THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

question to mind. Why hadn’t Beth mentioned the ladies? True, she’d been too overwrought initially, but not now. Mayhap, she could furnish their names. If she still found their passing too painful to discuss, he would let the matter pass. They were, after all, dead, and ‘twas naught he could do to rectify that. “How goes the labor in the chapel and fields?”
    “In the chapel, slow but steady. The guards report all’s quiet about the oat and rye.” Angus cleared his throat. “I need bring another matter to your attention.”
    “Aye?”
    “Eleanor’s mother is dead.”
    “Dead?” Kenning the old hag hadn’t a clan to run to after he’d banished her from Blackstone, Duncan hadn’t the heart to drive her off his lands entirely. She was often seen lurking along the border of his and the Bruce’s lands. He now hoped she hadn’t been murdered. “How?”
    “According to Betty, the woman who sheltered her, on the same night Lady Beth arrived, the old crone grew highly agitated. Thinking the cause the storm, Betty tried to calm her, but she only grew more crazed. After two days of constant keening and senseless raving, she simply died.” Angus shrugged. “Thinking ye’d not object, I ordered her buried quickly and without ceremony up yon.”
    Duncan blew out a breath, relieved to his marrow that he wouldn’t have to seek revenge for a dead woman he’d despised. “Verra good.”
    Angus sheathed his dirk and finally grinned. “And ye will, no doubt, be pleased to hear the bloody bush ye’ve been coddling these past two years has finally bloomed.”
    Duncan laughed. “‘Tis not a brush, ye heathen, ‘tis a tree. A lemon tree.”
    Duncan had fallen in love with its fragrant blossoms and fruit while on his way to the Holy Land. Two years ago he had asked a friend in Italia to ship one to him. He’d potted the wee scrawny branch the moment it arrived and had nursed it through two winters in his solar. He grinned. In the span of a few more full moons he would once again hold the beautiful, golden fruit in his hands.
      Angus grinned. “Need ye anything else?”
      “Aye. The next time ye come this way please bring my diary and writing tools.” He wiggled a brow. “I must record this momentous occasion.”
      Angus bowed with his right hand over his heart. “As my liege lord commands.”
      Duncan laughed. They’d grown up together, played and fought like brothers. “Out with ye, fool, and send in my wife.”
      Aye, this time God had dealt fairly with him. He had provided the prized fruit as compensation for giving him an addled wife.
     
     
     
    Chapter 10
     
    Two days later Beth poked at the cold, overcooked joints of lamb and questionable blood pudding—their cook’s fifteenth century version of lunch—-and wanted to pull her hair out.
    Bad food aside, every time she had Duncan alone and tried to restart her story, something or someone had interrupted them.
    This morning it had been Miss I’m Too Sexy for My Clothes, Flora Campbell. The woman had rushed in whining about some dispute she was having with another woman over drying cloth or dying wool—Beth still wasn’t sure which. Duncan then had to hear the other woman’s version of events. As far as Beth could tell, given their rapid and odd phrasing, the altercation had started over rights to a favorite work area.
    It took an hour for Duncan to sort out the truth. All the ladies’ hair snatching and swatting stemmed from jealousy. The older woman had apparently caught Flora flirting with her man. Duncan had sternly admonished them both and set them to working on alternate days. Neither looked too pleased as they left. Then Angus arrived and on it went.
    Beth looked about. Most in the castle were eating. She decided now was as good a time as any to try seeing Duncan again. She stood and quickly turned.
    Her nose collided with her husband’s chest.
    He grabbed her shoulders to keep her from toppling. “Be ye all right, my lady? I didna mean to startle ye.”
    She cradled her poor nose with her fingers and tried to blink the sting away. “What are you doing downstairs? You should be resting.”
    He made one of his thick humphing sounds at the back of his throat in answer and scanned the room. Beth glared at Angus, now standing behind her husband’s shoulder. He just shrugged.
    Seeing she’d get no help from that quarter, she said, “Duncan, you could relapse if you overtire.”
    “Relapse?”
    She wanted to cuff his