Chapter Six

Plague take it, imagining herself as a Thoroughbred, sleek and swift, had not worked. Her pursuers nearly had her cornered.

Marjorie clung to the stair banister, her knees wobbling and breasts aching after the short run.

“I shall fight to the death!” she wheezed, wishing she had a sword to brandish rather than a single waving finger. It did lessen the theatric impact somewhat.

“Lady?”

Marjorie’s hand slipped, and she flopped onto the bottom stair in an ungainly heap before turning and glaring at Sir Lachlan. “We agreed on a cough to warn of your approach.”

He cleared his throat. “You spoke to no one. Are you well?”

“I did no such thing. I warned away the women stalking me with the food they wish to put in my hair.”

Sir Lachlan’s brow furrowed. “Food?”

Marjorie sighed as her heartbeat finally began to slow. “They claim Janet wishes them to wash my hair. But they don’t have a square of lye soap, just a dish of bacon fat. Raw eggs. Vinegar. Now tell me, Sir Lachlan, does that sound like tools of beauty or the makings of supper?”

His head tilted, his gaze suddenly far away. “My mother used eggs. One each month. The chicken had…a bad temper. My hands were pecked bloody. But her hair shone. Like sunbeams.”

The silence stretched between them as Marjorie absorbed that halting, rasping affectionate tale, surely the longest string of words Sir Lachlan had ever bestowed upon her. But the emotion behind it—he’d loved his mother. It seemed the habit he’d learned as a boy had stayed with the man. He sacrificed and served.

“Is she…is your mother in the Highlands somewhere?”

Sir Lachlan’s face shuttered. “No. She died long ago.”

“Forgive me, I—”

“Let them wash it,” he said gruffly. “To please Lady Janet. It will look…pretty.”

And with that pronouncement, he marched past her and out the front door toward the orchard.

Well.

Marjorie propped her chin on her hands and stared after Sir Lachlan. Her head had accepted that he belonged to Janet, that they were lovers, that she had no choice but to remain a virgin until her wedding night with a husband of the king’s choosing.

Her heart had yet to reconcile with those facts.

It still believed that Sir Lachlan liked her a little. More than duty, which made it difficult to live under the same roof, as she kept pondering what he and Janet might do together in bed.

Would they ever permit me to watch them?

The shocking thought lodged in her mind, so wicked, so troubling, Marjorie leaped up and paced the entrance hall. It was sinful enough she wanted so much more from Janet, more touching, to be kissed and stroked and to learn how to do so in return. But to even entertain the thought of watching Janet and Sir Lachlan naked and pleasuring each other, bedding each other…

Marjorie shuddered, her breathing now shallow pants.

Wicked. Terribly, shamefully, wicked. Janet was her guardian, kindly teaching her. Sir Lachlan a protector.

Nothing more.

“Lady Marjorie,” came a voice to her left, and she turned to see the two servant women intent on turning her hair into a larder. The curtsies were polite, the expressions exasperated.

She sighed and surrendered. “Very well. Forgive my reluctance, but I’ve only ever washed my hair with lye soap. I did not know there were other remedies.”

One of the women grimaced. “Lye soap? Oh no, m’lady. This will be so much better. No tangles, and it will smell sweet and fresh too.”

“Will it take very long? I must meet Lady Janet in the solar at noon. For a, er, lesson.”

That I wouldn’t miss for the world.

“A half hour at most. We’ve done it for all the ladies. And our sisters. We’ll have your hair looking right nice in no time.”

Marjorie shot a doubtful look at the basket. The egg she would try, if for no other reason than Sir Lachlan’s poignant story. But bacon fat? Ugh. “Where?”

The other woman smiled. “We have a little bathing tent set up outside for privacy. Hood, gown, and kirtle off; shift on. Come with us and we’ll begin.”

Soon she knelt on a cushion in front of a large wooden bucket. Several other smaller buckets sat nearby, each filled to the brim with fresh water.

