Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Edith had clung to her so tightly that Scarlett thought she might never breathe again. Her sweet friend’s tears had dampened the collar of her gown.
“Ye’ll come back to visit, Scarlett,” Edith had whispered, desperate. “Promise me.”
Scarlett had pressed her palms to Edith’s cheeks, wiping the tears with her thumbs. “I’ll come visiting, aye? And ye’ll write me. Aaron gave his word ye’d be safe here.”
Edith had nodded though her eyes brimmed over again.
Aaron had stood apart with his arms folded and a blank face. His farewell had been nothing more than a curt nod. She had searched his face for something—affection, regret, even pride—but found nothing. That emptiness had stung more than she dared admit.
The journey had stretched nearly a full day, and Scarlett felt every mile of it in her bones.
The wind bit sharp across the hills as Gundor Castle came into view, its gray towers rising high against the darkening sky.
She held herself tall in the saddle though her back ached and her hands were stiff from the reins.
Robert rode beside her although he was silent throughout the ride, only making small talk with some of his men along the way.
She stole a glance at him and quickly looked away again.
He hadn’t touched her since the vows or even kissed her when they were pronounced man and wife in their little wedding. Not at the kirk when the priest had bound their hands, not on the ride.
He had touched her only once. A brief, bruising contact as he gripped her arm to hoist her into the saddle. It had been a gesture of cold efficiency, the impersonal movement of a man handling a crate of grain or a hound that belonged to him.
She had expected to feel insulted. She had expected to feel small. She hadn’t expected the ghost of his heat to sear through the thick wool of her sleeve, marking her skin long after he’d let go. His fingers had felt like iron bands, steady and terrifyingly strong.
Her mind strayed, unbidden, to the moment she had left Hallow. And now here she was, worn to the bone, a wife by name, and about to step into her new life at Gundor.
The gates of the castle swung wide as their company rode in. Torches flared to life along the battlements, and the clang of hooves echoed across the courtyard. Servants hurried to meet them, bowing and curtsying in practiced lines.
One man broke from the group, striding forward with easy confidence. He was broad-shouldered with sandy hair and a grin that made him look more mischievous than solemn. He swept a bow that was just a touch exaggerated.
“Welcome home, Laird McLaren,” he said to Robert before turning to Scarlett with a spark in his eye. “And welcome to Gundor, Me Lady. Leon, at yer service. Steward, voice of reason, and on good days, the one who keeps this place from tumbling into chaos.”
Scarlett blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his manner. “It’s kind of ye to welcome me so.”
“Aye, it’s easy to be kind,” Leon said cheerfully. “Though I’ll warn ye, Me Lady, ye’ve given me twice the work now.”
Scarlett tilted her head. “How so?”
Leon leaned closer, lowering his voice as though confiding in her. “Because I’ll have to keep a closer watch on the gates. Half the men in the Highlands will be knocking for a glimpse of ye.”
Scarlett blinked, startled, before letting out a soft laugh. “Is that so?” “Aye,” Leon grinned. “With a face like that, I’d better keep a sword on me at all times.”
Robert’s scowl cut through the levity like a blade. “That’s enough, Leon.”
Leon only straightened, unrepentant, though he dipped his head with mock solemnity. “As ye wish, Me Laird.”
Scarlett glanced between them, her amusement bubbling up despite her weariness. “It’s nice to meet ye, Leon.”
“And ye, Me Lady,” he said warmly. “If ever ye need something, call on me.”
Robert cut in, “She’ll call on me.” He turned to Scarlett, his gaze unreadable. “I’ll show ye to yer chambers.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together, bowing her head slightly to Leon before following Robert across the courtyard and through the wide doors of the castle.
Inside, Gundor was a fortress of shadow and firelight. The hall stretched vast and high, banners in crimson and gold swaying above. Scarlett slowed, her eyes trying to take it all in.
“It’s… beautiful,” she murmured before she could stop herself.
Robert glanced at her. “It is strong. That is what matters.”
Scarlett’s lips curved faintly, but she didn’t press him. She let her gaze wander instead, tracing the intricate tapestries, the gleam of polished wood along the long tables. It was different from Hallow—darker, heavier—but there was majesty in every stone.
Robert led her down a corridor lined with torches. At last, he stopped before a carved oak door and pushed it open.
“The Lady’s chamber,” he said simply.
Scarlett stepped inside and halted. The room was spacious—tapestries softening the cold walls and a wide bed draped in crimson covers. A fire already crackled in the hearth. Her eyes caught on another door along the far wall.
