“I wonder what we are having for supper,” said Marjorie awkwardly into the silence. “I find I am hungry. Very hungry.”
Lady Janet smiled briefly as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her hood. “It has been quite the day. I understand there will be beef. Fowl also. I must admit, after living at Stirling Castle—and before that, traveling with the king and his privy councillors—I forgot how many tasks are involved in running a household. Food and supplies, linens, stables, servants’ wages and other expenses…attending to the finer details is not something I enjoy overmuch. I prefer to lead the army—or at least entertain them rather than decide how many carrots they may eat or which color hose they wear.”
“I wonder if,” said Marjorie very, very tentatively, “I could help?”
Lachlan almost laughed at the thought of a lady eager to take on those menial tasks, until he saw the wistfulness on her face. “At the convent,” he asked, “did you have…such duties?”
She twisted her fingers together. “The only nun who didn’t tell me to run along and stop bothering her was Sister Elspeth in the kitchens. Her mind was sharp, but her eyes and hands were not so well anymore. So I helped her make lists. What we grew in the gardens, the supply of butter and herbs, of grain and flour. Each week I would make note of all our supplies and tell her. Then when the men came from town in their wagons, with fish and fowl or other goods, I helped to purchase them. Sister Elspeth showed me how to select the best. To know when I was being cheated. Some of the men thought a nun would be sweet and kind and would forgive them their sins if they did so, but Sister Elspeth set the kitchen dog onto them. He was mean and liked to bite ankles and bottoms. They soon learned to bring only the best.”
This time Lachlan couldn’t halt the laugh that rumbled in his chest. Even the thought of sweet little Marjorie and a wily old nun placidly watching a feral kitchen dog latch onto a merchant’s arse after he tried to cheat them with less-than-fresh food…
“Lady Janet,” he said gruffly. “Maybe you could…train Marjorie in your p-preferences. Allow her to assist you. Ease your b-burden.”
Marjorie beamed at him before turning to Lady Janet with so much hope in her eyes it was almost painful to witness. “May I? I should so like to be useful to you. All your favorite foods and wines, and only the freshest and best goods from town. I would personally ensure your table is the finest in St. Andrews. Oh yes, and that you always have the herbs you need for your tonics and poultices.”
Lady Janet held up both hands. “Very well. Very well! I cede control of the larder. You can take charge of the linen cupboard also. Mind you don’t become a tyrant, though. Save that for the marketplace when some fool tries to sell you fish so old it has gray hairs sprouting from the gills. Now, let us go downstairs to supper before they send an army to find us.”
Marjorie near twirled toward the chamber door, but Lachlan paused and stared hard at Lady Janet. “Mistress—”
“No, pet,” she replied softly but firmly. “I have been flung in several directions today, and all I want this night is a full belly and an empty goblet. To make merry. One thing I am equally certain about is a strong aversion to prying questions regarding the private body matter that half of Scotland knows about because everyone shares and comments on it.”
Lachlan hesitated, then took her hand and squeezed it. “Just know…we are here. That we care. If you ever wish to t-talk. As we did b-by the stream.”
Lady Janet’s face shuttered. “I am glad that discussion bought you comfort, but I do not wish the same for my matter. I’ve had enough advice, enough suspicious looks, and enough blunt questions to last ten lifetimes. I will not be pitied. If you cannot obey that simple command…”
Although her voice trailed off, Lachlan knew what she meant, and icy cold fear slithered down his spine. To be banished from Lady Janet’s presence, to live in a world without the fire that warmed him, that urged him to be better…to be without the woman who understood his desire to be owned and commanded in the bedchamber, and brought him greater pleasure than he’d ever known…
Unthinkable.
“As you wish, lady,” he conceded, willing to say anything to return to her good graces, to make her forget that he’d been a blundering fool. As a bastard son, he well knew how it felt to be the object of talk, and as someone who’d had difficulty speaking for as long as he could remember, he also knew how tiresome and sometimes infuriating the advice and pity could be.
No one wanted to be noted for an affliction, one thing they could not change. Especially when they worked so very hard to succeed in other aspects of their lives. He had honed weaponry and battle to a fine art, and Lady Janet was a bold, learned, lusty woman who had conquered kings, nobles, and common men alike.
To have her affection, to live in this manor and sleep in her bed, was a miracle for a man who had long ago stopped believing in such things.
Nothing could be allowed to spoil that.
Nothing.
…
She had done something terribly wrong but had no idea what it was.
Marjorie gripped her wine goblet tighter as dismay churned around and around in her stomach. Supper had indeed been beef and fowl, roasted, with several sauces, plus a selection of jellies, puddings, vegetables, and poached pears in cream. She had eaten more than her fill due to the stilted conversation at the table and Janet’s coolness, and now her belly might well burst open.
Her very first proper bedding had been wonderful. More than wonderful—pure bliss. Never had she felt so free to be herself, so cared for, in her entire life. And then it had all gone wrong. Somehow, she had angered or displeased Janet, one of the two people she would never, ever wish to hurt, and that knowledge clawed her heart.
What on earth could it be?
