Page 2 of Scandalous Passions

“Your Grace,” she murmured, sinking into a deep curtsy.

James Stewart wasn’t a tall man or especially broad shouldered, but his fashionable, fiercely intelligent presence filled a room. Visitors were often lulled by his easy charm, humor, and gift for languages, but those shrewd brown eyes missed nothing. He’d won several decisive victories on the battlefield and lured back many Scottish nobles who had abandoned the court in disgust because the previous king had disastrously surrounded himself with advisers who were tailors and masons.

“False meekness from my fiery lass is unbecoming,” he continued sharply. “Look at me and explain why you disobeyed my order. Do you know the trouble you’ve caused me? The queen is in a lather.”

Janet bit her tongue, lest she comment on the tiresome lathers of a fourteen-year-old queen. The king had wed for duty, not love, and an unhappy wife could mean trouble with England. “Forgive me. I meant no disrespect to Her Grace.”

Her former lover sighed. “King Henry has at last sent Margaret’s second dowry installment. And money for her expenses. She and her retinue of English ladies are damned expensive…I cannot afford any unpleasantness. Our peace treaty is uneasy at best.”

“Your Grace—”

“You must leave, Jannie,” said James, his temper easing to familiar affection. “I’ve sent away all my mistresses. All my bairns. It claws my soul, but such is the burden of a king with an unsteady crown.”

Her shoulders slumped. To be forced to leave Stirling Castle, the only place that had ever truly felt like home, was a crushing blow. “When?”

James took her hands and squeezed them, smiling sadly even as his relief shone through at her acquiescence. “Tomorrow, beloved.”

So soon! Plainly, he would not be turned or teased in this matter. Rejection by the king, her former lover and dear friend, hurt more than words could express.

“Where must I go?”

“I am granting you land near St. Andrews. Fresh air, excellent hunting. I shall visit when I can. Sir Lachlan will escort you there and keep you safe henceforth.”

Janet froze.

What?

…

Sir Lachlan will escort you there. And keep you safe henceforth.

The king’s words had the impact of a boulder into a pond, so startling that Lachlan could scarcely comprehend them.

In one breath, he’d been granted his dearest wish—to be close to Lady Janet Fraser, the woman who dominated every lusty dream he’d ever had—but also forced to face his worst fear: sent from the king’s side, a position of favor he’d held for seventeen years.

His early childhood had been pleasant enough; his bold, strong, and affectionate mother was the cherished mistress of a laird. But one winter day, they’d been out walking, and a raiding party from a rival clan had knocked him unconscious and taken her. Days later, her body was recovered, and all light disappeared from his life. With his mother gone and his father inconsolable and turning on him, his half brothers took the opportunity to show him a disdain and resentment that became crueler as the years passed.

Until he grew and began to best them in fights, of course.

Then his father had taken notice and started training him with longsword, pike, mace, and dagger. At just thirteen summers, he’d fought his first battle—against that rival clan. His father had been killed, but they’d won a decisive victory, and important men had taken note of Lachlan’s size and skill. Mere weeks later he’d been brought to court to serve as a guard and companion to then Prince James. They had done everything together: fought battles the length and breadth of Scotland, bedded comely wenches, drank taverns dry. James had ensured Lachlan mastered French and Latin, and he in turn helped James with Gaelic so he might converse easier with those in the Highlands.

But now…his king—his close friend—was sending him away.

Lachlan squared his shoulders against the harsh and unexpected blow. Yet he couldn’t remain silent. Or stoic. Not in regard to this.

“Your Grace,” he began, taking a breath to slow his words, lest he humiliate himself in front of Lady Janet. The king knew of his longstanding and most wretched speech affliction—how he deliberately spoke in short, clipped sentences to manage it—and now waited patiently for his question. “You wish me…to stay at St. Andrews?”

James glanced over at Lady Janet. “Will you excuse us a moment, Jannie?”

The redheaded beauty stared back at him, her green eyes blazing with hurt, but she eventually curtsied and retreated to the sun-warmed window seat to give them some privacy.

“My fiery lass is unhappy with me,” said James with a rueful smile as he absently pulled his purple-velvet ermine-lined mantle tighter about his shoulders. “But she’ll soon see ’tis for the best.”

“I did not think,” replied Lachlan carefully, not wanting to offend the king, “that you would send me t-to protect Lady Janet in her new home. Have I d-displeased you?”

“No! The very opposite. I ask this boon because you are the only man in Scotland I dare trust with the task. Yet I confess, Jannie is but one half of it. She does not know it yet, but I am awarding her guardianship of Lady Marjorie Hepburn until I decide on a husband for the lass. So you see, I am placing not one but two precious jewels in your care. Because I know you will not mistreat or hold them captive for your own ends but protect them with your life.”

Lachlan nodded. Everyone knew of the king’s affection for Lady Janet, and his ward was quite a marriage prize, despite her unfortunate father. Men would commit devilish acts to command women far less valuable than these. But while he could see it pained the king to send the three of them away, James was a practical man. Queen Margaret did not appreciate beautiful unwed Highland ladies at court, and the king had a peace treaty with England to maintain.