Page 34 of Scandalous Passions

“Lachlan, my pet,” said Janet, her tone unusually gentle. “I’m going to ask a rather personal question. Of course you are free to refuse, but I hope you will answer.”

“Ask,” he replied stiffly.

“Does it hurt for you to speak? I mean, more than a few words and your mouth hurts? Maybe an old injury?”

Lachlan went rigid, now more like a cornered Beast, his gaze darting between them as though searching for escape. “No.”

Bolder than she’d ever been in her life, Marjorie said softly, “We know your mind is swift and sharp. How else would you be such a magnificent warrior? But maybe…your mouth is slower? In my mind I run like a Thoroughbred. But everything bounces, and my knees hurt, and I move more like that cursed wagon. It is terribly frustrating.”

He stared at the rug, his free hand gripping his thigh so hard his knuckles were white.

“I have…a speech affliction,” Lachlan rasped eventually, his gaze remaining resolutely down. “Words get stuck in m-my mouth. I know…I know what I w-want to s-say. But it does n-not work. Since I was a boy. The k-king knows. No one else. I say little. I pause. So they d-do not laugh. What man cannot speak?”

Janet reached out and grasped his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Heed me well, Lachlan. The king assigned you as protector, but I choose to have you as a companion. You have proven in deeds, on countless occasions, that you are a man of great courage, loyalty, and skill. A man of great character. An exemplary lover. I understand you will always be aware of your battle scars. And your speech. But neither of those things changes how I feel about you. Not one bit. You are the Highland Beast. My pet.”

He shuddered, staring at Janet. Then he turned and looked at Marjorie, and the rawness of old shame, the burgeoning hope in his glistening eyes, struck her to the core. Those were emotions she knew all too well.

Marjorie beamed at him before kissing his cheek. Janet curled against his other side, and they held him tightly, stroking his hair, murmuring words of praise for sharing his painful secret with them. Gradually Lachlan began to relax, and they nudged him down onto the cushion and covered him with their bodies. He shuddered again, and a brawny arm slid around each of them, clamping them to his chest.

How long they lay together like that—with the warmth of the early-afternoon sun on their faces, the only sounds the stream and a few birds—she could not say.

Well, the only sounds except for her stomach. Mortified, Marjorie pressed on it, but naturally, it let out a second gurgle more like a thunderclap. “Do forgive me.”

Lachlan slowly sat up. “I must feed you b-both. Both.”

“What is in the basket?” asked Janet.

“Bread. Cheese. Apple tarts. A dish of berries.”

Somehow, the simple meal was the best she’d tasted, and Marjorie sighed in bliss as they finished all the food and the last of the wine.

Abruptly, Janet laughed. “My dear, you have a spot of berry juice on your chin. Let me assist you.”

She lifted her chin, thinking Janet would wipe it away with her thumb. Instead, her guardian cupped her cheek, flicking the spot with her tongue before kissing her deeply. A jolt ran through her body, centering between her legs, and she moaned.

Lachlan watched them, his gaze glittering. “The sun is overwarm. We should return indoors.”

“Agreed,” said Janet wickedly. “My ward requires further lessons. She must learn how it feels to have a man’s tongue on her pearl and in her cunt. Also, she should observe me riding my lover until he bucks like a stallion.”

“Until his lover…screams with p-pleasure.”

Excited beyond words, Marjorie put on her stockings and shoes before scrambling to her feet. “I’m ready.”

When Janet had put on her stockings and shoes, they repacked the baskets and returned to the manor at a much brisker pace than they had left it. Nothing needed to be said; they all had the same purpose in mind. The solar and its sturdy chaise.

But when they reached the front door, a servant met them there, holding a missive.

“Letter came while you were out, mistress,” he said, bowing respectfully. “From Stirling Castle.”

As though all three had been doused in icy water, they froze.

“Thank you,” said Janet, her smile forced. “You may go.”

Once the servant had left them, Janet took the small eating knife attached to her girdle and slid the blade under the red sealing wax. Then she unfolded the parchment and began to read. When her face went gray and she pressed a hand to her breast, Marjorie’s heart plummeted.

“What does it say?” she choked out.

“The king?” growled Lachlan.