Marjorie watched in miserable silence as servants bustled about, clearing away the platters of uneaten food, which they would soon enjoy for their own supper. If Janet was particularly angry, would she change her mind in allowing her ward to oversee aspects of the household? That would be a terrible blow. Being alone and unwanted at the convent, then Stirling Castle, had been punishment enough. To be unwanted here…she might not recover from that.
Abruptly, Janet pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Forgive me, both of you, but I think I shall retire for the evening. I can scarcely keep my eyes open.”
Lachlan pressed his hands to the table. “Should we—”
“No.”
The word was said gently but had the impact of a boulder crashing through a roof.
Stricken, Marjorie rose to her feet so quickly her chair tumbled backward with a clatter onto the hall floor. “Janet, what is the matter? What is wrong?”
“Do not fret. I am just very tired. I shall see you in the morning, and we’ll talk further on your duties in regard to the larder and linen closet. Good night, Lachlan. Do escort Marjorie to her chamber when she is ready.”
In stunned silence, they watched their mistress depart the hall without a backward glance. Yet Janet hadn’t marched away at her usual brisk pace, or even walked. It had been more of a shuffle, her shoulders stooped, as though she carried the weight of several castles. As though she had been defeated.
And somehow, that was worse than anything else.
What could possibly defeat a bold tempest like Janet Fraser?
“Lachlan,” she said hoarsely. “What just happened? I feel like I have done or said something terrible, but I don’t know what it is, and I cannot bear it.”
He hesitated, taking far too much care in removing the linen napkin draped over his left shoulder and placing it on the table, and perspiration broke out on her neck. Lachlan knew what it was but did not know how to say it.
By the saints, it truly must be something awful.
“Tell me,” Marjorie demanded, yanking off her own napkin and hurling it onto the table. “Tell me or
I shall go mad.”
“Let’s go upstairs,” he replied, failing utterly in his attempt at a reassuring smile.
After setting her chair to rights and nodding their thanks to the servants clearing away the plates and goblets, Marjorie and Lachlan left the hall and made their way to her chamber. As soon as they were safely inside, away from curious eyes and ears, she hurried over to the fireplace. It wasn’t a cold evening at all, but holding her hands in front of the healthy blaze and listening to the crackle and hiss of burning wood offered some blessed distraction.
“Tell me,” she said, quietly this time.
Lachlan sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “You weren’t to know. H-how could you? And it is my f-fault, in truth. I said something thoughtless. You answered…as a new wife w-would. But we both hurt our mistress.”
“How? What did I say?”
“When you spoke of…conceiving a child. Lady Janet is…b-barren, you see.”
All the air fled her lungs, and Marjorie choked on a horrified gasp. “Oh no. That is…oh no. Lachlan, I was cruel! I didn’t mean to be…but I was!”
Tears gathered in her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. Even when his arm closed around her shoulders and pressed her to his chest, she couldn’t entirely stop them, and she spent several moments sniffling and coughing in a most humiliating manner.
How could I not have known?
Yes, no one had told her, but the evidence was plain. Janet had been the virile king’s mistress for a long time, and while he had several children to other women, they had none together. Then Janet had wed Master Fraser. And she’d had many other lovers, including Lachlan.
But no children. Never any children.
“I am a fool,” Marjorie said painfully. “A fool who does not see what is right in front of her.”
“Not a fool,” said Lachlan as he patted her back. “Just unaware. But now you know. Also know this: Lady Janet d-does not wish…to speak of it. Ever. I believe it c-causes her…great pain.”
She winced. “I understand. But what of us?”
Lachlan guided her to the chair in front of the fireplace before lowering himself to sit on the thick woven rug. “I have thirty summers. My life was…fighting for the k-king. I did not think of ch-children. My mother was wonderful. A strong woman. My father…uh…they did not wed.”
“That is not your sin!”
“Yes. But I lived w-with it. I did not w-want a child t-to suffer as I d-did. Forgive me. My speech gets worse.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said firmly. “Please do go on if you can. I feel I need to know this, even if it stings.”
Lachlan took a deep breath and curled his arms around his knees as though armoring himself. “I didn’t think…to wed. No land, no home. A bastard knight. So I did not w-want children. But now I am w-wed.”
Somehow, she forced the words out, both desperate to know and afraid to hear the answer. “So do you wish to have a child now? A child with me?”
He met her gaze unflinchingly, his face grave. “I am…unsure. Not because of you. But…”
Marjorie closed her eyes briefly, heartsick to her core. “Janet.”
“And our marriage. The queen will f-find out. When you d-don’t go to Carlisle. They may forgive. Or…they may not. I would n-not want to leave a f-fatherless infant. If I am…in prison.”
Slumping back in the chair, Marjorie fought the urge to howl. Not a single thing Lachlan had said could be judged unfair or unreasonable. Their marriage was precarious at best, and one or both could indeed be punished severely for defying a royal decree. Not to mention, her conceiving a child would be very difficult for Janet.
And yet a small, selfish part of her wanted to scream: What about me?
In this fine chamber, when it might seem to an outsider that she had everything she wanted—a strong, protective husband; elegant home; friendship—she could feel her most cherished dream of being a mother slipping from her grasp.
