Sir Lachlan shuddered, and an odd choking sound emerged. “Indeed. Not sporting.”
“Are you laughing at me, sir? When I was just accosted by a monster of the sea?”
“Of the loch,” he replied, his shoulders now shaking. “And no. Never.”
Amusement transformed his face. His brown eyes gleamed, attractive little lines appeared at either side of his mouth, and just for a moment that air of lonely heaviness that usually surrounded him rose.
She had done that. Made the Highland Beast smile.
“Fortunate for you,” she said pertly, knowing she was too heavy a burden yet selfishly unwilling to let his warm, hard body go. Not when the risk of more fish kisses remained. “Everyone thinks I am a kitten. But I am a fierce full-grown cat. With claws.”
“Yes,” he rasped.
At the odd change in his tone, Marjorie glanced down.
Oh no.
Her robe had slipped right off her shoulder, fully exposing the rounded neckline of her linen shift…and the tops of her breasts. Worse, in the cool air, her nipples were visible hard points, straining against the fabric.
Mortified, Marjorie tried to shrug the robe back up. As she wriggled against Sir Lachlan, trying desperately to cover herself, she only succeeded in rubbing her breasts against his chest.
Oh. It felt good.
She had always been starved of the touch she craved. Yesterday, Janet had unleashed something inside her, a need she could no longer deny, and now she couldn’t halt her wayward body from seeking more. With a helpless whimper, she deliberately rubbed her aching, tingling nipples against his chest.
Sir Lachlan sucked in a harsh breath. “Lady—”
“What on earth are you two doing?”
Marjorie froze. Over his shoulder, about twenty feet away, Janet stood on the shoreline, fully dressed in her red velvet traveling gown, her arms folded. Sir Lachlan went rigid, and Marjorie quickly slid down his body back into the water, then stepped well away from him.
“Good morning,” said Marjorie awkwardly to her guardian, her cheeks burning. How could she even explain such unseemly behavior? “There was a, er…fish.”
Janet tilted her head. “In a loch, I’d wager many,” she replied coolly. “But you should get dressed so we might break bread and then recommence our journey. The driver is readying the horses.”
“Of course.”
Miserable, unable to meet Sir Lachlan’s eyes after her shameful display, Marjorie waded back to shore. Janet had been so kind, so generous, had deigned to show her the most exquisite pleasure imaginable, and this was how she repaid her.
Why could she never do anything right?
Chapter Five
The rest of the journey to St. Andrews passed without incident; rather unfortunate, when he wanted nothing more than to take out his frustration on some hapless brigand.
Lachlan slowed Storm to his least-favored pace, a slow walk, as they approached the stone wall announcing the boundary of the king’s former property, the estate now belonging to Lady Janet.
How could he have been such a damned fool?
She had told him she required loyalty from a lover. That she did not appreciate straying. And the very next day, he’d had another woman in his arms: her virgin ward.
A woman he’d been overwhelmingly tempted by.
Lady Marjorie was sweet. So innocent. She’d made him laugh with her jests about the fish. But there had been nothing sweet or innocent in the way she’d rubbed her ample breasts against him and scraped his chest with large pink nipples that her shift hadn’t fully concealed. Or the needy little whimper. Lady Marjorie might have been imprisoned in a convent most of her life, but like water rising behind a wall of sand, he suspected she was ready to burst forth and embrace the ways of lust. That made her a threat to both his willpower and peace of mind. To bed her, even to want her, would be to betray Lady Janet and his friend the king.
Unthinkable.
“This the place, sir?” the wagon driver asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Lachlan glanced back at him, and the man gave him a look of such naked hope that he almost smiled. The driver would return home to Stirling in the morning, and it seemed that after their eventful journey, that moment could not come swiftly enough. “Aye,” Lachlan said.
“Very nice. All them trees to lessen the ocean winds, a little stream…fine home too. The ladies will be happy here.”
That remained to be seen. St. Andrews had gathered many great minds, and Scotland’s first university had been founded by papal bull nearly one hundred years prior. Lady Janet would probably enjoy renewing acquaintances she’d made through the king and her late husband, and challenging the scholars with her learning and bold opinions. But the small town was also an ecclesiastical center, with pilgrims from all corners journeying to the ancient cathedral. In that she had never seen eye to eye with the church, and Lady Marjorie had endured such an unpleasant experience in her convent—not to mention that Lady Janet had always shone in the glittering, unruly world of the Scottish court…
Lachlan grimaced. Paradise or purgatory.
With a light click of Storm’s reins, they moved toward the sturdy wooden gate. Moments later, an armed guard appeared.
“Halt in the name of—oh, good evening, Sir Lachlan. The ladies are in the wagon?”
“Aye,” he replied, grunting in approval at the alert guard, the gate that swung open on well-oiled hinges, and the wall in good repair. James might have visited the place only a few times each year, but they were prepared. “Ready for supper. And rest.”
The guard nodded. “All is well. The king sent word, and the servants are eager to welcome their new mistress.”
“Good,” said Lachlan, riding on. The path from the gate to the manor was well kept and free of rocks; no doubt the ladies would appreciate it. He couldn’t imagine how sore they would be after two days’ travel in a wagon. A few years prior, during a bloody battle with a few clan chiefs who’d rebelled against the king’s authority, he had been injured and transported in such a manner. Torturous was the