Robert followed her gaze. “Me chamber lies through there. The doors stay unlocked should ye need anything.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She turned quickly toward the fire, pretending interest in the crackling flames. “That will… be convenient.”
He said nothing though she felt his eyes on her. The silence pressed until she forced herself to busy her hands with her gloves, pulling them free, one finger at a time.
Her mind betrayed her with sudden thoughts of the kirk, of the vows spoken, and of the kiss that had never been given. Her lips tingled at the thought. What would it feel like to taste him just once?
She swallowed hard and then shook off the thought. Scarlett slipped the gloves into her skirts and forced a smile. “It’s a fine room. Thank ye.”
Robert’s voice came from the doorway, “Before I leave ye to rest, I’ll remind ye of what we spoke. The rules stand, Scarlett. Ye’ll give me an heir. Ye’ll share me bed without quarrel. And ye willnae mistake this marriage for love.”
Scarlett turned slowly, her chin tilting high. “Aye, I remember. How could I forget such poetry? Heir, bed, and nae love. Quite the vows of romance.”
The look in his eyes should have stopped her, but she went on, her voice laced with dry humor. “But daenae trouble yerself, Me Laird. I ken well enough what’s expected. I’ll play the dutiful wife, smile at the right times, curtsy when ye demand it, and try nae to dream of love, lest it offend ye.”
She swept into a graceful curtsy, skirts whispering across the floor. “Yer obedient bride,” she added.
When she straightened, his eyes were locked on hers, as if her words had struck far somewhere deep.
Something in his gaze burned hotter than the hearth fire, storm-gray irises fixed with an intensity that rooted her to the spot. He took a slow step toward her, and Scarlett’s pulse leapt.
She could hardly breathe as he stood in front of her now. His eyes lowered to her mouth before rising back to hers.
A knock at the door broke the moment.
Robert stilled his jaw. Another knock followed, brisk and insistent.
Scarlett stepped back quickly. “Come in,” she called, her pitch higher than it would have normally been.
The door creaked open to reveal a woman of middle years with rosy cheeks and dark hair streaked with gray. She curtsied deeply, her smile as warm as spring.
“Begging yer pardon, Me Lady. I’m Mary. I’ll be looking after ye here at Gundor.”
Robert’s gaze lingered on Scarlett one last time, sliding once more, almost unwillingly to her lips. Then he stepped past Mary without a word, the door shutting firmly behind him.
Mary clucked her tongue, setting down a folded bundle of linens she carried. “Och, that one. Grim as a thundercloud, is he nae? He barely nods to the servants half the time. Daenae fret, Me Lady, I’ll soften the edges for ye.”
Scarlett blinked, still trying to gather herself. “He is… rather stern.”
Mary laughed, the sound bright and bubbling.
“Stern? Lass, he’s stiff enough to snap if the wind catches him wrong.
” She bustled about the chamber, checking the hearth, smoothing the bedcovers, and fussing over the curtains.
“But daenae let that scowl fool ye. The Laird looks after his own. He’ll look after ye too whether he admits it or nay. ”
Scarlett sank onto the chair by the fire and felt her head spinning. “I’ll hold him to that, then.”
Mary straightened and winked. “Good. Someone has to.”
Scarlett bit her lip, and her mind still tangled with the memory of his eyes fixed on her, the nearness of him. She tried to push it aside, focusing instead on the cheerful woman before her.
“Tell me, Mary, have ye been at Gundor long?”
“All me life,” Mary said proudly. “I was born in the village, came to the castle when I was just a slip of a girl. I’ve seen three lairds, and none could cow me, so daenae think I’ll quake at the sight of ye either.”
Scarlett laughed; she felt the tension in her chest easing a little. “I should hope nae. I’d rather ye speak plain with me than walk on eggshells.”
“Oh, I’ll speak plain,” Mary assured her. “First plain word is this, ye’ll need patience. The Laird is set in his ways. Lives and breathes order. But ye—” She tipped her head, eyes twinkling. “Ye’ve a spark about ye. I can see it already.”
Scarlett flushed faintly. “A spark? I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
Mary chuckled. “Aye. And sparks make fire. Gundor’s been too long without a fire in its halls. Mark me, lass, ye’ll change the air in this place.”
Scarlett felt her throat tighten though she managed a small smile. “I only hope to fit in, Mary. To do what’s expected.”
“Expected?” Mary waved her hand. “Expected keeps the bread on the table, aye, but unexpected, that’s what keeps a soul alive.”
Scarlett couldn’t help laughing again, a soft, genuine sound. “Ye’re bold, Mary.”