Chapter 6 #2
Katie barked a laugh. “Och, I like ye better every time ye open yer mouth. Come then, let’s see what they’ve laid out for us. If we’re quick, we’ll get the best of the honey cakes before the bairns snatch them all.”
Scarlett let herself be drawn forward, still painfully aware of Robert at the edge of the long table, his shadow stretching long across the stone.
The hall was a storm of laughter, pipes shrieking, and mugs slamming against the tables. Robert sat at the high table, his place claimed by right, yet for the first time in years, his thoughts were not on the clan but on the woman seated to his right.
Scarlett.
Her gown shimmered green in the firelight, gold threads catching each flicker, and her hair gleamed black as a raven’s wing. Her cheeks flushed with wine and warmth though her smile seemed tentative, as if she was still learning how to wear it.
She looks like she belongs, even if she doesnae believe it yet.
He reached for his cup. Left it untouched.
At his left, Leon leaned in, voice pitched low enough not to carry. “Ye’ll need to say something, Robert. Folks are staring holes in ye waiting for it. A toast at least. Show them their Laird’s pleased.”
Robert grunted, eyes still on Scarlett. “I’m nay man for speeches.” Leon smirked, swirling the ale in his cup. “Aye, but ye’re the leader, and that means they’ll take even a grunt from ye as gospel. Keep it short. Thank them, raise the cup, be done with it.”
Robert stiffened. He hated being goaded into displays, but Leon was right; too much silence would sour the night. He tore his gaze from Scarlett and lifted his cup.
“To all gathered, me thanks. Gundor stands stronger for yer loyalty, and I ask ye to welcome the Lady McLaren into yer hearts as ye’ve welcomed her into this hall.”
The cheer that followed rattled the rafters. Scarlett stiffened slightly beside him, but when the crowd looked her way, she inclined her head with composure.
Then Mack Little, broad, bearded, and always a touch too bold, rose from his bench, tankard raised high. “To a bairn soon, Laird and Lady McLaren!”
The hall erupted with laughter, a chorus of ayes and bawdy whistles.
Scarlett froze. Her breath hitched so faintly Robert doubted anyone else noticed. But he did. He noticed everything. She forced a smile, inclining her head politely. “Thank ye.”
Her eyes flicked to him then, almost hesitant.
Robert found his eyes fixed on her longer than he should have allowed. There was something in the way the light touched her face, in the faint flush that lingered on her cheeks. Her lips parted as though she meant to speak, but no words came.
For a heartbeat, the hall’s noise dulled to a blur at the edges. All he saw was the quick pulse at her throat, the curve of her mouth, and the way she held herself as if torn between composure and flight.
Scarlett was the one to look away. She raised her cup, taking a sip too slow, as though the wine were a shield she could hide behind.
Robert kept his face free of emotion though he wanted to curse, to snatch her from her seat, to make her hold that gaze until she understood what smoldered between them, but the hall was watching.
Mack leaned closer to Robert, his voice booming above the music. “A fine match, aye, Laird McLaren? Gallaway’s no small ally to claim.”
Robert’s mouth was a hard line. “Gallaway is a man I’ll deal with when I must. Tonight belongs to Gundor.”
Mack chuckled, sloshing ale onto the table. “Aye, but alliances are won or lost at tables like this, mind. Yer wife’s kin will prove useful if—”
Robert cut him off, his voice sharp as a blade. “Enough, Mack.”
The clansman blinked, taken aback, but Robert was already rising to his feet.
He turned to Scarlett. “Come.”
She looked up, startled. “Now? The feast—”
He did not repeat himself. His hand closed around hers, and he drew her up beside him. Conversation faltered as they moved through the hall though no one dared stop them.
Robert led her out into the corridor, and the door thudding shut behind them, muting the roar of pipes and voices.
Scarlett tilted her face up to him, her cheeks still flushed from the hall. “Why leave so sudden? Folks will think us rude.”
“Folk will think what I tell them to think,” he replied curtly.
Her lips parted, ready to fire back, but the words tangled in the space between them. He had stopped walking and turned to face her fully, their hands still joined.
He felt the old restraint pulling tight inside him, the battle between duty and want.
Five nights. That’s all ye promised her. Five nights and then distance.
But God help him, he could take her now.
His gaze flicked down, just once, to the curve of her mouth.
Scarlett sucked in a breath, as though she had felt the touch he hadn’t given.
Robert’s hand tightened around hers, a single, sharp pulse of pressure, then he let go.
"Good night, Scarlett."
He turned before she could find her voice. He didn't look back. Not at her, not at the door, not at the end of the stone corridor. He kept walking until the noise of the feast faded into nothing.
He stopped in the shadows of the passage, the air cold against his face. His palm was still hot where her skin had touched his. He stayed there, rooted to the stone, and did not move for a long time.