After wetting her hair, two egg yolks were rubbed in. Then the women rinsed it clean with jugs of water. Next came the bacon fat, and Marjorie’s nose twitched at both the smell and the unpleasant cool greasiness on her scalp. Once they’d scraped and rinsed that away, a small deluge of vinegar covered her entire head, trickling onto her arms and down her face, as expert hands firmly massaged. If this was the final treatment, no one would want to sit near her for at least a week. But the vinegar washed away into the wooden bucket, and the servant opened another jar of something green that actually smelled lovely, like fresh herbs.

Marjorie sniffed appreciatively. “Is that mint?”

“Aye, m’lady. Will make your head tingle. Plus parsley, thyme, and watercress made into a paste.”

They let the paste sit in her hair for a few minutes before rinsing, then a servant dried away the excess water with a linen towel. Marjorie prepared to stand, but the other servant’s voice halted her.

“Two more things, m’lady. We’ll rub your hair with silk, then comb it.”

She nodded reluctantly, as they were clearly skilled in their work. But when the woman eventually produced a wooden comb, Marjorie gritted her teeth. This was always the worst part.

The comb slid through her hair like an eating knife through tender meat.

“It’s not tangled!” she exclaimed. “And it doesn’t hurt! It always hurts. Always.”

“That’s the bacon fat,” said the woman with a smug smile. “Egg for shine, vinegar to clean and get rid of any nasties, herbal paste for scent. Rubbing with silk adds extra glow. Aye, your hair is clean as a mountain stream now. But leave your hood off until it has dried fully.”

Marjorie sat back on her heels. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“The coin we earn is thanks enough. As is a kind mistress. You’ll tell Lady Janet you are pleased?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, nodding fervently. “When I see her in the solar.”

The two women helped her back into her kirtle and cream-colored gown before curtsying and gathering up their buckets and dishes. “Best go on, then, m’lady. Must be nearing noon.”

Her heart pounded with anticipation. Janet would be pleased at her obedience, and she could show off her newly beautiful hair. Best of all, it was time for her kissing lesson.

Hurrying to the solar as fast as she could, Marjorie halted in the doorway of the elegantly furnished space, overheated and panting a little. But her gaze raced over the tapestries, the embroidery frame, the harp and lute, and the low table with jugs of wine and sweetmeats atop it, for Janet sat cool and poised on a cushioned chaise in the center of the room.

“Am I late? Forgive me!”

Janet shook her head. “Not at all. I arrived early to inspect the room. We shall enjoy many happy hours here, I’m sure. Come in, my dear. Close the door behind you.”

Marjorie’s breath hitched as she obeyed the command. “I was getting my hair washed,” she said shyly, completing a turn that made her hair whip about her.

“Come and sit next to me so I might see better.”

“I rebelled at first,” she admitted, perching on the chaise. “The food, you see. I didn’t know about eggs and vinegar. Or bacon fat. I was only ever permitted lye soap at the convent. The women here were so kind. So skilled.”

“Rebellion?” said Janet, as she leaned forward and wound a lock of washed hair around one finger before tugging it gently. “How wicked.”

Marjorie shuddered at the light prickle on her scalp. How could that make other parts of her body feel warm and restless? But there was far more to come, as her guardian traced the outline of her closed lips. Softly at first, then more firmly, until they parted of their own accord. “Mmmmm.”

“You sound like a lass ready to learn. Are you?”

She nodded fervently, her breasts bobbing. “Show me. Please.”

Janet cradled her cheek, then leaned forward and brushed her lips against Marjorie’s. A gentle and delicate kiss, a slow glide of lip against lip.

So soft and sweet!

Yet not nearly enough.

With a frustrated whimper, Marjorie attempted to kiss her back. To her relief and delight, Janet firmed her lips and pressed harder. Soon she felt the flick of Janet’s tongue, once, twice. Demanding entry? Uncertain, she tentatively opened her mouth, and her reward was a much deeper and more intimate kiss with a pointed tongue that rubbed against her own, a kiss that sent jolts of hot sensation darting through her body and left her squirming on the chaise.

Overwhelmed, unable to catch her breath, she pulled away.

“Marjorie?” said Janet, he gaze concerned.

“I…I can’t breathe,” she whispered. “My gown bodice is too tight. May I…may I take it off?”

