Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Scarlett had a long night.
She lay staring at the canopy, Mary’s voice and Hannah’s careless gossip tumbling round her head.
She turned on her side then her back again, restless.
She wasn’t sure what burned hotter, the sting of being spoken of like cattle or the memory of Robert’s stare in the garden, his chest bare and the way his muscles had moved like ropes beneath his skin.
Saints, her own thighs had clenched without permission, and she hated herself for it.
By midnight, she was pacing. Her eyes kept straying to the narrow door connecting her chamber to his. She told herself to ignore it. Yet the thought grew louder.
He’ll come when he chooses. And when he does, I’ll have nay say.
Her hands balled into fists. She crossed to the door and reached for the handle.
It creaked before she touched it.
She had just reached for the handle when it creaked.
Scarlett froze when the latch gave a soft click. The door eased open, and Robert filled the frame, broad as the wood itself. His hair was damp, and a curl fell against his brow, his shirt unlaced just enough to show the hard line of his chest.
She blinked at him, caught between outrage and relief. “Saints, could ye nae rattle a handle like a normal man? Ye nearly stopped me heart.”
His brow lifted. “I was knocking. Ye just beat me to the door.”
Scarlett folded her arms, trying to disguise the way her pulse thudded. “That was nae knock. That was sneaking. Like a thief.”
Robert stepped inside, “If I were a thief, lass, ye’d ken it.”
Before she could retort, he pushed the door wider and stepped inside. His gaze swept the room once, catching on the scattered sketches propped against walls and stacked on tables. One corner of his mouth moved though it was not quite a smile. “So ye draw even at night.”
Scarlett crossed her arms. “Better than staring at beams till dawn.”
His eyes flicked back to her. This time, he didn’t bother to keep his distance. He closed the space in deliberate strides until he stood directly in front of her, the heat of him seeping through her thin nightdress.
Scarlett swallowed, lifting her chin. “So… ye’ve finally come.”
Robert’s gaze dipped, slowly, to the line of her throat before climbing back to meet her eyes. “Aye.”
Her insides jolted. Her nipples tightened beneath the fabric, and the rush of her blood was hot and sudden. She pressed her arms closer, hiding the betraying peaks, but her skin still prickled with awareness. Her thighs pressed together of their own accord though outwardly she stood very still.
He didn’t move further, and he didn’t touch her. Just watched her as if he could read every flicker her body betrayed.
“This will be our first night,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. She should have been afraid, but the heat crawling over her skin said otherwise. The air between them was suffocating. She lifted her hand, pressing it to his chest, the linen hot and
damp against her palm, his muscles stone-hard beneath. His heart thudded steady under her fingers, and that alone made her thighs press tight.
“Ye’ll hear me first,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice came out when everything else shook.
His brow arched, slow. “Hear ye?”
Scarlett nodded, “Ye said five nights. Five nights to bed me, to put yer heir in me. I’ll give them to ye, but I’ll have five of me own first.”
His mouth tilted. “Ye’re nae in any place to make demands, Scarlett.”
Her lips twitched with defiance. “I’m nae one of yer soldiers. Ye cannae bark orders and expect me to fall in line. I’m yer wife. And I’ll have five nights from ye before ye take yer five from me.”
He leaned in until his breath brushed her cheek, “Do ye ken what ye’re asking?”
Scarlett’s hand stayed planted on his chest though her fingers trembled. “Five nights with yer hands off me. Five nights to talk, to ken who I’ve wed. Then when they’re done, I’ll walk to yer bed on me own feet. Willingly.”
His eyes flicked to her lips then lower, down to the thin fabric of her nightdress where her nipples strained shamelessly, hard and peaked.
Her face burned. She should have stepped back, covered herself, anything. Instead, she could feel herself wet down there, and her pulse hammering so loud she feared he’d hear it.
Robert spoke again. “Ye’re dancing with fire, lass. And ye ken what happens when ye play with fire.”
Scarlett’s throat was dry, but she forced the words out. “Better fire than ice.”
