Page 19 of Scandalous Passions

“You’ll have it,” he promised, glancing over to see dozens of servants gathering on the steps of the manor to welcome them. “All is ready.”

“I shall go and greet the servants. Would you assist Marjorie for me? She is not well.”

Lachlan hesitated, but it was concern in her gaze rather than anger or trickery, and he nodded. “We’ll meet you…in the hall.”

When he turned back to the wagon, Lady Marjorie was waiting for him, face pale and shoulders stooped with fatigue. Wordlessly, he reached up for her, and she near flopped into his arms. At first he set her on the ground, but when her legs buckled, he scooped her up, and she looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears.

“I do not like wagon travel,” she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Worse than fish kisses,” he replied gruffly, hating to see her upset, but when Lady Marjorie’s laugh was watery at best, he added quickly, “Don’t cry. There’ll be wine.”

“Wine is well and good, but all I want is bed.”

Lachlan gritted his teeth. Only the worst of men would think lustful thoughts of a highborn virgin in desperate need of rest and comfort. Yet his mind taunted him with a vision of Lady Marjorie in the thin shift that concealed nothing, reclining on a large pile of pillows, reaching for him…demanding he pleasure her with his mouth…demanding he take her…

No.

He needed to stay as far away as possible until this madness passed. He loved and wanted Lady Janet. Had done so for years, and those feelings had not dimmed one bit. A good man—a worthy man—did not have tender feelings for more than one woman.

Indeed, if he just avoided Lady Marjorie, all would be well.

Surely.

…

When Sir Lachlan carried her from the wagon into the manor so easily, so carefully, she had wanted to cling to his broad chest and never let go. Now, when the three of them sat at the end of the long rectangular oak table, eating supper, he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

And it was entirely her fault. He wasn’t her husband, betrothed, or family member but a bodyguard appointed by the king. Yet she kept touching him, throwing herself at him, when he clearly did not wish her to do so. Just because she admired him did not mean he returned the sentiment, and she needed to accept that like a sensible grown woman.

Alas, far easier said than done.

Unhappily, Marjorie mopped up the last of her delicious chicken-and-vegetable broth with a chunk of soft white bread. As though the cook and kitchen staff knew exactly how tired they all were, how unsettled their stomachs and aching their bones, they had served a simple, tasty supper that didn’t require any carving—and, as promised, a great deal of French wine. But even as her body sighed with appreciation, her spirits remained low, and for a moment she missed the familiarity of the convent. She had disliked the strictness and confinement, but at least she’d known her place in the world. Outside it, she walked on a cliff edge, always unsure if the next thing she said or did would be acceptable or deserving of reprimand or punishment. The rules were just so…arbitrary. A woman could be celebrated or shunned for a deed at any given moment, and on many occasions, both.

She turned to Janet, who sat at the head of the table. “How do you find your broth?”

“I never thought chicken broth would be worthy of song, but I’m tempted. Much as I love a feast, I have no desire to fall asleep atop a boar’s head or dressed goose. The kitchen staff—actually, all the servants here are excellent. I was cautious, understanding full well that they would know of me and might disapprove of the choices I’ve made in my life. But none have as much as quirked an eyebrow.”

Sir Lachlan took a gulp of wine, then cleared his throat. “If anyone should…tell me. I will resolve it.”

Janet grinned and leaned over to pat his hand. “You are a treasure. But I am quite adept at thunder and brimstone when the need arises. Everyone soon learns that life is pleasant when my rules are obeyed.”

“Very pleasant,” he rasped, and Janet’s cheeks went a little pink.

Marjorie stilled at the banked heat, the knowledge and intimacy in their exchanged glance.

Of course. Janet and Sir Lachlan were lovers.

Embarrassment at how long it had taken for her to see the plainly obvious made her wince, but another emotion swiftly engulfed that: pure envy. Janet, a widow, and Sir Lachlan, a bachelor, had all the freedom in the world to indulge in an affair. Especially now that Janet had her own land, her own home. It was all so unfair. Because of her late father’s actions, Marjorie had been imprisoned for sixteen years, and now, rather than being able to choose a younger, virile lover like Sir Lachlan, she would be forced to wed at the king’s desire. Yes, Janet had said the king was a romantic at heart and not to give up hope of a happy marriage, but it was hard to imagine that outcome. She’d seen the men at court, the nobles and lairds and dignitaries. Marriages were never a reward for the lady but usually for a man’s long service to the crown or to join the lands of two great families.

A scream of frustration about to tear from deep inside her, Marjorie abruptly pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “Forgive me, Janet, Sir Lachlan. My, ah, stomach is still unsettled after the journey, and I would like nothing more than to lie down.”

Sir Lachlan stared at her, his lips parting as though he might speak before they clamped shut.

Janet’s gaze was all sympathy. “Poor dear. I had the servants put your trunks upstairs in the chamber next to mine. Second door on the left side of the hallway. I’ll send up some hot water for a sponge bath and visit you later.”

“Thank you. Good evening,” said Marjorie with a curtsy, then she turned and walked out of the dining hall.

Fortunately it was not yet dark outside, and with the manor boasting a number of windows with expensive glass panes, she could see without the need for a torch or candle. The stairs were wooden, and while she winced a little at the heavy thud of her footsteps, at least they weren’t spiral to make her head spin more than it already was.