Page 33 of Scandalous Passions

The sound warmed his heart, as did the easy way she lounged. God’s blood, he wished he could declare his heart, but it never seemed to be quite the right time, and he had no wish to make a fool of himself. Instead, Lachlan unpacked the second basket and poured a goblet of wine for each of them. Soon they lay together in companionable silence, the sound of birds chirping and water trickling over ancient rocks enough.

Eventually, Marjorie sat up. “Will you tell us a story from court, Janet? A bawdy one?”

Lady Janet held out her goblet to be refilled. “A bawdy tale? From me? Impossible, my dear. I have led a quiet and scandal-free life…that wasn’t a snort, was it Lachlan?”

“Noooo, my lady,” he replied, unable to halt his lips twitching.

“It was,” she said archly. “For that you may rub my feet. And I’ll tell you a tale of the time I found a French envoy fucking an English border lord in a privy closet. France had England tamed and well conquered, I assure you…”

Soothed by her husky tone, Lachlan settled into his task and circled one thumb into the arch of her foot. Lady Janet had a gift for storytelling; the detail she remembered, alongside her sharp wit and her ability to mimic voices of certain courtiers, amused him to no end.

Some events he recalled, like the occasion she and James had a particularly hot-tempered argument. She’d hurled a goblet—missing the king by several feet at least—which instead flew straight out a window and knocked unconscious a hapless guard taking a piss against the wall. James had sworn he was done with her, a threat which lasted all of an hour. Though they had ceased to be lovers some years prior, all of Scotland knew she remained close to the king’s heart.

At one point his thigh was nudged, and he glanced down to see a small foot before glancing up to see Marjorie’s hopeful smile. He wordlessly shuffled across the rug a little so she could rest her foot on his leg before using his other thumb to rub her instep.

Like this, it was easy to pretend they were both his ladies, unlikely as the dream might be.

“I am getting parched,” said Lady Janet. “It is time for someone else to tell a tale. Lachlan?”

His gut twisted. “Nay,” he said swiftly, refilling her goblet again. “You have the gift.”

She smiled, took a few sips of wine, and launched into a recollection of James and Margaret’s wedding feast the previous year at Edinburgh. Or rather, the antics after the king and queen had retired.

Marjorie’s eyes grew as round as pewter plates as she unsuccessfully attempted to stifle her laughter. “Sword fighting…naked?”

Lady Janet nodded. “Indeed. But then an English envoy cut his leg, so the swords were put to one side. They decided to instead measure their cocks at full mast to declare the winner. ’Tis fortunate the wedding was held in August rather than December; otherwise a thumb might have triumphed.”

“Clearly, Lachlan did not compete,” said Marjorie, her cheeks pink.

“Duties elsewhere,” he replied, his own cheeks burning.

Lady Janet raised her goblet in a salute. “You are admirably dedicated to duty, just like I am admirably dedicated to finishing my wine and resting on this cushion while someone else speaks. My throat is protesting. Lachlan, I’m sure you have many bawdy stories you could tell. All those evenings spent in taverns with the king…”

He did. Probably hundreds. Yet even the thought of attempting such a feat with his affliction made cold sweat gather at the back of his neck. Only his mother and the king had accepted the flaw without judgment or scorn. His tongue refused to work when he tried to string together more than four words. It was like his mouth became separated from the rest of his body, a deserter who refused to follow orders.

“Naught of interest,” he said eventually. “Shall we eat? I’ll go rinse…my hands.”

Both women stared at him as he got to his feet, heads tilted and eyes sharp.

Plague take it. Had they guessed?

He fled to the stream.

…

Confused and troubled by Lachlan’s sudden departure, Marjorie glanced at Janet. “He, ah, really does not wish to speak.”

Janet’s brow furrowed. “No, he doesn’t. And I don’t believe for a moment it is any reluctance for the topic. Lachlan is no prude and knows how I am. He also knows you aren’t nearly as innocent as you look.”

A giggle escaped. “That is the truth. Lachlan doesn’t speak very much ever, though. Only a few words at a time.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Always only a few words at a time. Any more and he pauses. I wonder…” Janet tapped her chin, then raised her voice. “Lachlan! Do come back, my pet.”

Their protector returned from the stream like a man who’d walked the entire length of Scotland, his steps heavy and shoulders stooped. His gaze wary. “Yes?”

Janet patted the ground beside her. “Come sit by me a moment. Then we’ll eat.”

Lachlan obeyed but with obvious reluctance. That, and a hint of panic in his dark eyes. Knowing Janet was probably about to ask him a very difficult question, Marjorie sat down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, twining her fingers with his. His hand felt cold from the stream water, but it soon warmed, and she almost cheered when his fingers briefly squeezed back.