Page 18 of Scandalous Passions

Janet tilted her head. “In a loch, I’d wager many,” she replied coolly. “But you should get dressed so we might break bread and then recommence our journey. The driver is readying the horses.”

“Of course.”

Miserable, unable to meet Sir Lachlan’s eyes after her shameful display, Marjorie waded back to shore. Janet had been so kind, so generous, had deigned to show her the most exquisite pleasure imaginable, and this was how she repaid her.

Why could she never do anything right?

Chapter Five

The rest of the journey to St. Andrews passed without incident; rather unfortunate, when he wanted nothing more than to take out his frustration on some hapless brigand.

Lachlan slowed Storm to his least-favored pace, a slow walk, as they approached the stone wall announcing the boundary of the king’s former property, the estate now belonging to Lady Janet.

How could he have been such a damned fool?

She had told him she required loyalty from a lover. That she did not appreciate straying. And the very next day, he’d had another woman in his arms: her virgin ward.

A woman he’d been overwhelmingly tempted by.

Lady Marjorie was sweet. So innocent. She’d made him laugh with her jests about the fish. But there had been nothing sweet or innocent in the way she’d rubbed her ample breasts against him and scraped his chest with large pink nipples that her shift hadn’t fully concealed. Or the needy little whimper. Lady Marjorie might have been imprisoned in a convent most of her life, but like water rising behind a wall of sand, he suspected she was ready to burst forth and embrace the ways of lust. That made her a threat to both his willpower and peace of mind. To bed her, even to want her, would be to betray Lady Janet and his friend the king.

Unthinkable.

“This the place, sir?” the wagon driver asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Lachlan glanced back at him, and the man gave him a look of such naked hope that he almost smiled. The driver would return home to Stirling in the morning, and it seemed that after their eventful journey, that moment could not come swiftly enough. “Aye,” Lachlan said.

“Very nice. All them trees to lessen the ocean winds, a little stream…fine home too. The ladies will be happy here.”

That remained to be seen. St. Andrews had gathered many great minds, and Scotland’s first university had been founded by papal bull nearly one hundred years prior. Lady Janet would probably enjoy renewing acquaintances she’d made through the king and her late husband, and challenging the scholars with her learning and bold opinions. But the small town was also an ecclesiastical center, with pilgrims from all corners journeying to the ancient cathedral. In that she had never seen eye to eye with the church, and Lady Marjorie had endured such an unpleasant experience in her convent—not to mention that Lady Janet had always shone in the glittering, unruly world of the Scottish court…

Lachlan grimaced. Paradise or purgatory.

With a light click of Storm’s reins, they moved toward the sturdy wooden gate. Moments later, an armed guard appeared.

“Halt in the name of—oh, good evening, Sir Lachlan. The ladies are in the wagon?”

“Aye,” he replied, grunting in approval at the alert guard, the gate that swung open on well-oiled hinges, and the wall in good repair. James might have visited the place only a few times each year, but they were prepared. “Ready for supper. And rest.”

The guard nodded. “All is well. The king sent word, and the servants are eager to welcome their new mistress.”

“Good,” said Lachlan, riding on. The path from the gate to the manor was well kept and free of rocks; no doubt the ladies would appreciate it. He couldn’t imagine how sore they would be after two days’ travel in a wagon. A few years prior, during a bloody battle with a few clan chiefs who’d rebelled against the king’s authority, he had been injured and transported in such a manner. Torturous was the word he would use to describe that swaying, jolting journey.

As soon as he dismounted, a young lad bounded up to take Storm away to the stables to be fed and watered, giving him time for a brief inspection of the manor while he waited for the wagon.

Folding his arms, Lachlan let his gaze travel over the large modern stone buildings. Indeed, they were fit for a king. To the left sat the kitchens, buttery, larder, and granary, connected to the main manor by a covered walkway. The ground floor included the hall, warmed by two fireplaces, and a chapel. Upstairs were the private rooms—the bedchambers and a solar for the ladies to read, play music, or embroider in. Over to the right were the flower and herb gardens, an orchard, and he could hear the faint sound of the stream splashing against small rocks as it wound its way toward the sea. Further afield were the king’s hunting grounds, an expanse of deep-green forest that he would make full use of to provide fowl and meat for the table.

“Lachlan! Help me down from this devil-plagued contraption.”

He stifled a grin. The wagon hadn’t even stopped moving, and Lady Janet near dangled from the back in her haste to be free of the confinement. “Aye, lady.”

He marched over to carefully tug free the rest of the leather cover that she had partially opened. Then he reached up, gripped Lady Janet’s waist, and lowered her to the ground. Just for a moment, she slumped against him, and he grimaced in sympathy as he took the opportunity to touch her further, rubbing her back as gently as he could.

“I swear, by all the saints, I am never traveling in a wagon again,” she muttered, actually permitting him to ease her aching body, and his heart leaped.

“No need,” he replied. “Fine stable here.”

Far sooner than he wished, Lady Janet stepped away and smiled wearily. “I’m glad to hear it, although all I want this night is something that does not move, so soft I can sink into it. Oh yes, and enough wine to launch a ship.”