together to wrinkle in bunched folds. He looked ridiculous.

Exactly as she’d intended.

Only she hadn’t thought he’d have the gall to wear the ruined garments so boldly into the hall.

“I’m waiting. Have you nothing to say?” His voice echoed quiet and deadly, spreading hot tingles over her.

Blinking up at him, she tried to school her face into impassive lines. “Nay, other than to wonder why you’re dressed so strangely this morn.” She blinked again.

“I was thinking you would enlighten me on that count.” A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he leaned forward. “Now.”

Aileana swallowed. After a long pause, she shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. “The wee mousies had a hand in it, perhaps?” Her gaze brushed over his ruined garments. “The mites were making a nest with scraps of just that color, now that I think on it.”

His jaw clenched again, and she saw him suck in his breath. But then suddenly something in his expression altered. The tightness around his mouth relaxed, so much so that for a moment, Aileana thought he was going to laugh.

“From the look of me, woman, we’re housing a ravenous pack of she-wolves.”

Relief flooded Aileana. That he could jest boded well. “Aye,” she murmured, her expression as grave as she could make it. “It is possible.”

“Possible,” he echoed, his lips twitching as he sat down next to her, “yet unlikely.” Pouring himself a full mug of ale, he took a long drink, then pushed it aside to look at her again.

“But wolves or mice, the creatures had better possess skill with a needle and thread to mend the damage they’ve done. ”

“And if they refuse to comply?”

Duncan’s brows arched at her boldness. He shook his head as he took another drink of his ale.

“If the beasties refuse, their own garments will meet a worse fate. Then they will find themselves roaming the castle naked to the skin for all to see.” He cast a sidelong glance at her, and her heart pulsed faster.

Aileana looked away, willing her voice to remain steady. “That would be an unkind measure to take considering the chill that’s set upon the land.” Taking a swallow of ale for strength, she added, “They might catch their death of cold, not to mention their modesty.”

“Ah, but what is lost in modesty is gained in pleasure for the rest of us.”

“Pleasure?” Her cheeks heated at his implication.

“The pleasure of winning the sport your wee creatures have begun, of course,” Duncan answered smoothly. “It’s a fine thing to best an adversary in battle.”

Aileana remained silent, glancing at him, unsure how to proceed with this new and somehow unsettling Duncan.

He fixed his quicksilver gaze on her. “I, for one, try never to overlook an enemy’s strengths,” he continued. “Or special skills.” He pushed his trencher of food toward her. “Care for a bit of breakfast?”

“Nay, I’ve eaten.”

“Oh, but I insist.”

Aileana clenched her jaw and took a finger full of the oat mash. Curse him. Being made to taste his food at every meal was almost as bad as being banned from the kitchens.

“It is fine,” she mumbled, standing up to leave.

“I’m relieved.”

She scowled and nodded to go. But before she took even three steps, Duncan’s voice rumbled behind her, laughter and warning mingling in a rich timbre.

“Do not forget to instruct your wee friends on the task that lies ahead of them, now. If my clothing still bears holes by the time the sun sets on the loch, the morning light will be illuminating a great deal more of the guilty ones than they ever thought to show.”

Aileana bit back her angry response and stalked on toward the curving stairway—and the room full of mending that awaited her—with Duncan’s hearty chuckle sounding in her ears as she went.

She tightened her fists and compressed her lips, his amusement pushing her steps to haste and pricking her with the bitter gall of defeat.