Slumping back in the chair, Marjorie fought the urge to howl. Not a single thing Lachlan had said could be judged unfair or unreasonable. Their marriage was precarious at best, and one or both could indeed be punished severely for defying a royal decree. Not to mention, her conceiving a child would be very difficult for Janet.
And yet a small, selfish part of her wanted to scream: What about me?
In this fine chamber, when it might seem to an outsider that she had everything she wanted—a strong, protective husband; elegant home; friendship—she could feel her most cherished dream of being a mother slipping from her grasp.
Of all the heartbreaks and disappointments she had taken in her life, this might well be the hardest to bear.
Chapter Eleven
After several nights tossing and turning in his cold and lonely bed, his nickname of Beast had never felt more apt.
Lachlan scowled at the pile of old linen and straw at his feet. A half hour ago, they had been stuffed figures to train with in the small fenced area next to the stables, but not even imagining they were English and slicing them to shreds had improved his temper. Nor had his efforts before that: firing two dozen arrows at a target, hacking fallen tree branches for firewood, or assisting the head gardener till soil.
He might be fragrant with sweat, his muscles burning and twitching with fatigue, but nothing could quell his uncertainty or dread at the unspoken hurt, the cool politeness in the manor. And it wasn’t due to his secret marriage; his conscience felt no pricks about that. But at the prospect of losing Lady Janet or Marjorie…his stomach churned relentlessly.
He had spoken thoughtlessly to Lady Janet that night of the bedding and hadn’t been much better with Marjorie after that. The more he considered the thought of a child with his wife, the more the idea appealed. Just not yet. That is what he should have said; he would like to try for a child, but until they had a clear path for the future, the time wasn’t quite right. Instead, he’d made it seem like Marjorie’s wishes didn’t matter at all.
Not only a failure as a lover but also a husband.
Damned fool.
Leaning down, he scooped up an armful of straw and dropped it into an old sack. The horses could stomp on the remains later in their stalls. Straw men certainly weren’t the best for training—he did miss the king’s armory and James himself to cross swords with—but he needed to remain ready and skilled to face any danger, and the guards here were busy in their duties. As each day took them closer to the queen’s order of an escort for Marjorie to Carlisle, he watched the estate gates like a hawk, ready and willing to protect his ladies.
Swift steps on the cobblestoned courtyard made him tense and turn, but it was Lady Janet walking toward him.
“After such an active morning, you look like a knight in need of refreshment,” she said, holding up a small flagon. “Ale?”
Lachlan nodded cautiously. “Aye.”
“Consider it a peace offering, pet. I have not at all practiced what I preach, and that is to speak plainly. I have allowed distance to grow between us, which is the last thing I desire.”
He took a long swallow of the ale, welcoming the liquid splash to his parched throat as much as the opportunity to gather his thoughts. But there was only one: a relief so great he almost staggered. “I have missed you. I have m-missed…the three of us.”
Lady Janet flinched. “I have also. I hope we can set aside the matter of a child for a time and regain the happiness we found in each other.”
“For a time,” Lachlan agreed. “But we must t-talk of it, mistress. Your w-wishes are important. Marjorie’s are as well. B-both of you are hurting. I have been thoughtless. It is…a bramble p-patch.”
“That it is. For today, at least, I would like the three of us to leave the manor for a little while. To attend the St. Andrews market. Marjorie could show us her skill in managing tradesman and merchants.”
“Aye. I should change m-my shirt first. I must have…a scent about m-me.”
A smile broke out on Lady Janet’s face. “You do, pet. Eau de stable. And you have stray bits of straw in your hair. Attend to yourself, then meet us outside the stables in a quarter hour.”
Once he’d changed into a fresh linen shirt, his usual red doublet, black hose, and mantle, Lachlan finger-combed his hair to ensure no rogue straw remained before returning to the courtyard. One of the stable lads was assisting Lady Janet onto her horse, and he took a moment to appreciate how fine she looked in her dark-green gown. Marjorie already sat atop her horse, equally lovely in blue, although she appeared uneasy as she glanced between mount and hard ground.
“Ladies,” he said, tipping his hat.
Lady Janet raised an eyebrow. “Courtly of you.”
“Impressed?”
“Not overly. Leap a moat or ride up a staircase on that mighty steed of yours, all blindfolded, however…”
“I shall k-keep that in mind. Marjorie, how might…I impress you?”
His wife tapped her chin. “Fetch me a handful of stars and a unicorn to ride.”
Lachlan smiled as he settled onto Storm’s saddle. The three of them did indeed have much to speak on, but already the air seemed lighter, and his spirits rose. He loved Lady Janet, and his affection for Marjorie grew stronger every day. The two ladies cared a great deal for each other also. Surely nothing could truly come between them.
The guards knew of their planned jaunt to town and respectfully waved them through the main gate. Unlike last time, when he and Marjorie had ridden like the wind to St. Andrews, today’s journey was a comfortable trot. While the breeze
