Scandalous Passions

by Nicola Davidson

  “Are you sure?” asked Lachlan. “That will be…hurtful for you.”

  Janet took a deep breath. “I wish only for your happiness. I understand it is a child that will make you happy, and you have my blessing. Yes, if you succeed I will be joyful, but there will be days that hurt. When I am envious and sad, disappointed and angry that my body always failed me in this one task. On those days I will need special care. Patience and compassion and reassurance that I have much to offer this trio.”

  “But you do!” burst out Marjorie. “You are the fire that sparks us. The armor that protects. The wise woman who lovingly nurtures.”

  “Nurture?” her mistress looked at her, brow furrowed. “Me? How can you say that when I prefer someone else coddles and comforts the upsets?”

  Lachlan cleared his throat. “Not all show love…the same way. Some do with words. Others with touch. But commanders show they c-care…with acts. When they lead. When they resolve. When they teach. When they guide others…safely home. A child needs words. Touch. And acts. They will need you. As we do.”

  “Always,” said Marjorie.

  “Well,” said Janet, her eyes overbright. “Well.”

  “May I undress you, mistress?”

  “You may.”

  Sliding from Lachlan’s lap—unable to halt a whimper when the movement sent a jolt to her aching, burning center—Marjorie helped Janet remove her hood, girdle, and scarlet gown, then kirtle and shift, shoes and stockings. For a moment she allowed herself the pleasure of just gazing on Janet’s beautiful body, the long sleek limbs, those sweet pale-brown nipples, the tight red curls that covered her mound.

  “The way you two look at me,” said Janet softly, “is quite something. As though I am the most beautiful woman in the world, and you cannot wait to worship me. Is that blasphemous?”

  “Nay. Only truth,” said Lachlan, taking his engorged cock in hand and rubbing it absently.

  Marjorie squeezed her thighs together, aching for the moment she would be stuffed full. For this time, there would be no anxiety of the unknown, no pinch of pain, only pure pleasure.

  Janet laughed. “Then let it be known that I am ready and quite, quite willing to be worshipped by you both.”

  “If you insist,” he replied, his eyes glinting before arranging several large cushions on the floor to sit on and resting his head on the chaise.

  Going up on her toes, Marjorie kissed Janet, sighing in delight when her mistress returned it in full measure, all demanding lips and darting tongue. She could taste a little of her own musky honey, and anticipation swept through her.

  Pleasure, together. A child…together.

  Wetter than she’d ever been, Marjorie dropped to her knees and crawled to Lachlan. He nodded his permission, his gaze almost black with lust as she took his thick cock in her hands and gently caressed it before flicking the swollen head with just the tip of her tongue, back and forth until she had the taste of him in her mouth. Then, she straddled his thighs and guided his cock to her entrance, dampening him further with her own honey as her greedy cunt welcomed him inside.

  They both moaned.

  Nimble as a cat, Janet arranged herself to be pleasured with both feet on the floor, her cunt above Lachlan’s face, and her arms braced behind her on the chaise. When she teased him with her bush, Lachlan growled, his chin jerking in an attempt to reach the concealed treat. But today their mistress was in a benevolent mood, and she soon lowered herself enough so he could penetrate her with his tongue.

  Marjorie had never seen anything so erotic.

  “Ride him, dear one,” commanded Janet, her eyes growing heavy lidded as Lachlan plundered her cunt, his big hands gripping her thighs. “Master that thick cock. And touch your pearl. I want to watch you pleasure yourself. It is one of my favorite things.”

  Using Lachlan’s chest and her knees for leverage, Marjorie began to move. The sensation of fullness and his cock throbbing inside her made her gasp, but when her inner walls clamped around him and he bucked, she fully understood her sensual power. Then, as her eyes darted between Janet’s avid gaze and the heady sight of Lachlan feasting, Marjorie slid her free hand between her legs, teasing her pearl as she circled her hips. But soon, far too soon, the urgent need for release overwhelmed her, and she moved faster and faster, rising and falling on her husband’s cock, her fingertips frantically rubbing her swollen pearl.

  Janet’s head fell back, and as she ground her cunt against Lachlan’s face, a low scream tore from her throat. Such a beautifully uninhibited sight sent Marjorie over the edge, and a moment later her world splintered, hurling her into a perfect storm of acute pleasure. Her cry echoed around the solar, her release only strengthened when Lachlan’s hips bucked again, ramming his cock deep inside her and flooding her with hot seed.