His hand shot up all of a sudden. She thought he’d grip her chin, crush her mouth with his, but it stopped, hovering inches from her face, his fingers curling tight as if he fought himself. His whole body seemed to shake with restraint.
“If I take ye now,” he muttered, “I willnae be gentle.”
Scarlett’s lips parted. “Then wait,” she whispered hoarsely. “Wait five nights. And ye’ll have more than a body lying cold under ye.”
He stared at her like a predator deciding whether to pounce. Long enough that her knees weakened, long enough her body ached from the wanting. Her breasts felt heavy, tight; her skin prickled everywhere, begging for his touch.
Robert’s boots barely shifted against the stone as he stepped back, but it felt like the whole room exhaled with him. His eyes never left hers. He studied her lips, the parting of them, the faint tremble in her breath.
“Very well, Me Lady,” he said at last. “Five nights.”
Scarlett blinked, hardly believing he’d agreed. Relief and disappointment knotted together in her chest. She smoothed her nightdress down with shaking hands, desperate to hide the betraying stiffness of her nipples. “So that’s it, then?” she asked. “Ye’ll keep yer word?”
His head tilted. “I always keep me word.”
Silence stretched across the room. He didn’t leave. Instead, Robert shifted, lowering himself into the chair by her hearth as though he owned the room. His long legs sprawled out, and his broad frame filled the space.
Scarlett frowned. “What are ye doing?”
His gaze flicked toward the sketches pinned along the wall. “Ye said five nights. Might as well start now.”
Her stomach twisted again, heat and nerves colliding. She gathered her sketchbook and sat at the edge of her bed.
“Well?” Robert started. “Ye wanted talk. Talk, then.”
Scarlett hesitated, fingers worrying the edge of her book. “What do ye want to ken?”
He leaned back. “All of it. Who ye are. Why ye draw like a lass possessed. Why ye’d bargain instead of yield.”
She huffed softly. “That’s nae a fair start. Ye ask like a gaoler pressing for confession.”
One brow lifted. “Ye’d prefer I flatter ye, lass?”
Scarlett’s lips twitched despite herself. “Wouldnae hurt.”
He didn’t smile, but his gaze lingered on her face long enough to make her squirm. “Flattery’s wasted on those who daenae believe it. So, tell me.”
She swallowed, staring down at her charcoal-stained fingertips.
“I draw because… I’ve always been alone more than I’d like.
Aaron’s busy with clan matters. Edith, well, she’s all I had, really.
When she was nae there, I filled the time with sketches.
Faces, animals, anything that would sit still long enough. It made the hours pass quieter.”
Robert’s eyes tracked her hands as she spoke, the smudges she tried to rub away. “And Aaron? He left ye to it?”
Scarlett laughed softly, bitter. “Aaron leaves everyone to it. He thinks solitude makes a person sharper. Stronger. But the truth is, it just makes one lonely.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “And Edith? Who is she?”
The question pulled a smile to Scarlett’s lips, soft and unguarded. “Me best friend. Me sister, though nae by blood. She’s been with me since we were bairns.”
She glanced up. Robert’s face was a mask of hard lines and shadows. He didn't blink; his gaze remained locked on hers, unmoving.
Scarlett didn't let the silence break her. She kept talking. Her voice was steady, a sharp contrast to the way her pulse was hammering against her throat.
She focused on the words, pushing them into the space between them, forcing him to listen while she still had the nerve to speak.
“Edith was different,” Scarlett went on. “She’d read with me. Bring books, tell stories. She was the sister I didnae have. Her mother took me in like her own after mine passed. Edith’s where I could breathe. Where I could be meself, nae just Aaron’s sister, nae just the Gallaway lass.”
Her throat tightened, but she pressed on. “When Aaron said I must wed ye, I thought only of her. I bargained for her safety. For her place at Hallow. Without her, I’d have nae one.”
Robert shifted in his chair, his broad shoulders catching the glow. “So that’s why ye agreed so fast.”
Scarlett nodded. "I didnae think of meself. Only Edith."
