Scandalous Passions (Highland Menage)

by Nicola Davidson

  Falling to her knees, Marjorie began to pray. For deliverance from this trial. To be reunited with her husband and mistress. To never set eyes on the queen again.

  A thousand years later, the chamber door swung open and two stern-faced, silver-haired men in black robes appeared. One was tall and rounded, the other nearer to her own height and slender. Both had long silver-flecked beards, and the shorter man carried parchment, quill, and inkpot.

  Somehow, she rose to her feet and curtsied. “Good afternoon, sirs.”

  “Lady Marjorie,” said the taller man curtly. “I am Master Boyd; this is Master Douglas. We are legal clerks from Stirling, come to hear evidence on this grave matter and provide advice for judgment. We have spoken with Sir Lachlan; now we shall speak with you. Sit down, and we shall begin.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, sinking onto a hard wooden chair. “My husband…he is well?”

  “So,” said Master Boyd, ignoring her question, “tell us in your own words the events leading to this day. Master Douglas shall act as scribe.”

  Marjorie swallowed hard. “I lived in a convent most of my life. Then I was summoned to Stirling Castle, where my guardian, His Grace the King, declared I would live with Lady Janet Fraser, protected by Sir Lachlan Ross, until he decided on a husband for me. We traveled here by wagon—”

  “A journey during which Sir Lachlan murdered four men, including Lord Kerr,” said Master Douglas, his lip curling.

  “No,” she protested shakily. “He killed four men who fired arrows at the wagon and attempted to kidnap Lady Janet and myself. The king forgave the act.”

  “I see. Then what?”

  “I was…we were…very content here. Guests came for supper one evening—”

  “The Sinclairs and the Campbells,” said Master Boyd, nodding. “Yes, we visited them on our way here. Sir Lachlan assaulted Angus Campbell, did he not?”

  Marjorie’s temper flared at the sneering tone. “Only because Angus accosted me in the garden!”

  “It is Master Campbell’s testimony that you welcomed his embrace, but when Sir Lachlan approached, you pretended not to so you might conceal your whorish nature.”

  Oh, how she wished she’d stabbed that rodent with her eating knife rather than deliver a mere foot stomp.

  “Sir—”

  “It was Master Campbell’s concern you were being led astray that led him to send word to our good queen, who in her kindness and charity arranged a splendid match for you with an English baron. But you defied Her Grace,” said Master Boyd, his black robe whipping about, his voice rising to a roar. “You, a lady born, thought to wed a bastard without permission and spat on the crown of Scotland, much like your traitor father!”

  “No!”

  Master Douglas shook his head. “Now is not the time for hysterics, Lady Marjorie. Only the truth.”

  “I speak the truth,” she replied, gripping the folds of her gown so she might not stand and slap both men for the way they kept twisting her words. “And I have never, nor would ever, spit on the crown of Scotland. I love this land. I love my king.”

  Master Boyd glared at her. “Pretty words, lady. But I see only two possible truths. Either you were an innocent maiden, lured into a false marriage for coin by a sinful man forsaken by God…or you are a Jezebel who lured him to sin, deceived Lady Janet, and sought to defy our Queen Margaret for her own wicked ends. Which is it?”

  Marjorie gritted her teeth to suppress a shriek of rage. Here it was, then. The offer. Betray Lachlan to these vile lawyers and be free or accept their destruction of her character. They were clearly the queen’s men, emboldened by Angus Campbell’s lies, and were angry they even had to speak to her for the show of a fair trial.

  “Neither, sir,” she replied unsteadily. “I wed a good, strong man for love. My marriage is not false. It is legal and proper, a promise signed and witnessed, if irregular in the eyes of the clergy. I am a wedded and, ah, bedded wife.”

  Master Douglas shuffled his pile of parchment before holding one page up. “This promise, signed and witnessed, given to me by Sir Lachlan?”

  At the familiar document, the one signed by her and Lachlan, the St. Andrews lawyer Master Shaw, and his young clerk, Marjorie nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir.”

  “It looks fraudulent to me.”