  When she at last returned to her senses, Marjorie found herself cradled against Lachlan’s chest, his arm curved around her waist. Janet lay on her side next to her, rearranging cushions, freeing trapped locks of hair, and wiping Lachlan’s face clean with the hem of her shift.

  Marjorie tried to move, but she was so warm and comfortable it was a half-hearted attempt at best. “Forgive me, Lachlan,” she mumbled. “Limbs disobeying.”

  A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I shall survive.”

  “I hope so,” said Janet. “We have many more positions to try. I’m quite certain one of them will result in Marjorie conceiving a child.”

  Marjorie reached out and linked her fingers with Janet’s. “I love you. So very much. And you, Lachlan, my man pillow.”

  “Pleased to be…of service. To my ladies.”

  Janet smiled. “I’ve decided we’re going to live boldly, scandalously, and very happily ever after.”

  Marjorie nodded, her heart overflowing with bliss. “Yes, mistress.”

  Epilogue

  St. Andrews, September 1504

  “Wine. Did I order enough wine? And where is that fishmonger? I made it plain I would tolerate no mischief when it came to delivery. At least the butcher is reliable. It only took two gentle reminders for him to realize he must provide the finest cuts of beef and lamb within the day…”

  Stifling a grin, Janet watched Marjorie pace the larder, requiring no other body for her conversation. At her side paced Belle, the one-eyed kitchen pup of unknown breeds who had followed Marjorie home from the market a month prior, decided to stay, and nipped backsides on command. The way her lover had blossomed with the responsibility of managing the household delighted her to no end. Marjorie reveled in her tasks and had the merchants in town dancing to her tune.

  “A short walk, dear one? It is a little overwarm in here.”

  Marjorie huffed out a breath. “We have a great deal to prepare for the banquet tonight. Guests are coming from as far as Edinburgh. You said a small gathering of like-minded souls, but it’s nearly half the court!”

  “You love it.”

  Smiling sheepishly, Marjorie nodded. “I do. I just feel so useful. And accomplished.”

  For the moment they were alone, so Janet kissed her. “Because you are. My ladies banquets shall become renowned. Both for the food and wine, and the blunt, detailed bedchamber advice given afterward. As the worst sinner in Scotland, I feel eminently qualified to provide such important knowledge.”

  “Worst sinner? Or legendary lady of lust?”

  Janet nodded thoughtfully and tucked Marjorie’s arm through hers, deliberately brushing her breast and making her quiver. “I may be introduced just so from this day forward. Now, let us go and watch Lachlan train. He should be sufficiently sweat-dampened.”

  “Some air would be welcome,” admitted Marjorie as they left the larder and made their way outdoors to the courtyard. “One of the chefs is preparing a mushroom sauce, and the scent I once loved is now turning my stomach. I dare not tell Lachlan; he’ll probably toss the man into a pric
kly hedgerow. This morning he threatened to tie me to the bed if I did not rest. By the saints, I’ve only missed one bleed. We do not know for sure.”

  “I fear our Beast will become quite unbearable if you are with child. I may have to tie him to the bed. And administer a gag.”

  “I do not believe he would consider that a punishment, mistress.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we could make it so,” said Janet with a wink, and Marjorie laughed.

  After the heat of the kitchens, the cool autumn air refreshed her face, although she was glad of her cloak. It could get very windy in St. Andrews. Fortunately the makeshift battlefield Lachlan had constructed to train young lads for future service to the king was mostly protected by the stables to one side and a solid hedgerow on the other.

  “He’s a good teacher,” said Marjorie as they approached the roped-off area. Several lads waited in a line with swords in hand for their turn, all watching Lachlan correct the stance and grip of those in another small group. “So patient.”

  “There is no better than the king’s champion. And with the school under royal warrant, James will have properly trained men when he needs to summon an army. Even with an English-born queen, I think there will always be tensions.”

  Both women sighed a little when Lachlan began demonstrating advance and retreat. The way he moved. Deadly, precise, ruthless, and yet so graceful, as though the longsword was part of him, an extension of his brawny arms. More than a few cocky young ones had found themselves sprawled on the ground, a sword tip to the throat, when they’d made the grave mistake of thinking Lachlan’s enormous size or his age meant he would be slow or ungainly.

