Behind him, Marjorie laughed—a high, forced sound. “Oh, sir, ’tis my fault entirely. I am a silly woman who desired the tang of sea air in her lungs more than anything on this earth, and I pleaded with Sir Lachlan to take me to town. I believe he did so just so he would not hear my voice a moment more.”
Lachlan held his breath, but the guard relaxed, his lips twitching.
“My mother loves to watch the fishing boats. I don’t know why. Come in, then, but remember to inform the guardhouse if you are leaving so we know where you are.”
“Aye,” said Lachlan, nodding as they rode through the gate. With Storm at full gallop again, they crossed the hunting grounds in no time at all, then approached the stables at a brisk trot.
Even before the stable boy had a chance to come out and take the reins, Lachlan swung down onto the ground and swiftly moved the precious marriage documents from the saddlebag to be concealed under his doublet.
Then he reached up for Marjorie. “Home, lady wife,” he rasped.
“Thank you, husband,” she whispered in his ear, and as he helped her down from Storm’s back, he had to fight down a surprising rush of emotion at the word. Husband.
Despite everything, it sounded good.
They walked in silence to the manor front door, and his gaze darted left and right, fully expecting to be ambushed at any moment. While he trusted the discretion of the silver-bearded lawyer, Master Shaw—distant kin to Lady Janet and possessing a loathing of all Tudors, whom he called upstart usurpers of the Plantagenet throne—others at the university could have recognized them.
Lachlan halted at the foot of the stairs. “What do you wish to d-do?”
Marjorie visibly swallowed, her face pale, and he thought he might know her mind. Lawful completion of their marriage declaration required a bedding, the sooner the better. It was no wonder she appeared as skittish as a newborn colt.
“Could we…could we possibly step into the chapel for a moment?” she asked hesitantly. “I should like to pray. To confess. And to ask for God’s blessing.”
“As you like.”
Hurrying to the altar, Marjorie then knelt on a purple velvet cushion in front of it and crossed herself. When she raised an imperious eyebrow at Lachlan, he reluctantly dropped to his knees beside her. Give him a battlefield over a holy place of worship any day.
“If I am struck b-by lightning…’tis your fault,” he growled.
His wife made a noise that sounded much like a hastily suppressed laugh. Then she clasped her hands together. “Bless us, Heavenly Father, for we have sinned. Er…quite a serious one. Defied the decree of your anointed sovereign’s wife and wed without permission. An irregular marriage without priest or banns. Ah, please do forgive us for that. We mean no harm or malice. But I’m sure you understand that I cannot wed an Englishman, for obvious reasons…”
Lachlan was far less successful in suppressing his levity, but Marjorie elbowed him sharply in the ribs and he grunted in discomfort.
“As I was saying,” she continued, “I could not wed an Englishman. But I consented to wed Sir Lachlan Ross instead. He is the best of men. Good and loyal and so kind to me. I am most fortunate. And he consented to wed me. Tell Him, Lachlan.”
“Aye, I consented. With a free and g-glad heart,” he said, solemn now, and Marjorie leaned over and rubbed her cheek against his like a kitten. Again he swallowed hard against a rush of emotion. He’d wed a good woman, at least. One who liked him in return, was affectionate, and accepted his faults and flaws. In other circumstances he would have been happy indeed.
Marjorie took a deep breath and raised her gaze to the roof. “Now we must go upstairs, and, ah, well…you know. So we ask thy blessing and humbly beseech thee for a long and…er…fruitful union. Amen.”
“Amen,” he echoed.
“Thank you,” she said as they got to their feet before leaving the chapel. “I know it is foolish—”
“It is not,” he said firmly.
Fortunately the servants were busy with preparations for supper and weren’t paying close attention to them. They climbed the stairs in silence, but the closer they got to Marjorie’s chamber, the more her steps faltered. When she pushed open her door, her hand visibly shook.
Lachlan grimaced in sympathy. In truth, this was the first time in hours that something felt wrong. Even after what they’d done in the solar, she would still have a virgin’s anxiety, and he didn’t know exactly what to say to reassure her. Lady Janet would. She always knew what to say, especially in regard to lusty matters. But she was away in her own chamber.
“I wish Janet were here,” Marjorie blurted before staring at him in horror. “Forgive me. That was beyond awful. After your noble sacrifice, I didn’t mean…I just—”
“I wish the same,” he said simply, choosing to be as honest as she had been, for she deserved such respect. “It feels…wrong without her.”
Her shoulders sagged. “I want to be bedded by you. I do. I care for you so very much, and I know you will make it as nice as possible. But I would be less anxious if Janet watched and instructed me.”
A flame lit inside him, one that made his cock jerk. “Watched and instructed us.”
Marjorie licked her lips, her eyes darkening to pure sapphire. “We should go and find the mistress of the manor, then, husband.”
He bowed. “As you desire, lady wife.”
…
Marjorie and Lachlan were consummating their marriage, and she had only her ever-faithful companion: wine.
Janet took another gulp from her goblet and stared out the window of her bedchamber, watching the shadows lengthen in the late-afternoon sun.
The day had started so promisingly with the jaunt to the stream. How pleasant it had been to relax with her lovers, laugh and tell bawdy tales, and eat delicious food outside in the secluded spot. When Lachlan had shared his secret, a new tenderness and protectiveness