Of all the heartbreaks and disappointments she had taken in her life, this might well be the hardest to bear.
Chapter Eleven
After several nights tossing and turning in his cold and lonely bed, his nickname of Beast had never felt more apt.
Lachlan scowled at the pile of old linen and straw at his feet. A half hour ago, they had been stuffed figures to train with in the small fenced area next to the stables, but not even imagining they were English and slicing them to shreds had improved his temper. Nor had his efforts before that: firing two dozen arrows at a target, hacking fallen tree branches for firewood, or assisting the head gardener till soil.
He might be fragrant with sweat, his muscles burning and twitching with fatigue, but nothing could quell his uncertainty or dread at the unspoken hurt, the cool politeness in the manor. And it wasn’t due to his secret marriage; his conscience felt no pricks about that. But at the prospect of losing Lady Janet or Marjorie…his stomach churned relentlessly.
He had spoken thoughtlessly to Lady Janet that night of the bedding and hadn’t been much better with Marjorie after that. The more he considered the thought of a child with his wife, the more the idea appealed. Just not yet. That is what he should have said; he would like to try for a child, but until they had a clear path for the future, the time wasn’t quite right. Instead, he’d made it seem like Marjorie’s wishes didn’t matter at all.
Not only a failure as a lover but also a husband.
Damned fool.
Leaning down, he scooped up an armful of straw and dropped it into an old sack. The horses could stomp on the remains later in their stalls. Straw men certainly weren’t the best for training—he did miss the king’s armory and James himself to cross swords with—but he needed to remain ready and skilled to face any danger, and the guards here were busy in their duties. As each day took them closer to the queen’s order of an escort for Marjorie to Carlisle, he watched the estate gates like a hawk, ready and willing to protect his ladies.
Swift steps on the cobblestoned courtyard made him tense and turn, but it was Lady Janet walking toward him.
“After such an active morning, you look like a knight in need of refreshment,” she said, holding up a small flagon. “Ale?”
Lachlan nodded cautiously. “Aye.”
“Consider it a peace offering, pet. I have not at all practiced what I preach, and that is to speak plainly. I have allowed distance to grow between us, which is the last thing I desire.”
He took a long swallow of the ale, welcoming the liquid splash to his parched throat as much as the opportunity to gather his thoughts. But there was only one: a relief so great he almost staggered. “I have missed you. I have m-missed…the three of us.”
Lady Janet flinched. “I have also. I hope we can set aside the matter of a child for a time and regain the happiness we found in each other.”
“For a time,” Lachlan agreed. “But we must t-talk of it, mistress. Your w-wishes are important. Marjorie’s are as well. B-both of you are hurting. I have been thoughtless. It is…a bramble p-patch.”
“That it is. For today, at least, I would like the three of us to leave the manor for a little while. To attend the St. Andrews market. Marjorie could show us her skill in managing tradesman and merchants.”
“Aye. I should change m-my shirt first. I must have…a scent about m-me.”
A smile broke out on Lady Janet’s face. “You do, pet. Eau de stable. And you have stray bits of straw in your hair. Attend to yourself, then meet us outside the stables in a quarter hour.”
Once he’d changed into a fresh linen shirt, his usual red doublet, black hose, and mantle, Lachlan finger-combed his hair to ensure no rogue straw remained before returning to the courtyard. One of the stable lads was assisting Lady Janet onto her horse, and he took a moment to appreciate how fine she looked in her dark-green gown. Marjorie already sat
atop her horse, equally lovely in blue, although she appeared uneasy as she glanced between mount and hard ground.
“Ladies,” he said, tipping his hat.
Lady Janet raised an eyebrow. “Courtly of you.”
“Impressed?”
“Not overly. Leap a moat or ride up a staircase on that mighty steed of yours, all blindfolded, however…”
“I shall k-keep that in mind. Marjorie, how might…I impress you?”
His wife tapped her chin. “Fetch me a handful of stars and a unicorn to ride.”
Lachlan smiled as he settled onto Storm’s saddle. The three of them did indeed have much to speak on, but already the air seemed lighter, and his spirits rose. He loved Lady Janet, and his affection for Marjorie grew stronger every day. The two ladies cared a great deal for each other also. Surely nothing could truly come between them.
The guards knew of their planned jaunt to town and respectfully waved them through the main gate. Unlike last time, when he and Marjorie had ridden like the wind to St. Andrews, today’s journey was a comfortable trot. While the breeze was crisp and made him glad of his fur-lined mantle, the sun was trying to peek through clouds and warm them.
“Is it a very large market here?” asked Marjorie.
“Haven’t been for years,” he admitted. “But they are held w-weekly. On Market Street. Most people attend. You might see…some Blackfriars. And Grayfriars.”
“Blackfriars are Dominican order, Grayfriars are Franciscan,” explained Lady Janet.
“Oh!” said Marjorie. “I see. At the convent, merchants and tradesmen had wagons of goods or stalls they used to set up just outside the walls. Do they do the same here?”
Scandalous Passions (Highland Menage) Page 13