  “Ladies,” Lachlan hailed, and after pairing the lads off to practice, he walked over to where they stood.

  Janet smiled, making an effort to not lick her lips at how deliciously rumpled and manly he looked. “Marjorie and I did not mean to interrupt. We just wished to admire you raising a sweat.”

  “They are a mixed g-group of lads,” said Lachlan, wiping his brow with a cool cloth. “Some very good. Some terrible.”

  Janet and Marjorie exchanged smirks.

  “Yes,” said Marjorie. “Lads.”

  “Far more accurate to say nine lads and one lass,” said Janet wryly.

  His jaw dropped. “You know?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I have known Lady Isla Sutherland since her birth. Why she wants to wear a wig, bind her breasts, and handle swords is her own business, but I’m quite sure her cold and falsely virtuous parents have no idea of this particular pastime.”

  “It’s not right,” Lachlan grumbled. “Lady with a longsword. I should…send her away.”

  “Why don’t you, then?” asked Marjorie, her eyes glinting.

  Lachlan scowled, and both ladies burst out laughing. They all knew full well it would do no good. From her first lesson, it had been clear Isla was unusually talented, spirited, and stubborn as an ornery goat. Sometimes she fell down, but she always got up, watched Lachlan intently, mimicked his actions, and demanded further tutoring. If he sent her away, Isla would no doubt change her clothes and wig and march straight back. Highland lasses were indeed a law unto themselves. Besides, when she mastered a skill, Lachlan preened unashamedly afterward. He would be the most wonderful father.

  “Will this lesson go for much longer, pet?” asked Janet.

  “Not very,” said Lachlan, his expression turning hopeful. “You need me?”

  “Always,” said Marjorie.

  He placed his hand over his heart and inclined his head, his gaze hot and loving, just the way they liked it. “Then I shall j-join you soon. In the solar?”

  “Aye,” said Janet demurely. “We’ll be on the chaise…embroidering.”

  “I adore embroidering,” added Marjorie. “For hours and hours.”

  Lachlan near galloped back to his students, and Janet and Marjorie linked arms and turned to walk back to the manor.

  A man and a woman to love. All with tasks that delighted and fulfilled.

  Life was indeed paradise.

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  Acknowledgments

  I am grateful to many people who helped bring Scandalous Passions to life. My CP, Sherilee Gray, for her longstanding support and encouragement in writing the erotic books of my heart, especially the queer ones. Those in the Wicked Wallflowers Coven and on social media, whose cheerleading and many kindnesses keep me going. My readers—you are the very best. Those excited emails, messages, and tweets mean the world. And my editor, Lydia Sharp: thank you for championing this book and offering constructive guidance plus all the smiley faces an author could want.

  I consulted the following in my research:

  Scotland: A Concise History by Fitzroy Maclean

  The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Royal Britain by Charles Phillips

  Corsets and Codpieces: A Social History of Outrageous Fashion by Karen Bowman

  A History of Scotland by Neil Oliver

  Margaret Tudor, Queen of Scots: The Life of King Henry VIII’s Sister by Sarah-Beth Watkins

  “In all gudly haste”: The Formation of Marriage in Scotland, c. 1350-1600 by Heather Parker

  ‘Origins and Development of St. Andrews’ in St. Andrews Conservation Area Appraisal and Management Plan by Fife Council

  The Online Etymology Dictionary

  Mister Slang’s Timelines of Slang (Jonathon Green)

  www.stirlingcastle.scot

  www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/stirling/stirlingcastle

  About the Author

  New Zealander Nicola Davidson always adored words, romance and history, so writing historical romance was a logical career progression…er, eventually. After completing a communications degree and journalism diploma she left to teach English in Taiwan and travel through Asia before returning home to work in television. Jobs in tertiary education, local government communications and print media followed, but the lords and ladies in her head wouldn’t hold their peace a moment longer and so began the years of professional daydreaming. When not chained to a computer writing wickedly sexy, witty and twisty turny stories, Nicola can be found ambling along a beach, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team or driving her nearest and dearest batty with her history geekisms, chocolate hoarding and complete lack of domestic skills.

  Also by Nicola Davidson

  His Forbidden Lady

  One Forbidden Knight

  The Fallen Series

  Surrender to Sin

  The Devil’s Submission

  The Seduction of Viscount Vice

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