  She froze. “Beg pardon?”

  Master Boyd peered over the other man’s shoulder and nodded. “Certainly fraudulent. Worthless to this case, I believe.”

  “Then there is only one thing to be done,” said Master Douglas, smiling as he rose to his feet and walked toward the fireplace.

  “Do not!” screamed Marjorie, but the man tossed the copy of her marriage lines into the roaring fire as though it were an old rag. She stood, her chair clattering to the floor, and ran to him, only to be halted by Master Boyd’s cruel grip around her upper arm.

  “No,” she whispered, dropping to her knees, as in moments the precious parchment was no more.

  “As I said,” mused Master Boyd, “there are only two possible truths for you. Innocent maiden lured into sin for her coin or lying, deceiving Jezebel with hatred in her heart for the king and queen. Choose wisely, dear lady. We shall see you soon in your trial. Good morrow.”

  Alone once more, Marjorie clasped her arms around herself, yet no tears fell in the fury and sick fear threatening to drown her. If the second copy Lachlan had given to Janet remained hidden, they had evidence still. If it had been found and burned, they had nothing but their word.

  And she would be forced to publicly choose: betray Lachlan or accept filthy, near-treasonous lies about herself.

  Indeed, no choice at all.

  …

  “More wine, lady?”

  Janet took the full goblet from her servant with a grateful smile and nod. At least having something to occupy her hands, she wasn’t so tempted to snatch bald the queen and all her ladies who were currently wandering the manor and cooing about its coziness and old-fashioned charm, as though she lived in a rustic pig pen. James stood by the window in the hall with several advisers, looking increasingly impatient and irritated.

  If the situation weren’t so dire and soul crushing, she might have reveled in her former lover’s bad temper; the wretched man could have halted all this with a wave of his hand. Saints alive, she could think of several fair ladies who would happily leave the Highlands for an English title. Not to mention Lachlan’s long and loyal service to the crown. But instead, James had indulged his queen in her fit of spite, and she did not admire him for it.

  Janet took a sip of wine just for something to do. She hadn’t slept in days but tossed and turned in worry for Marjorie and Lachlan. The devil-spawned guards had prevented her from seeing either, and her frustration and fury knew no bounds. Were they well? Had they been mistreated? The two lawyers from Stirling who had traveled ahead of the royal procession were about as distant from the learned, just, and delightfully irritable Master Shaw as it were possible to be. They cared less for the law and more for gaining favor with the queen. Which made them both dangerous indeed.

  “Beg pardon,” said another servant, a rotund young man who looked miserable rather than awed at being in the presence of the royal couple. “But His Grace has requested the hall be turned into a…ah…court. For the trial of Lady Marjorie and Sir Lachlan. How should it look? I do not know of such things. It is wrong. It is all wrong.”

  I could not agree more.

  “Do not fret, lad. Fetch some others and move the dining table to the far wall. At the north end, set up a dais for the king and queen and the king’s advisers. To the left, a table and chairs for the lawyers. To the right, a chair for whomever is being asked questions. Several benches with cushions for the queen’s ladies. Can you remember all that?”

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied and dashed away.

  Taking several calming bre
aths, Janet looked over again at the king. He met her gaze and smiled briefly but continued his conversation, and she barely stopped herself from hurling her goblet at his head for what he’d done and what he forced her to do this day.

  Having Marjorie and Lachlan so close and yet not be allowed to see them, talk to them, touch them, was unbearable. All she’d been able to do to show her affection and support was personally oversee the dishes sent to their chambers, ensuring only the choicest cuts of meat, the freshest bread. Yes, back on the day Marjorie and Lachlan had been arrested, she’d sent word to Master Shaw, but she had no way of knowing if her letter had reached him or even if he would assist further.

  In a battle directly with the queen, many men would not.

  “Lady Janet.”

  She turned to see one of the king’s many advisers, a harried-looking man with kind eyes that she did not personally know well. “Sir?”

