Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Scarlett stared at the ceiling until the shadows began to gray. By the time the first light hit the window, she was already dressed in a plain gown, her sketchbook gripped in one hand.
She didn't head for the gardens because she wanted to draw. She headed there because she couldn't stay in that room another minute. Every time she looked at the connecting door, her skin felt too tight. It was a physical weight, silent and immovable, and she had to get out from under it.
She slipped into the corridor, her boots quiet on the stone, and didn't breathe fully until she was past his door and out into the cold morning air.
The air was cool, sharp with dew, and she let her shoulders ease as she settled onto the bench by the rose trellis. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, charcoal sketching the hard line of a jaw she had no wish to admit was Robert’s. She scowled at the page.
So much for forgetting him.
“Ye look like a lass possessed,” a lilting voice teased.
Scarlett glanced up to find Katie balancing a small tray, steam curling from the cup she carried. “I thought ye might need fortifying.”
Scarlett accepted the drink with a grateful murmur. “If fortifying means something strong enough to keep me from tearing holes through me page, then aye.”
Katie plopped herself down on the bench beside her, peering shamelessly at the sketch. “Och, that’s nae a rose. That’s a man’s face. And unless me eyes deceive me, I’ve seen those stormy brows afore.”
Scarlett snapped the book shut. “It could be anyone.”
Katie grinned, eyes bright with mischief. “Anyone with a jaw like a cut of granite? Aye, sure. Ye ken, I hear the Laird of Gundor castle has one just like it.”
Scarlett groaned and set her cup down. “Must ye?”
“A healer’s duty is to pry into every corner,” Katie said cheerfully. “Even corners of the heart.”
Scarlett folded her arms, but the warmth in Katie’s grin disarmed her.
She sighed. “Fine. Ask what ye mean to ask.”
Katie leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. “How fares the marriage bed, then?”
Scarlett choked on air, coughing until her eyes watered. “Katie!” “What? It’s a fair question!” Katie pressed, laughter in her tone. “Two nights wed, a bonny lass like ye, and a Laird with shoulders broad as the castle gate? Ye cannae blame a woman for curiosity.”
Scarlett dragged a hand down her face. “If ye must know… there’s been no marriage bed.”
Katie blinked. “None?”
Scarlett’s laugh was brittle. “Nae. He made a contract, laid out rules before we wed—five nights to give him an heir and naught else. And since then, nothing. He keeps his distance.”
Katie whistled low. “Five nights? That’s cold work.”
Scarlett’s grip tightened on her charcoal. “Cold is the word. He speaks like I’m… like I’m livestock to be bred and put aside.”
Katie’s expression softened, mischief dimming to concern. “Oh, Me Lady.”
“I told meself I agreed for Edith’s sake, and I’d bear whatever came,” Scarlett went on, her voice low. “But I didnae expect this… this silence. He demands me body then leaves me untouched. What am I meant to think?”
Katie nudged her shoulder gently. “Maybe he’s waiting. Men are strange creatures. Some rush in; others circle like wolves for days before they bite.”
Scarlett gave a humorless laugh. “That sounds reassuring.”
Katie smirked. “If ye like, I could give ye herbs that make a man—” “Daenae finish that sentence,” Scarlett warned though her lips twitched despite herself.
“Fine, fine,” Katie said, raising her hands. “But daenae look so grim. Ye’re bonnie, clever, and he’s a man made of flesh, nae stone. Sooner or later, he’ll come round. Likely sooner.”
Scarlett opened her book again, but her hand slowed on the page. She was shading the eyes now, storm-grey, just as she had seen them in the firelight.
Katie noticed. “Ye see him clear enough, do ye nae?” Scarlett flushed. “He’s hard to ignore.”
“Aye,” Katie agreed softly. “And harder still when he starts looking back.”
Scarlett’s hand stilled entirely, her stomach tightening. She hadn’t meant to confess so much, but the words spilled out anyway. “Last night, he walked me to me chambers. He looked at me as though… as though he might kiss me. And then he didnae.”
Katie let out a low hum. “He held himself back.”
Scarlett nodded once. “And I didnae ken whether to be relieved, or furious.”
Before Katie could answer, voices drifted across the garden, deep and unmistakable. Scarlett’s head snapped up, breath catching.
Leon’s hearty tone carried first. “Ye need to loosen that brow, Robert. It looks like it’s carved in stone.”
Robert’s reply was lower, edged with gravel. “I’ve nae time for levity, Leon. There’s too much at stake.”
Scarlett froze, charcoal still in her hand, Katie glancing at her with wide eyes.
“Do they walk the garden often?” Scarlett whispered.
Katie shook her head. “Nae. Seems today ye’ve good luck—or ill luck, depending how ye see it.”
Scarlett leaned forward, straining to hear, every nerve on edge.
