"I am dealing with the strange urge to putter over you," Duncan admitted, amused, to Dierdre, once the healer had her salved and gauzed as much as could be done. "I don't think I've ever puttered over anyone before. It's very novel."

She smiled, tiredly. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking over his bruised face. "There isn't really much to putter over." She had lain down on the bed, propped up by pillows. "I'm fine, you know."

"You took your hide off," he said, suddenly less than amused. "You still might get fever. Moreover, you nearly made your husband shit his pants in front of the biggest pile of worm-riddled tallfolk refuse in Cnoch-na-Niall." He sighed, and sat down at last. "You scared me."

"I won't get fever," Dierdre answered stubbornly. "It was just some skin. She grimaced. "I'm sorry. I thought he would let you out."

He shook his head. "I figured he'd lost his mind. Or else he was drunk. So help me, I never saw it coming."

"He was obviously trying to discredit you," Dierdre said. "To what end, I'm not sure..." She sighed. "I don't know if he thinks it would win my favor, or if he just dislikes you that much. What happened?"

Duncan rubbed at his jaw. "I was talking to one of the bard when he just . . . walked up and started ranting at me that someone had told him that I was the one who stole the countess's wee niece. And then he punched me. So I threatened to kill him if he didn't stop punching me. It didn't help much."

"Well, you didn't make good on your threat, obviously," Dierdre said, sounding a bit grumpy. "What...where did he get this from? What a ridiculous thing to say."

He paused. "From your lady in red."

Dierdre winced. "And he believed her?" she asked. "That woman..." She grimaced. "I wouldn't trust a thing she says."