  “His Grace wishes the trial to begin shortly. He will hear the lawyers speak, then Lady Marjorie and Sir Lachlan. He also wishes to inform you that you are permitted to remain and observe proceedings but must sit with the queen’s ladies. And, er, he said I must tell you to, er…behave.”

  Both annoyance and relief flooded her. “Please thank His Grace,” she replied crisply. “And tell him I am, as ever, his loyal subject.”

  The man bowed, then bustled away.

  Janet finished her wine and set the goblet down on the window ledge. Even holding something seemed too difficult, let alone an attempt to distract herself with embroidery or other task. Around her, the hall was being transformed into a small court, and it made her ill. Yes, soon she would see Marjorie and Lachlan, but equally as soon, their trial would begin.

  Had she done enough to help them? Would she be the reason one or both were imprisoned or worse? It had been her idea for them to marry in the irregular way, after all. And that shocking arrest at the market happened before she had the chance to explain fully about Aileen, that she no longer loved the woman. That instead they were the ones who held a place in her heart.

  Janet rubbed a weary hand over her face. If James ceased being a coward in his avoidance of her, she could have pleaded the case of her two lovers. Explained her role in the matter. Promised the moon, the sun, and the stars if he would just grant them mercy and bring this nightmare to an end.

  But he had denied her that chance. It might be that her time in favor had come to a close, and she was indeed destined to lose everyone and everything she cared about.

  A truly chilling thought when she had already lost so much.

  “Lady Janet?” called one of the queen’s English ladies impatiently. “Do sit down. They are ready to begin.”

  Clasping her hands in a futile effort at tranquility, she sat at the end of the second bench for the queen’s ladies. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped within a chirping circle of Englishwomen who thought this entertaining. At the far end of the hall, James and Margaret sat on a raised dais; he still looked supremely irritated, but she looked both smug and excited. The lawyers took their seats, and then the guard at the door thumped a wooden staff on the floor and announced, “Lady Marjorie Hepburn. Sir Lachlan Ross.”

  Her heart in her mouth, Janet leaned forward.

  Marjorie entered with an armed escort first. Her shoulders were back, her chin high, but her face looked deathly pale and her eyes a little swollen.

  Staring helplessly, furious she could not do more, Janet managed to meet her gaze, touching two fingers to her lips in a discreet half kiss, and her former ward smiled a little. Then Lachlan entered the hall, surrounded by men at least a head shorter and appearing even more irritated than the king. When he saw Marjorie remained unharmed, his shoulders relaxed, and when Janet met his gaze and sent him his half kiss, he inclined his head and placed a hand over his heart.

  So courtly.

  A sob lodged in her throat.

  Yes, my pet, I am impressed.

  James clapped his hands together and stood. “Queen Margaret. Lords and ladies. Learned men of the law and clergy. We are here to determine a matter concerning my ward Lady Marjorie Hepburn and my champion Sir Lachlan Ross. I will hear facts and honest opinion. I will not permit a spectacle. Do so proceed, Master Boyd.”

  The lawyer stood and doffed his cap. “Your Graces. Learned friends. We are here to examine grave offenses against the crown, committed by the man and woman so accused…”

  Janet twisted her fingers together.

  The reckoning had begun.

  …

  Once, he’d had the greatest respect for learned men. But in one day, Boyd and Douglas had turned his good opinion forever.

  Lachlan watched in enraged silence as the lawyers smiled. As they paced. As they gestured.

  As they lied.

  The things they’d said in this hall to Marjorie, the half truths and twisting of her words, the “evidence” from Angus Campbell and Aileen Campbell. Sneering comments about his humble illegitimate birth. His “murder” of the four men who had attacked the wagon and threatened the ladies.

  And through it all, James said nothing, just sat in brooding silence. If it weren’t for Lady Janet, his steadfast mistress, he might have thought he’d been forsaken entirely. But he hadn’t been. Nor had Marjorie. They might not have seen Lady Janet for days, nor had she spoken of love, but her deeds spoke for her. In truth, deeds were far more reassuring. The two lawyers had just proven how false and worthless words could be.