Scarlett shifted on the bench, trying to pretend she wasn’t straining to catch more of Robert and Leon’s words. Katie leaned her chin into her hand, eyes glinting like she was up to mischief.
Scarlett turned then stopped cold.
Through the carved arch of the atrium, she saw them. Both shirtless, both armed with wooden practice swords.
Scarlett’s breath caught in her throat.
Robert’s chest was broad, slick with sweat that gleamed in the late-morning sun. Muscles coiled and flexed with each strike, his movements precise, brutal, the kind of force only a man born to fight could wield. His dark hair clung damp at his nape, a lock sliding across his brow as he swung.
Leon barked a laugh, blocking with ease. “Ye’re getting slow, McLaren!”
Scarlett should have looked away. She didn’t. She couldn’t. Heat pooled low in her belly, hot and shameless.
Saints preserve me, I’m staring at the man like a tavern wench spying coin on the table.
Katie chuckled beside her. “Oh, ye’ve gone red as a beet. Careful, lass, if he turns that way, he’ll see ye undressing him with yer eyes.”
Scarlett snapped her sketchbook shut with a crack. “I am not—” “Aye, ye are.” Katie grinned, unrepentant. “It’s nay shame. I’ve eyes too. And sweet mercy, look at the cut of that back.”
Scarlett’s eyes betrayed her again. Robert twisted, driving Leon back with a punishing strike, and the ridges of his back stood out like they’d been carved by some god drunk on perfection. She swallowed hard.
Katie leaned closer, whispering wickedly, “Bet the man could snap a branch between his thighs.”
Scarlett choked on her own breath, clutching her skirts. “Katie!”
“What? Ye thought of it first.” Katie smirked, enjoying every flicker of mortification crossing Scarlett’s face. “Ye’re sitting here sighing like a lass in midsummer, looking at him swing that sword.”
“I wasnae sighing,” Scarlett hissed, cheeks blazing. “And ye’ve a rotten mind.”
Katie laughed so hard, she nearly spilled the drink still in her hand.
Scarlett dared another glance. Robert’s eyes met hers.
The world tipped.
His swing slowed, and his chest heaved as though he had meant for her to catch that moment–him, all sweat and strength, raw power barely contained. He knew she was there. He knew she was watching.
Scarlett’s heart hammered like a drum.
Katie elbowed her. “Well now, he kens it. Look at that stare. Me Lady, ye’ll melt clean off that bench if he keeps at ye so.”
Scarlett tried to summon indignation, but her tongue was thick. “He’s–he’s only sparring.”
Katie’s brow shot up. “Is that what we’re calling it? Sparring? Saints, Me Lady, the way ye’re looking, if he dropped the sword and beckoned ye, ye’d be over that arch before I could blink.”
Scarlett gaped, scandalized. “I would not!”
Katie grinned slowly. “Then stop licking yer lips.”
Scarlett’s hand flew up to her mouth. She had. She bloody well had, and Robert had seen it.
Robert’s sword slammed against Leon’s with a sharp crack, the sound jolting her. Leon stumbled back, laughing, and Robert didn’t take his eyes off her even as he pressed the advantage.
Katie leaned back, smug. “He’s showing off. For ye.” Scarlett whispered, horrified, “Nae, he’s nae—”
“Aye, he is.” Katie was merciless. “Ye ken men. They fight harder when a lass is watching. And look at the size of him, all glistening. He’s fair ready to drag ye to the grass.”
Scarlett’s thighs pressed together of their own accord. She wanted to deny it, she wanted to laugh it off, but the ache in her belly betrayed her.
Katie saw, of course. “Look at ye. Ye want him.”
Scarlett rose, her skirts swishing, intending to march back to the keep.
But then Leon’s voice echoed across the garden, deep and mocking. “If ye want time alone with yer wife, just say so.”
Scarlett froze mid-step, glancing back through the hedge. Leon stood with his practice sword lowered, a smirk plastered across his face. He jerked his chin toward her hiding spot, and her stomach plunged.
Robert’s swing came harder; the wooden sword cracked against Leon’s with enough force to rattle her bones from across the lawn.
Katie elbowed her. “The Laird didnae like that.”
Scarlett couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. She watched as the two men circled, sweat shining on their skin, the sound of wood striking wood echoing through the courtyard. Robert pressed harder, driving Leon back step by step until with one final brutal clash, Leon went sprawling in the grass.
Leon’s laughter rang out even as he lay flat on his back. “God’s teeth, Robert, ye’ll break me bones before I’ve the chance to use them again.”
Robert didn’t laugh. He stood over him with his chest heaving and his jaw tight, his sword hanging loose at his side. For a heartbeat, he looked like a man who might never stop fighting, like he needed the clash to burn something out of him.
Then his head turned.
Scarlett’s breath hitched as his eyes found hers through the roses. Grey and stormy eyes.