Her very first proper bedding had been wonderful. More than wonderful—pure bliss. Never had she felt so free to be herself, so cared for, in her entire life. And then it had all gone wrong. Somehow, she had angered or displeased Janet, one of the two people she would never, ever wish to hurt, and that knowledge clawed her heart.
What on earth could it be?
Marjorie watched in miserable silence as servants bustled about, clearing away the platters of uneaten food, which they would soon enjoy for their own supper. If Janet was particularly angry, would she change her mind in allowing her ward to oversee aspects of the household? That would be a terrible blow. Being alone and unwanted at the convent, then Stirling Castle, had been punishment enough. To be unwanted here…she might not recover from that.
Abruptly, Janet pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “Forgive me, both of you, but I think I shall retire for the evening. I can scarcely keep my eyes open.”
Lachlan pressed his hands to the table. “Should we—”
“No.”
The word was said gently but had the impact of a boulder crashing through a roof.
Stricken, Marjorie rose to her feet so quickly her chair tumbled backward with a clatter onto the hall floor. “Janet, what is the matter? What is wrong?”
“Do not fret. I am just very tired. I shall see you in the morning, and we’ll talk further on your duties in regard to the larder and linen closet. Good night, Lachlan. Do escort Marjorie to her chamber when she is ready.”
In stunned silence, they watched their mistress depart the hall without a backward glance. Yet Janet hadn’t marched away at her usual brisk pace, or even walked. It had been more of a shuffle, her shoulders stooped, as though she carried the weight of several castles. As though she had been defeated.
And somehow, that was worse than anything else.
What could possibly defeat a bold tempest like Janet Fraser?
“Lachlan,” she said hoarsely. “What just happened? I feel like I have done or said something terrible, but I don’t know what it is, and I cannot bear it.”
He hesitated, taking far too much care in removing the linen napkin draped over his left shoulder and placing it on the table, and perspiration broke out on her neck. Lachlan knew what it was but did not know how to say it.
By the saints, it truly must be something awful.
“Tell me,” Marjorie demanded, yanking off her own napkin and hurling it onto the table. “Tell me or I shall go mad.”
“Let’s go upstairs,” he replied, failing utterly in his attempt at a reassuring smile.
After setting her chair to rights and nodding their thanks to the servants clearing away the plates and goblets, Marjorie and Lachlan left the hall and made their way to her chamber. As soon as they were safely inside, away from curious eyes and ears, she hurried over to the fireplace. It wasn’t a cold evening at all, but holding her hands in front of the healthy blaze and listening to the crackle and hiss of burning wood offered some blessed distraction.
“Tell me,” she said, quietly this time.
Lachlan sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. “You weren’t to know. H-how could you? And it is my f-fault, in truth. I said something thoughtless. You answered…as a new wife w-would. But we both hurt our mistress.”
“How? What did I say?”
“When you spoke of…conceiving a child. Lady Janet is…b-barren, you see.”
All the air fled her lungs, and Marjorie choked on a horrified gasp. “Oh no. That is…oh no. Lachlan, I was cruel! I didn’t mean to be…but I was!”
Tears gathered in her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. Even when his arm closed around her shoulders and pressed her to his chest, she couldn’t entirely stop them, and she spent several moments sniffling and coughing in a most humiliating manner.
How could I not have known?
Yes, no one had told her, but the evidence was plain. Janet had been the virile king’s mistress for a long time, and while he had several children to other women, they had none together. Then Janet had wed Master Fraser. And she’d had many other lovers, including Lachlan.
But no children. Never any children.
“I am a fool,” Marjorie said painfully. “A fool who does not see what is right in front of her.”
“Not a fool,” said Lachlan as he patted her back. “Just unaware. But now you know. Also know this: Lady Janet d-does not wish…to speak of it. Ever. I believe it c-causes her…great pain.”
She winced. “I understand. But what of us?”
Lachlan guided her to the chair in front of the fireplace before lowering himself to sit on the thick woven rug. “I have thirty summers. My life was…fighting for the k-king. I did not think of ch-children. My mother was wonderful. A strong woman. My father…uh…they did not wed.”
“That is not your sin!”
“Yes. But I lived w-with it. I did not w-want a child t-to suffer as I d-did. Forgive me. My speech gets worse.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” she said firmly. “Please do go on if you can. I feel I need to know this, even if it stings.”
Lachlan took a deep breath and curled his arms around his knees as though armoring himself. “I didn’t think…to wed. No land, no home. A bastard knight. So I did not w-want children. But now I am w-wed.”
Somehow, she forced the words out, both desperate to know and afraid to hear the answer. “So do you wish to have a child now? A child with me?”
He met her gaze unflinchingly, his face grave. “I am…unsure. Not because of you. But…”
Marjorie closed her eyes briefly, heartsick to her core. “Janet.”
“And our marriage. The queen will f-find out.