  “A-hem! Sir Lachlan. Please do favor the court with an answer to the question,” said Master Douglas, his words near dripping with disdain.

  Plague take it. Which one now? It seemed as though the smiling viper had fired a thousand poisoned arrows, and he could scarcely think anymore. “C-could you r-repeat it?”

  “Beg pardon, sir?”

  Lachlan gritted his teeth at the overloud tone, the sly looks, the muffled laughs and whispers behind hands at his faltering speech. “I…ah…asked…”

  “Sir Lachlan requested that the question be repeated, Master Douglas,” the king said crisply. “Listen more closely.”

  The lawyer blinked and mopped his brow with a linen square. “Yes, Your Grace. Sir Lachlan, on the twentieth day of July, Lady Janet received a missive from our good queen. Did she inform you of the contents?”

  “Aye.”

  “And what did it say?”

  “You know…what it s-said.”

  Master Douglas gave him a pitying look, as though he were a witless child. No doubt in the courtroom he was. But with a longsword or other weapon, he would best the lawyer with one hand tied behind his back. “Please, Sir Lachlan. For the court—”

  James clapped his hands once. “The letter said Her Grace the queen had arranged a marriage for Lady Marjorie to an English baron in Carlisle two weeks hence. Master Douglas, as you seem to be struggling with the art of questioning a witness, and for the sake of brevity, I ask you to sit and allow your learned friend to continue.”

  Master Boyd rose to his feet and replaced his red-faced friend. “Sir Lachlan. Pray tell, how did the household react to the letter, and what did you do next?”

  Lachlan scowled at the memory of Marjorie’s tears, of Lady Janet’s worried pacing as she thought of a plan. For that injustice, for the love he bore the two women in his life, both strong in their own way, both courageous in overcoming adversity…he would force his wretched mouth to work. He would make these lawyers and all the people present understand. “Distress. As Lady Marjorie said…she did not want…to marry an Englishman. So I offered. To wed her.”

  “For coin?”

  “No,” he snarled.

  “Come now, sir, there is no shame in coin changing hands. You are a man of little means. Surely you must have expected payment for so great a burden in defying an order of our good queen. And Lady Marjorie is an heiress.”
r />   “No.”

  Master Boyd laughed. “So you chose to commit a terrible act…for nothing?”

  “Not for nothing. Because I cared. Because it was right. Because she is…a good woman. The very best.”

  “How interesting. But you knew it was terrible, for you rode away with Lady Marjorie to St. Andrews without informing the guards. Did you inform Lady Janet?”

  “Lady Janet was…in the chapel,” he replied. The lawyers were not the only ones who could speak a half truth. “Praying.”

  “I see. But this next part is where it becomes…unclear. You claim to have wed Lady Marjorie in an irregular ceremony, with a written promise, witnessed and signed by a Master Shaw and his clerk.”

  A chill prickled the back of Lachlan’s neck. “What is unclear?”

  “My learned friend and I searched and searched, but we could not find either this Master Shaw or his clerk. Nor can you produce any evidence of this promise—”

  “I gave you…the d-document.”

  Master Boyd shook his head sadly. “No, sir, you did not. I can only conclude that this tale of a marriage is false and fraudulent and that Lady Marjorie is in fact free to wed as Her Grace the queen so arranged.”

  The room erupted. Queen Margaret clapped her hands in delight, and James sat forward in his chair, his brow creasing. His advisers offered loud opinions among themselves, and the queen’s ladies whispered and giggled. Stunned at the bold lie from a man supposedly here to uphold the law, Lachlan glanced at Marjorie. Very deliberately, she tilted her head toward the hall fireplace, and understanding dawned. Burned. The vermin had burned his copy of the marriage promise.

  Did they find the second copy?

  “Silence,” snapped the king. “If there are no witnesses and no document, I can only rule in one way…”

  Master Boyd bowed. “Your Grace—”

  “Unless of course there is anyone else present with evidence relevant to this matter?”

  Lachlan held his breath, not daring to look at his mistress. And then he heard the sweetest words in history. Bold and clear for everyone in the hall to hear.