Her guardian nodded, her eyes glittering like emeralds. “Of course.”

…

Marjorie was so beautiful. So innocently sensual.

It was taking every bit of willpower she possessed to move slowly in the continuation of this virgin’s awakening, for a first kiss was equally important as a first release. Some might say she should have started her lessons with a kiss, but it was her firm opinion that a woman needed to know her own body, her own mind, before sharing it with another.

Pressing her thighs together against a fierce wave of arousal, Janet distracted herself by helping her ward remove her gown and kirtle so she wore only her stockings and shift. The linen garment might be modest, but it barely constrained Marjorie’s ample breasts, and her nipples jutted lewdly against the fabric, an unspoken plea to be sucked and bitten and stroked.

This time when Janet leaned in to kiss her, with merciless self-restraint she allowed her own breasts to briefly brush the younger woman’s, a tease of soft flesh and hard nipples that promised the world and yet delivered nothing more.

Marjorie moaned.

Stifling her raging lust, Janet feigned confusion. “Something the matter, dear one?”

“I…ah…”

“Tell me,” she said sternly.

“My nipples ache terribly. I want to touch them,” Marjorie mumbled.

“Touch them how? Stroke? Circle? Pinch?”

Her ward bit her kiss-swollen lip. “I’ve only stroked them. Never pinched.”

Janet nodded. “Depends entirely on the person. Some dislike having their nipples touched at all. Some prefer a light stroking. But others enjoy a hint of pain to heighten sensation and find a pinch very pleasurable.”

“Show me?”

“One moment, my dear,” said Janet as she sat back on the chaise. She was so unbearably aroused, a moment was needed to clear her head and regain control.

Taking a deep breath, she allowed the tranquility of the solar to drape around her like the softest quilt. It was already her favorite room in the manor, created solely for relaxation and privacy from the noise, the bustle, the purpose of the rooms on the ground floor. Today the solar would host a lesson in seduction, but the warmth of the sun shining through the large windows could never compete with the heat between her and Marjorie.

With Sir Lachlan, her lust had been fierce and absolute, a man and a woman who could indulge themselves and had done so because they were a bachelor and a widow with no real restrictions placed upon them. But once had not been enough, nor twice, and in truth she could not see herself willingly giving up her gruff, deadly, and yet delightfully yielding Highland Beast anytime soon. Nor could she deny Marjorie the lessons she so wanted and needed.

By the saints, this was complicated. And the longer she walked this cliff edge, the higher the risk to her heart as it softened toward them both. Her mind already warned her to defy the king and send Sir Lachlan and Marjorie away, but she was on thin ice with James. He had sent a very curt letter expressing his displeasure at the slaying of Lord Kerr and his men; even with the arrows and the threats, the last thing he wanted was a rise in tension between Lowland and Highland. Besides, even the thought of Sir Lachlan and Marjorie gone—knowing that future husbands and wives might never understand their true natures and needs, leaving them lonely and unfulfilled—made her decidedly irritable. Hot tempered in a way only a red-haired Highland lass could be.

“Janet? Are you angry with me?”

At Marjorie’s small-voiced question, the dismay on her face, Janet silently berated herself for causing the younger woman anxiety. Where was her command? Her famed skill and experience in lusty matters? She’d admonished her ward last night for not talking before acting, and here she was making the same mistake.

“Not at all, my dear,” she replied swiftly, cupping her cheek and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear before trailing her fingers down to the tops of Marjorie’s breasts. “Forgive my lapse. I lost my head a little, which is not at all the thing when giving a lesson. Shall we continue?”

Marjorie shuddered, arching her back a little. “Please. Touch me.”

Deftly, Janet tugged down the bodice of her ward’s shift to reveal one creamy, rose pink–tipped breast. Her mouth watered to suck the swollen nipple, to scrape it with her teeth, to bite it. But again she tormented herself with restraint, merely circling the tight bud with her fingertip before sliding one finger on either side and gently squeezing.

Gasping, Marjorie cupped her breast and offered it up higher. “More. Harder. Please, please do it harder.”

