Page 52 of Scandalous Passions

“Not for nothing. Because I cared. Because it was right. Because she is…a good woman. The very best.”

“How interesting. But you knew it was terrible, for you rode away with Lady Marjorie to St. Andrews without informing the guards. Did you inform Lady Janet?”

“Lady Janet was…in the chapel,” he replied. The lawyers were not the only ones who could speak a half truth. “Praying.”

“I see. But this next part is where it becomes…unclear. You claim to have wed Lady Marjorie in an irregular ceremony, with a written promise, witnessed and signed by a Master Shaw and his clerk.”

A chill prickled the back of Lachlan’s neck. “What is unclear?”

“My learned friend and I searched and searched, but we could not find either this Master Shaw or his clerk. Nor can you produce any evidence of this promise—”

“I gave you…the d-document.”

Master Boyd shook his head sadly. “No, sir, you did not. I can only conclude that this tale of a marriage is false and fraudulent and that Lady Marjorie is in fact free to wed as Her Grace the queen so arranged.”

The room erupted. Queen Margaret clapped her hands in delight, and James sat forward in his chair, his brow creasing. His advisers offered loud opinions among themselves, and the queen’s ladies whispered and giggled. Stunned at the bold lie from a man supposedly here to uphold the law, Lachlan glanced at Marjorie. Very deliberately, she tilted her head toward the hall fireplace, and understanding dawned. Burned. The vermin had burned his copy of the marriage promise.

Did they find the second copy?

“Silence,” snapped the king. “If there are no witnesses and no document, I can only rule in one way…”

Master Boyd bowed. “Your Grace—”

“Unless of course there is anyone else present with evidence relevant to this matter?”

Lachlan held his breath, not daring to look at his mistress. And then he heard the sweetest words in history. Bold and clear for everyone in the hall to hear.

“I have such evidence, Your Grace. If I may humbly approach.”

James nodded. “You may, Lady Janet.”

Lachlan could only gaze in awe as she marched toward the dais, a beautiful, wise termagant about to unleash hell. The room erupted again when she reached into the bodice of her gown to retrieve a folded piece of parchment and handed it to the king, and Lachlan pressed a fist to his lips so he did not laugh at the horror on the lawyer’s face, the anger on Queen Margaret’s, or how perfectly Janet Fraser it was to conceal an important document in such a place.

God’s blood, how he loved her.

“Hmm,” said James eventually. “I hold in my hand a document that I have examined and find to be proper and legal. It is a marriage promise between Lady Marjorie Hepburn and Sir Lachlan Ross, signed and witnessed. I declare it valid. However…”

The hall went so quiet they could have heard a mouse breathe, and Lachlan gripped his thighs. What now?

“However,” the king continued, “it is not right or proper that Her Grace the queen’s orders were disobeyed. The queen’s command is as my command; therefore punishment is required for the wrongdoing. Sir Lachlan Ross, Lady Marjorie Ross, stand together and be sentenced.”

Silently Lachlan rose to his feet before walking to Marjorie. She took his arm, and he covered her hand with his and squeezed it because she was his cherished wedded wife, and woe betide anyone who attempted to come between them. Whatever the punishment, they would face it together. “Your Grace?”

James had never looked sterner. “I am imposing a substantial fine. Sir Lachlan and Lady Marjorie, you shall both forfeit all property and coin. It is only my love for you that you do not forfeit your freedom. Be wed but destitute from this day…unless offered shelter, of course.”

“I do so offer,” announced Lady Janet. “If Your Grace will permit.”

“Granted. Now this matter is concluded; the legal minds shall depart. Lady Janet, you will offer Highland hospitality for the evening to your king, queen, and the court, yes?”

She curtsied. “As Your Grace wishes.”

Still reeling at the verdict, unable to say a word, Lachlan curved an arm around Marjorie’s shoulders. With a choked cry, she flung herself against him, and he held her tightly before leaning down and kissing her thoroughly. Saying with his lips what his mouth could not.

All that they needed now was Lady Janet with them to be complete, and when he glanced up and met his mistress’s soft gaze, she smiled.

“Take your wife to the solar, Sir Lachlan. I shall join you there presently.”

His breath caught.