Page 3 of Scandalous Passions

“And Lady Janet?” Lachlan asked. “Is she to be m-married also?”

“I wager not. Jannie has expressed no desire to wed again, for she loved Master Fraser well. Besides. She is a woman of thirty-three summers, and barren. Men want a younger wife who can give them heirs,” said the king with a shrug almost cruel in its dismissiveness.

Lachlan barely suppressed a snort. Maybe noblemen or those with a crown did, but even after thirty summers, he felt no great urge for a family. A tall flame-haired wife with a saucy tongue and plentiful spirit…well, that was a different matter entirely. Not even on his deathbed would he confess the lewd, forbidden thoughts he had about Lady Janet most nights. Those slender, bejeweled fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed his face between her thighs. Her long legs straddling him as she rode him hard. Her pouty lips wrapped around his cock or whispering wicked demands in his ear.

Alas, the chance of having such a highborn, intelligent beauty in his bed was as likely as the sun rising in the west. Lady Janet had been the king’s mistress and then wed Fergus Fraser, a privy councillor and learned scholar who’d studied ancient manuscripts and even practiced alchemy. Who had written verse as fine as William Dunbar’s.

A worthy man.

Far better than a landless knight with little means and only his sword arm to offer. In truth, Lachlan was still unused to hearing Sir before his name. He had climbed high for a bastard son, and there were those who hated him for it. None had dared to challenge him as yet, but he remained ever watchful, ever ready to slay an enemy. He was the king’s Highland Beast, after all.

“Of course, Your Grace. Many heirs,” Lachlan muttered eventually, wanting to kick himself for his poor conversation. James had never once mocked his speech or his lack of learning, but it was hard to feel anything other than inadequate in front of someone so gifted. The king could speak on any topic, with any man, even change language from one sentence to the next. He was equally comfortable with envoys from foreign lands as he was breaking bread with a lowly crofter. It was how he’d taken a realm torn apart with lawlessness, deceit, and divided loyalties after his father’s disastrous reign and slowly, painstakingly began to sew it back together.

James smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll go with my blessing and friendship. And a bag of gold. Do not think for a moment I am ungrateful for your service and loyalty. No one has been a better companion, and as I said, I would trust no other with this task. Have you met the Lady Marjorie?”

“I have not.”

But I am curious about this young woman—imprisoned most of her life—whom I must protect. Is she plotting revenge? Broken of soul? Excessively pious? Something else entirely?

“Virgin still,” James explained, “but a buxom little beauty made for long nights in bed. If Margaret were not here…”

Lachlan almost smiled as James sighed irritably and leaned against a cloth-covered oak table. The king’s gifts were not limited to matters of state. He could charm the birds from the trees, and many a fair maiden had happily surrendered her virtue to him. James loved women. All women. If his young English queen expected fidelity, she would be sorely disappointed, but at this time she had thwarted his romantic plans.

“Have you told Lady Marjorie of her fate?” Lachlan asked.

“Not yet. But soon…ah, here she is now,” said James, as the heavy chamber door swung open.

Lachlan turned. And almost forgot to breathe.

For there stood a beautiful young woman, brown haired and petite, wearing a modest linen gown that in no way disguised what must be the plumpest, most luscious curves in Scotland. About as different from tall, slender, flame-haired Lady Janet as possible and yet equally as alluring.

He would be guarding both.

Strictly forbidden from either.

God’s blood. Purgatory on earth, indeed.

…

King James was the last man she wanted to see this day. Yet as ever in her life, she had no say in the matter.

Lady Marjorie Hepburn nodded at the guard who held the chamber door open for her, an opportunity to pause and catch her breath after hauling her plump form up the stairs at great pace to escape the condemning gazes and sneers below. She’d been a fool to think Stirling Castle would be different from imprisonment in the cold, bleak, and lonely convent. There might be men here, the rooms finely furnished, and the clothing fashionable, but she was still unwanted. Still blamed for something her late father had done. Still the young girl she’d once been, yearning for a kind word, an affectionate touch, even one person to love her…and finding none.

The dream that had sustained her in the convent—how exciting and magical life would be at court—had dwindled now. She had found no freedom behind these ancient stone walls; no laughter or new friends to confide in; no gentle, chivalrous knight to kiss her hand or recite poetry. As ward of the king and existing entirely at his pleasure and mercy, the most she could hope for was a Scottish husband of means who wouldn’t beat her and was young and healthy enough to give her the children she’d always wanted. As a mother, with sons and daughters to lavish affection on, she might at long last find purpose alongside that other elusive emotion: happiness.

The king smiled. “Lady Marjorie, I bid you welcome. Forgive me for not seeing you sooner, but I had a great many matters of state to attend to.”

His tone was affable, but as he moved toward her, she could hear a clinking sound, and her heart sank. The convent prioress’s cold warning had been true. James did wear an iron chain of penance under his doublet, in sorrow over his father’s death. Like the courtiers downstairs, he would never forget the high treason Lord Hepburn had been party to.

“Your Grace,” she whispered, curtsying deeply. “It is an…an honor to be here.”

“Your chamber is comfortable?”

“It is lovely. The tapestries are beautiful.”

“Good, good. There is someone I wish you to meet,” said the king, gesturing to his right.

“Of course…” Marjorie’s voice trailed off as her mouth abruptly forgot how to form words.