Devil take it, she couldn’t hold back a moment longer. Not with her heart nearly pounding out of her chest, sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, and her cunt soaking wet. Leaning forward, she kissed Marjorie fiercely, plunging her tongue into the younger woman’s mouth while she tormented her tender nipple with alternate rough thumbing and firm pinches, reveling in her ward’s broken cries of pleasure.

Just when Janet was about to taste that sweet pink nipple, a flash of movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head.

Sir Lachlan!

Standing in the doorway of the solar. Watching them. His usually stoic face revealing confusion, arousal, and dismay all at the same time.

By the saints, she had done everything wrong so far. Including not informing him of Marjorie’s lessons, that they had naught to do with their bedsport.

Moving her mouth to Marjorie’s ear, she murmured, “My dear, it seems you did not close the door as well as you might, and we have an audience. One naughty protector. We should stop.”

But the younger woman gripped her arm, her eyes heavy lidded with desire and yet an underlying desperation as well.

“No.”

Janet hesitated, then nodded. The only way to unravel this tangle she had created was the method she had used on countless occasions: pure brazenness. Idly tweaking Marjorie’s nipple, she turned her head and met their protector’s gaze. “Sir Lachlan. Come in and latch the door behind you.”

Now he looked a little startled, but he obeyed her command. “Yes, my lady.”

“Come here and explain yourself. I do hope you have an excellent reason for interrupting this lesson.”

Sir Lachlan visibly swallowed as he moved toward the chaise, his black gaze attempting to remain on her but darting once, twice to the luscious display of Marjorie’s bared breast with its taut, rosy nipple.

Well, well.

It seemed her pet wasn’t nearly as indifferent to her ward as he appeared to be. This most interesting development would need to be thoroughly investigated.

At once.

…

He had invaded the ladies’ sanctuary, so it was his own fault he’d seen what he should not: the truly erotic sight of Lady Janet and Lady Marjorie kissing on the chaise, of Lady Marjorie holding her own bared breast for her guardian to fondle.

Of course he’d seen women touch each other before. Back in the court of bachelor King James, such antics barely raised an eyebrow when wine flowed like a river. In many a tavern, too, women looking to earn extra coin would perform alluring dances together. But none of those women had ever looked like this. So passionate. So greedy for one another. These two did not play to amuse an audience or feign lust to loosen purse strings. They wanted this touching, no matter what Lady Janet had said about it being a lesson. And God help him, even though being replaced so soon hurt like an arrow piercing his flesh, he couldn’t help but stare at the two of them, at Lady Marjorie’s breast, which was a large creamy mound of perfection tipped with a swollen nipple dark pink from Lady Janet’s attentions. Couldn’t help the hardening of his wretched cock.

“Ladies,” he said hoarsely, helplessly, when really he should have turned on his boot heel and gone, for he could not bear to witness the woman he loved falling in love with another.

Lady Janet raised an imperious brow. “You did not answer me properly. I asked you to explain your reason for interrupting this lesson, my Beast.”

Now he was even more confused. Her words were brisk, as though she was irritated, and yet there was warmth in her gaze. And she’d called him “my Beast.”

“Uh,” he said, fumbling for the right words and failing utterly. “Forgive me. I did not know…a lesson?”

Lady Janet rose from the chaise and walked to him, then rested her hand on his chest in a gesture that both soothed and staked a claim, and his shoulders relaxed a little.

“At the king’s pleasure, Marjorie will be wed to a stranger,” she said calmly. “As you know, she was imprisoned in a strict convent most of her life, so she has never had the opportunity to meet young lads. She’s never been kissed. Never been touched. I cannot change her past, but I can prepare her for the future. Instruct her in the ways of the marriage bed so that she is not frightened by it, here in a place that is both safe and discreet.”

Put in such a way, it almost made sense. His mother probably would have championed something similar; he’d overheard her lecturing his father on many occasions about his stubborn stance on the role of young women in the clan and their lack of knowledge on worldly matters. Then she’d been killed, and any hope of his father adopting her startling and modern ideas had died with her.

