Chapter 2 #2
She walked into the center of the room, but the moment the heavy oak door groaned shut behind them, the space seemed to shrink. The high ceilings and stone walls didn't matter anymore. The room was suddenly made of nothing but him.
The air grew thick, tasting of peat smoke and the cold, sharp scent of the Highlands that clung to his wool cloak.
She didn't have to turn around to know exactly where he stood.
She could feel the heat of him radiating against her back, a physical weight that made the corset around her ribs feel twice as tight.
Every sound was magnified in the sudden silence.
The rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, or was it hers? The soft, predatory creak of his harness as he shifted his weight.
Scarlett took a shallow breath, her ink-stained fingers curling into her palms. She had spent her life navigating the crowded halls of Hallow, but she had never felt as trapped, or as vividly alive, as she did in this small, stone sanctuary with Robert McLaren standing guard at her back.
Scarlett folded her hands, trying to appear composed though her pulse raced. “Tell me, Laird McLaren,” she said, her voice a shade too bright, “what words demand such privacy?”
“I thought it best to be plain,” he said. “I willnae dress matters in silk for ye. Ye deserve the truth as I see it.”
Scarlett’s brows rose. “And what truth is that?”
Robert studied her, his storm-gray eyes fixated on her. “This marriage is nae born of romance nor of choice. It’s duty. To me clan. To yers. It must serve its purpose, or it’s worth nothing.”
Scarlett blinked at him, “Ye brought me here to tell me what I already ken?”
A flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes. He stepped closer, the space shrinking between them. “I brought ye here to tell ye me terms. If ye are to be me wife, there are rules.”
Her breath caught. “Rules?”
“Aye.” He planted his hands on the table, leaning slightly toward her. “First, ye’ll give me an heir. That is yer foremost duty. Second, ye’ll surrender yer nights to me without quarrel. And last, ye willnae make the mistake of falling in love with me.”
Scarlett’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Heat rushed to her face, and her pulse hammered in her ears. “I—ye—” She stopped, swallowing hard, then tried again. “Ye think ye can speak of me as if I were a broodmare?”
Robert’s expression didn’t change. “I think honesty spares us both disappointment, lass. Better ye hear it now than fashion dreams of something gentler.”
Scarlett’s chest heaved as she struggled to find her voice. At last, it came, sharper than she expected. “Ye’re insufferable. Cold as the stones beneath our feet. Did ye think I’d stand meek while ye laid out such commands?”
His eyes flickered, not with anger but with something darker. Interest.
Bold little lass. I thought she’d bow her head, yet here she stands spitting fire. She doesnae flinch.
He'd expected tears, or silence, or the particular kind of dignity women use as a shield. Not this. Not her chin up and her eyes straight on him like she's measuring something.
Scarlett took a step forward, jabbing a finger toward his chest though she dared not touch him. “I willnae be cowed by rules, Laird McLaren. Ye’ll find I’ve more spine than suits yer liking. I may be bound by this alliance, but I am nae yers to order about like a servant.”
Robert tilted his head slightly, his gaze sliding to her mouth before returning to her eyes. His voice dropped. “Ye’ve fire, lass. I’ll give ye that.”
The sound of it made her shiver though she masked it with a scowl. “And ye’ve arrogance enough to choke a stable.”
For the first time, the edge of his mouth twitched. Not a smile, something subtler, as though he fought one back. “Perhaps. But arrogance keeps men alive. Keeps clans alive.”
Scarlett folded her arms, refusing to back down though her body thrummed with awareness of him. “And what keeps a woman alive, then? Submission?”
His gaze locked on hers, “Strength. Which ye clearly have. All the same, strength doesnae change what I’ve said. I want an heir, yer nights with full submission, and nay love.”
Scarlett’s voice wavered with disbelief. “Nay love? Ye’d forbid it as if it were a crime?”
Robert's jaw tightened, something closing behind his eyes. “Love is weakness. It clouds the mind, bends judgment. I willnae have it in me marriage.”
Scarlett’s breath shuddered, anger warring with the strange pull she felt toward him. “Then ye’re a fool, Robert McLaren. Because love is the only thing that makes such a bargain bearable.”
The silence that followed crackled like a storm about to break.
He moved closer, so close she could see the faint scar cutting along his jaw and could feel the heat radiating from his body. His voice came rough, lower than before. “Careful, lass. Ye’ll find me nae as forgiving as yer brother when ye speak out of turn.”
Scarlett’s heart thudded against her ribs. She lifted her chin, refusing to step back. “And ye’ll find me nae as pliant as ye’d like when ye try to tame me.”
Their eyes locked, neither of them yielding. The fire popped in the hearth, but the greater heat was between them, coiled tight.
Robert’s gaze dropped once more to her lips then back to her eyes.
Saints preserve me, she’s too tempting.
He stopped himself before the thought could turn into action, but he remained where he was, face to face with her.
He drew in a breath, forcing steel back into his spine. With measured control, he stepped away from her.
His voice was cold again when he spoke. “Whatever ye think of me, it’s too late to turn back. The alliance is sealed. Ye’ve nae road left but forward, Scarlett Gallaway.”