THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

armed protection. She would have endangered herself and the holding. Dumbfounded, he shook his head in utter disbelief.
    Before he could ask another question, a scullery lass arrived with fresh water. “Out!” He wasna allowing his softheaded wife to change his dressing again quite yet. His stomach still shook from the last change.
    “Duncan, your hair needs to be washed.” Beth wrinkled her nose.
    “Oh.” He nodded to the girl. “My apologies, lass. Do as my lady wife lustes.” 
    Beth ordered him flat on his back. After the girl left, Beth tapped the container in her hands. “What do you call this?
    “A posnet.”
    “I call it a pan.” She positioned it under his neck then scooped warm water over his head, carefully shielding his eyes as she did it. “Do you understand—-ken—most of what I say?”
    “Not all, but most.” He relaxed as her hands gently massaged soap into his hair and scalp. He’d been a wee bairn the last time anyone other than he had washed his hair. How odd—-and kind—-that she should think to do this.
    “Duncan, I’m confused by how I got here.” She paused. “Do you know?”
    He looked up into her glossy, clear gray eyes, her confusion and distress were quite evident as she bit her bottom lip and blinked away threatening tears.
    Taken together—her question, odd ways, and her plans for her castle—-he decided his wife was merely addled. If Isaac is correct, if there was a plot afoot, she had to be only a pawn in a game in which she had no knowledge.
    He would bed her as soon as possible, yet he still couldn’t spill his seed within her. He had to discover—for his heir’s sake—if her coddled brain resulted from heredity or from being coshed on the head. Given her odd turn of mind, the task wouldn’t be an easy one.
    “Doth it matter how ye came to be here, lass? Ye be here, we be legally wed, and I shall protect ye.”
    She snorted as her hands continued their lulling magic on his scalp. “Duncan, it’s not that simple. Doesn’t it bother you that we’re married but have no love for each other? That we don’t even know each other?”
    “Nay, ‘tis the way of marriage. We shall grow accustomed to one another in time.”
    “I doubt I’ll ever grow accustomed to anything in this time. I don’t even know what’s expected of me.” 
    He grinned, “Practice patience.” He then had a brilliant thought. “Can ye read, lass?”
    “Yes.” She sounded affronted. “I can also calculate percentages in my head, but that’s not going to help.” She started rinsing his hair. “It’s upsetting having someone like Flora looking askance at me because I can’t speak French, and having Rachael dress me. I feel like an idiot here. I want to go home.”
    Her voice sounded so plaintive, so bairn-like, he almost smiled. How had this poor addled woman, living in France since her husband’s death, survived? “Wife, I ken the solution to yer woes.”
    “You do?” To his disappointment her hands began making quick work of drying his hair. “Truly?”
    “Truly. On the morrow, ye shall have the answers ye seek.”
    “Bless you, Duncan Angus MacDougall!” To his utter surprise, she gave him a resounding kiss on the lips. And she tasted of mint.
    ~#~
     
    Beth’s euphoria dissolved like cotton candy in her mouth, gone before she had a chance to fully enjoy it. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she stared at Duncan’s solution to all her problems—-a book entitled What The Goodwife Taught Her Daughter . Knowing she’d likely be reduced to hysterics, she did neither, and opened the leather bound volume under his watchful gaze. She slowly scanned the pages. The author had fixated on table manners, but the book’s main emphasis stressed piety, deference, and of all things, restraint. Just what she needed—-more restraints, as if donning headgear, mountains of velvet, and curtsying constantly weren’t restrictive enough.
    She closed the book and turned the ring on her still sensitive fingers. Funny, she’d always thought that if she ever wore such a band it would represent love, commitment, and the promise of common goals. When an annoying burn started at the back of her throat she sniffed and smoothed down the pleats of her bodice.
    She had no right to complain. Despite her looks and lack of education, she now owned a castle and had a husband, abrasive and annoying as they both managed to be at times. She should be thanking God for his largess, not