Yet he couldn’t halt the heartfelt words that sprang to his lips. “I am not…replaced?”

Lady Janet frowned. “I am a forthright woman. If I no longer wish to bed you, I will say it to your face. As you are free to tell me. And I most certainly desire to have you in my bed. So tell me, Sir Lachlan, are you going to continue on your merry way, or…”

“Or?” he prompted, his heart thundering in his chest.

A wicked smile curved her lips, one that made his cock throb. “Or assist me with my lesson?”

Lady Marjorie gasped, but her eyes were bright with curiosity as she shifted on the chaise. “Assist…how?”

“Yes,” he echoed hesitantly. “How?”

Lady Janet caressed his chest. “I can teach my ward how to kiss, about the pleasures found in her own body. Alas, though, I cannot show her how to handle her future husband’s cock. How to kiss it. Suck it. Coax it to release seed. But you could, with my support.”

A dark thrill shot through him, and he barely suppressed a moan. How often had he dreamed of the woman he loved teasing him, ruthlessly using him for her own enjoyment? If he agreed, not only would he please his lover, he would be serving sweet Lady Marjorie as well. Two women—one he loved, one he unwillingly had tender feelings for—touching him. Instructing him.

Pleasuring him.

“Very well,” he said gruffly.

Marjorie clapped her hands together, the movement lifting her bared breast higher. “You will? Oh, thank you! I am so eager to learn. I know I’ve only a short time to learn a lifetime’s worth of knowledge before the king yanks…er, before I must leave…”

“Do not think of that, dear one,” said Lady Janet. “Think of today. Think of now. We must begin without delay. Sir Lachlan, if you would remove your clothing and place your hands atop your head.”

He’d never undressed faster in his life, and soon his doublet, shirt, shoes, stockings, and hose sat in a pile on the solar floor. The afternoon sun was sensually warm on his naked flesh, and he arched his back a little as he placed his hands on his head as instructed. He just hoped Lady Marjorie wasn’t a swooning virgin, as much like the rest of him, his cock was large, and it was already thickening and lengthening.

“So many scars,” said Lady Marjorie, biting her lip. “That fresh one…”

Before he could lower his arms and cover himself, Lady Janet placed a hand on the small of his back and rubbed in small circles. “Indeed. Each one a mark of courage, of bravery in service to the king. And the last in service to us. Each one is to be admired. Also to be admired is his exceedingly impressive cock. Take a cushion and kneel at his feet, Marjorie. Sir Lachlan has graciously allowed you to practice on him, but he may call a halt at any time. If he does so and you do not stop at once, my dear, it will be the last lesson you have. Understood?”

“Yes,” said Lady Marjorie softly as she gazed up at him with wide eyes. “May I touch you, Sir Lachlan?”

God’s blood, she aroused him—the curiosity, the innocence in that blue gaze, yet with kiss-swollen lips and that pretty pink nipple exposed to his avid stare. “Just Lachlan. Aye.”

Very, very tentatively she reached up and brushed her fingers along his length. At the heady contrast of her cool, smooth skin, his cock jerked against his stomach, and the young woman reared back in alarm.

“Such a rampant cock!” said Lady Janet, her amusement plain. “You must take it in hand, dear one. Be firm. Show that you are in command. By the by, it is highly unlikely your future husband’s manhood will be this large, so if you can master this one, you can master anything.”

Lady Marjorie nodded, a rather endearing expression of determination settling on her beautiful face. This time she wrapped her fingers around his cock and squeezed gently as she leaned in to inspect the full length of him, the coarse black hair surrounding it, his heavy balls dangling underneath. Inexpertly stroking, massaging, her touch becoming more sure as she grew in confidence. Lachlan closed his eyes and began to count backward. With both women touching him, this might well be the shortest lesson in history.

“What did you say, Lachlan?” asked Lady Marjorie.

His eyes flew open. “Uh…”

Lady Janet laughed. “He is counting in Gaelic. Which means you are doing wonderfully. Now you have learned his length and girth, you might learn his taste.”

Lachlan’s breath caught. He would not survive this.

But what a fine, fine path to his demise.