“Lady Marjorie? A walk?”
She studied Angus Campbell. The man appeared her opposite in every way: slender, handsome, red hair falling to his shoulders without a single strand out of place. His clothing was new, costly, and in the French style. In truth, he did not make her heart beat faster like Lachlan did—or Janet, for that matter. And his elaborate flattery seemed to extend to all women rather than her in particular—a true courtier. Yet no one else had asked her to take a walk in the garden nearby, and in her guardian’s absence, Jean Sinclair clearly approved. She was smiling indulgently at the notion of her accompanying Angus.
Could she grow to love such a man, one already in the king’s favor?
There was only one way to be sure.
“Yes,” Marjorie said abruptly. “I should like that, Master Campbell. The flowers in the garden are lovely.”
“Not as lovely as you,” he replied gallantly, rising to his feet.
Lachlan snorted, and she ignored it completely. Hearing a waterfall of compliments might go a way to mending her bruised heart.
Outside, the sun had begun to set, bathing the manor in a pretty pinkish glow. Insects and birds chirped merrily, and the closer they moved to the well-tended gardens, the stronger the scent of blooms became. In truth she preferred the fresh scent of herbs, especially the peppermint the women had washed her hair with, but flowers were quite nice also.
“So,” said Angus, offering his arm. “Tell me of yourself. Oh, and mind my doublet sleeve; it is satin and newly arrived from Paris.”
Marjorie sighed inwardly. She would have to become accustomed to such warnings; many of the men at court took as much care with their clothing as ladies and only wore rich, colorful fabrics from Paris or Rome. “There is little to tell, sir,” she said slowly. “I lived most of my life in a convent, until the king in his mercy brought me to court and placed me in the care of Lady Janet, for which I am most grateful.”
“Really? A gentle lady like yourself would find her coarse, surely.”
“Not at all,” she replied firmly. “I have found her most kind and generous.”
Especially in lessons of a lusty nature.
Angus chuckled. “Your loyalty is commendable. An admirable trait in a wife, alongside a handsome dowry. Such a shame your traitor father’s lands belong to the crown now.”
Marjorie halted, looking up at the man in disbelief. “Beg pardon?”
He smiled ruefully. “Forgive me. I misspoke. Do you embroider? Play an instrument?”
“I enjoy embroidery,” she said stiffly. “It is starting to get dark. We should return to the hall.”
“How unfriendly,” Angus scolded, stepping closer so he loomed over her. “Does the king know how ill mannered you are? How cold? Do not fret, Marjie. I shall warm you.”
Before she could inform him she neither required warming nor appreciated her name being shortened so, Angus slid his hands to either side of her face and kissed her.
She felt…nothing.
Well, nothing but anger at this stranger handling her without permission and disgust at the slimy tongue attempting to gain entry to her mouth. Janet had spoken of pleasure for all, of not forcing your will on another. Clearly this man had not received the correct guidance. Lifting her hands, she pressed them against his chest in an attempt to push him away.
“There, there,” Angus muttered, kissing a wet trail to her ear. “I know you are virgin and quite overcome with my skill. Do not worry; I shall teach you…ow! My foot!”
Marjorie stepped back. Really, she needed a cloth to wipe him from her face, but her gown sleeve would have to suffice. “You are fortunate my eating knife is in the hall, sir.”
His eyes narrowed, his cheeks bright red. “Fat as a sow and ugly as well. Who would want to wed you anyway? I am far superiorrrrrrrrrahhhhhh…”
In the blink of an eye, Angus was jerked away and slammed into a tree trunk.
“What did you say?” snarled Lachlan, the sound of his meaty fist tearing the other man’s satin doublet, newly arrived from Paris, far more satisfying than she would ever confess.
“Naught! Put me down! I am friend to King James!”
Marjorie folded her arms. She had become a terrible person. At Stirling Castle, the sight of Lachlan punishing another man for bad behavior had alarmed her. Now, she rather liked it. If he continued holding Angus just so, she could probably land a few kicks to the shin in retribution for that slimy tongue. But darkness was encroaching rapidly, and it would be difficult to explain this without causing Janet embarrassment.
“Lachlan,” she said softly. “Let him go.”
“He insulted you.”
“I know. And he will have a sore foot and ruined doublet to show for it. He is not worth your further effort. Or mine.”
The Beast growled at Angus but let him drop to the grass in a heap. “Run, rabbit. To return…is to be hunted.”
The other man went whiter than snow, scrambled to his feet, and hurried back toward the manor.
“Thank you, once again, for your assistance. I did not want to say it in front of that snake, but you already angered the king because of me. I should not like to see you in trouble.”
Lachlan puffed out a short breath and flexed his fingers. “Did he hurt you?”
“No. But he kissed me, and I did not want him to. Oh, Lachlan, it was awful. I called him snake because of his slimy tongue. He put it in my ear! Ugh!”
“Lady Marjorie—”
“Just Marjorie,” she said swiftly. “We might not be sweethearts, but after today I think we are becoming friends?”
Lachlan looked to the heavens, but when he gazed at her again, the tender heat in his eyes burned her. “Good friends.”
A sob caught in her throat, and she flung herself at his chest. When his arms slowly closed around her and one hand rubbed her back, she burrowed against his warmth. “I…I do not wish to leave
