Marjorie reached out and linked her fingers with Janet’s. “I love you. So very much. And you, Lachlan, my man pillow.”
“Pleased to be…of service. To my ladies.”
Janet smiled. “I’ve decided we’re going to live boldly, scandalously, and very happily ever after.”
Marjorie nodded, her heart overflowing with bliss. “Yes, mistress.”
Epilogue
St. Andrews, September 1504
“Wine. Did I order enough wine? And where is that fishmonger? I made it plain I would tolerate no mischief when it came to delivery. At least the butcher is reliable. It only took two gentle reminders for him to realize he must provide the finest cuts of beef and lamb within the day…”
Stifling a grin, Janet watched Marjorie pace the larder, requiring no other body for her conversation. At her side paced Belle, the one-eyed kitchen pup of unknown breeds who had followed Marjorie home from the market a month prior, decided to stay, and nipped backsides on command. The way her lover had blossomed with the responsibility of managing the household delighted her to no end. Marjorie reveled in her tasks and had the merchants in town dancing to her tune.
“A short walk, dear one? It is a little overwarm in here.”
Marjorie huffed out a breath. “We have a great deal to prepare for the banquet tonight. Guests are coming from as far as Edinburgh. You said a small gathering of like-minded souls, but it’s nearly half the court!”
“You love it.”
Smiling sheepishly, Marjorie nodded. “I do. I just feel so useful. And accomplished.”
For the moment they were alone, so Janet kissed her. “Because you are. My ladies banquets shall become renowned. Both for the food and wine, and the blunt, detailed bedchamber advice given afterward. As the worst sinner in Scotland, I feel eminently qualified to provide such important knowledge.”
“Worst sinner? Or legendary lady of lust?”
Janet nodded thoughtfully and tucked Marjorie’s arm through hers, deliberately brushing her breast and making her quiver. “I may be introduced just so from this day forward. Now, let us go and watch Lachlan train. He should be sufficiently sweat-dampened.”
“Some air would be welcome,” admitted Marjorie as they left the larder and made their way outdoors to the courtyard. “One of the chefs is preparing a mushroom sauce, and the scent I once loved is now turning my stomach. I dare not tell Lachlan; he’ll probably toss the man into a prickly hedgerow. This morning he threatened to tie me to the bed if I did not rest. By the saints, I’ve only missed one bleed. We do not know for sure.”
“I fear our Beast will become quite unbearable if you are with child. I may have to tie him to the bed. And administer a gag.”
“I do not believe he would consider that a punishment, mistress.”
“Oh, I’m sure we could make it so,” said Janet with a wink, and Marjorie laughed.
After the heat of the kitchens, the cool autumn air refreshed her face, although she was glad of her cloak. It could get very windy in St. Andrews. Fortunately the makeshift battlefield Lachlan had constructed to train young lads for future service to the king was mostly protected by the stables to one side and a solid hedgerow on the other.
“He’s a good teacher,” said Marjorie as they approached the roped-off area. Several lads waited in a line with swords in hand for their turn, all watching Lachlan correct the stance and grip of those in another small group. “So patient.”
“There is no better than the king’s champion. And with the school under royal warrant, James will have properly trained men when he needs to summon an army. Even with an English-born queen, I think there will always be tensions.”
Both women sighed a little when Lachlan began demonstrating advance and retreat. The way he moved. Deadly, precise, ruthless, and yet so graceful, as though the longsword was part of him, an extension of his brawny arms. More than a few cocky young ones had found themselves sprawled on the ground, a sword tip to the throat, when they’d made the grave mistake of thinking Lachlan’s enormous size or his age meant he would be slow or ungainly.
“Ladies,” Lachlan hailed, and after pairing the lads off to practice, he walked over to where they stood.
Janet smiled, making an effort to not lick her lips at how deliciously rumpled and manly he looked. “Marjorie and I did not mean to interrupt. We just wished to admire you raising a sweat.”
“They are a mixed g-group of lads,” said Lachlan, wiping his brow with a cool cloth. “Some very good. Some terrible.”
Janet and Marjorie exchanged smirks.
“Yes,” said Marjorie. “Lads.”
“Far more accurate to say nine lads and one lass,” said Janet wryly.
His jaw dropped. “You know?”
She rolled her eyes. “I have known Lady Isla Sutherland since her birth. Why she wants to wear a wig, bind her breasts, and handle swords is her own business, but I’m quite sure her cold and falsely virtuous parents have no idea of this particular pastime.”
“It’s not right,” Lachlan grumbled. “Lady with a longsword. I should…send her away.”
“Why don’t you, then?” asked Marjorie, her eyes glinting.
Lachlan scowled, and both ladies burst out laughing. They all knew full well it would do no good. From her first lesson, it had been clear Isla was unusually talented, spirited, and stubborn as an ornery goat. Sometimes she fell down, but she always got up, watched Lachlan intently, mimicked his actions, and demanded further tutoring. If he sent her away, Isla would no doubt change her clothes and wig and march straight back. Highland lasses were indeed a law unto themselves. Besides, when she mastered a skill, Lachlan preened unashamedly afterward. He would be the most wonderful father.
“Will this lesson go for much longer, pet?” asked Janet.
“Not very,” said Lachlan, his expression turning hopeful. “You need me?”
“Always,” said Marjorie.
He placed his hand over his heart and inclined his head, his gaze hot
