“Proudly the worst sinner in Scotland,” said Lady Janet archly, not at all inclined to hear false flattery. “It shall be a sad day when I am forced to relinquish the title. I do so enjoy turning the menfolk’s hair white.”
Lachlan lifted his wine goblet. “Long may you reign.”
She winked at him and raised her own. “To mischief and mayhem.”
The others at the table added their salute. “To mischief and mayhem!”
Niall then frowned. “But not too much. Those south of the border are ever ready to invade. Sir Lachlan, you have fought in many battles. Would you say the threat remains?”
Janet hesitated, torn at the turn in conversation. While she was greatly relieved to no longer have all gazes on her and knew without looking that her former lover felt the same, Lachlan hated to speak in public. He’d always been the one who lurked in the shadows, the man of deeds rather than words. The only person he’d felt comfortable talking with for any length of time was the king.
Indeed, Lachlan appeared to be wishing himself miles away.
“Aye,” he said eventually. “Always will.”
“But we have an English-born queen now,” said Angus. “Surely you are overcautious.”
Janet snorted. “Time will tell where Margaret’s true loyalties lie. Her Tudor blood flows strong.”
“When there is a Scots prince in the cradle, we’ll all feel better,” said Jean. “’Tis a woman’s most sacred duty, after all. None more so than a queen.”
“Indeed,” Janet replied, gritting her teeth. Now it was she who wished to flee into the night. Each day she thought she’d finally accepted her barrenness. Then a woman would comment on pregnancy or childbirth, and it would sting like a thousand little cuts.
“More wine, lady?” said Lachlan, an understanding in his gaze that made her heart clench.
“I believe I will,” she replied softly.
“Before you do, Lady Janet,” burst out Aileen. “I am feeling a little unwell. Do you have some peppermint tonic, by chance?”
She hesitated, torn. They did need to talk. And yet somehow leaving the table with Aileen, in a sense choosing her over Lachlan and Marjorie, felt like a betrayal after everything that had happened on the journey from Stirling Castle and since they’d arrived.
Do I still desire Aileen?
Janet studied her former lover. She was indeed an attractive woman. But it had been so long, and she’d had so many lovers since. Besides. She wasn’t Marjorie, with luscious, plump curves, bright-blue eyes, and a smile like sunshine. Or brawny, gruff, deliciously obedient Lachlan. Maybe now it was time to lay the past to rest forever.
“I do,” she replied, turning to the others but truly addressing Lachlan and Marjorie. “Please excuse us just for a few minutes while I assist Aileen.”
They walked from the room, and she directed Aileen into a small antechamber next to the chapel that served as a storage room of sorts, without a tonic to be found.
“Janet…” Aileen said huskily, reaching for her.
She stepped back. “It’s been a long time.”
“What is the matter? You still want me. I know you do. We couldn’t take our eyes off one another at supper.”
Janet shook her head. “I was shocked to see you. I did not know you and Hamish were the longstanding guests of the king. But I do not dally with those who are wed. An unbreakable rule of mine.”
The other woman pouted. “You and your rules. Do not think of my husband; we have an understanding now that he has his heirs. Think of me. Think of us and all that time lost because of my silly father. I never stopped loving you.”
“No, Aileen,” she murmured. “That summer will always hold a special place in my heart. But a memory it shall remain.”
“Is it the king’s Beast? Or your ward?” Aileen said abruptly, her violet eyes flashing with jealousy. “I saw the tender look you gave her.”
“Do not—”
“You’ll forget Lady Marjorie once she’s wed, and I’ll be waiting. I’ll win back your love, and it will be just like before; you’ll see.”
Dismay gathered like storm clouds. They could not tarry in this room any longer, or the other guests would grow curious. But it seemed her former lover was determined to recapture the past no matter what she was told…an act that could unleash several kinds of trouble.
And more trouble was the last thing she needed.
…
Everything had been so right. And now it was all wrong.
Marjorie stared at the duck, beef, and cooked vegetables on her pewter plate, her appetite gone since Janet had left the room with Aileen Campbell. She and Lachlan had seen there was some sort of bond between the two women—he’d even asked if they knew each other—but she didn’t believe for a moment the story about sharing a tutor. Two people did not share stolen glances over a tutor. And that made her heart hurt.
Their time in the wagon and in the solar with Lachlan had meant everything. She’d thought Janet felt something for her in return. But maybe that was just the loneliness that had been her most faithful companion, tricking her, seeing something that wasn’t there.
Angus Campbell cleared his throat. “I am desperate for some air. Lady Marjorie, would you care to walk in the gardens for a bit? I should enjoy hearing of your convent life.”
“Sun is setting,” growled Lachlan before she could reply.
“Nonsense,” said Angus. “Plenty of time for a short walk. No need to scowl, Sir Lachlan. You know, if you scowled less and smiled more, you might find a wife as pretty as Mistress Sinclair here.”
Lachlan glared at him. “Not looking.”
Not looking.
Marjorie winced. Just two words and her heart had crushed to powder.
The second rejection shouldn’t hurt; she wasn’t free to choose Lachlan even if she wished to. But it did. Especially after Janet had chosen Aileen. Especially when in the solar she had touched him so intimately, had him in her mouth, reveled in the splash of his seed on her breasts.
It seemed