"Ye’d give up yer freedom for her." It wasn't a question. It was an observation of a debt he hadn't realized she’d paid.
Scarlett gave a humorless smile. "Aye. Freedom was never mine to begin with."
The fire shifted in the grate, a log snapping and sending a shower of sparks upward. Neither of them moved to fill the silence.
Scarlett finally shifted on her chair, tucking one leg beneath her. “I’ve been rambling on about meself all night,” she said at last, “Edith this, Aaron that. Ye’ve sat there brooding, giving me nothing but stares. Seems only fair I ken something of ye too.”
Robert’s head tilted, his dark eyes fixed on her. “Ye want to ken me?”
“Aye.” She lifted her chin, feigning nonchalance though her pulse said otherwise. “If I’m to be yer wife, I’d best learn more than yer talent for silence.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, “Then ask.”
Her heart gave a leap she tried to ignore. “Fine, then. Where were ye born?”
“Here.”
She frowned. “Just… here? Gundor?”
He gave a single nod.
Scarlett tried again. “Do ye have brothers? Sisters?” “Nay.”
“God’s teeth, Robert.” Her lips parted in exasperation. “That’s all ye’ll give me? ‘Here.’ ‘Nay.’”
His mouth tugged into something that might have been amusement, but he didn’t confirm it. “Ye asked. I answered.”
“That’s nae conversation,” she shot back. “That’s a wall. I’d get more out of talking to a sheep.”
His eyes narrowed, his tone dipping into warning. “Careful, lass.”
She rolled her eyes but pushed forward. “What about yer father? Was he as brooding and impossible as his son?”
Robert’sface remained carefully schooled. “He was laird. Did his duty. Died for it.”
Scarlett hesitated, the shortness of the answer stinging more than she’d expected. “And yer mother?”
“Gone.”
“Gone?”
“Aye.”
She stared at him, heat rising in her chest, not the kind born of attraction but of sheer frustration. “That’s it? Saints, do ye ever use more than one word?”
Robert leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. His voice dropped low, steady. “Ye said ye wanted to ken me, Scarlett. Now, ye’ve learned something, I’m nae a man who spills his life like a book for ye to read.”
Her cheeks flushed hot. “Then what in God’s name are we doing sitting here? Ye demanded five nights from me, aye? And when I ask for something in return, when I ask for a scrap of honesty, ye shut yerself up like a stone wall!”
He stood then towered over her where she sat. He turned toward the door, ready to leave.
Scarlett shot up, “Do nae walk out on me!” she snapped, stepping into his path. “I’m not finished.”
He looked down at her. “Ye forget who commands in this marriage.”
“I forget nae,” she spat back. “But I’m nae a soldier in yer yard to take orders. I’m yer wife. And I willnae be treated like some concubine ye call on when it suits ye.”
His nostrils flared. “Ye think this is about suiting me? Lass, it’s duty. Clan before comfort. Heir before pleasure. That’s what it means to be McLaren.”
Scarlett’s laugh was bitter. “Then what am I? Nothing but a vessel for yer heir?”
He stepped in close, so close she had to tilt her head back to keep her glare on him. “A wife,” he growled. “Mine.”
Scarlett’s pulse thundered, her chest rising and falling fast. “Ye’re impossible,” she hissed. “Insufferable…”
His hand caught her jaw, tilting her face up, and his mouth came down on hers with no finesse, no hesitation, just raw need.
Scarlett gasped against him, her fists thudding against his chest, but instead of pushing him away, she gripped hard, anchoring herself. His kiss was rough, and his teeth caught her lip, his tongue claiming her with a hunger that rattled her bones.
She whimpered, half in protest, half in surrender. His other hand slid down her spine, dragging her flush against him. She felt the rigid line of his arousal through his trousers, hard and unyielding against her belly. The shock of it stole her breath, and heat pooled low in her body.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and her nails bit through his linen. “Robert–” she gasped when he broke for air, only to have his mouth seize hers again, deeper and harsher.
Her moan vibrated against his lips, betraying her. His growl answered it, the sound low and crude, sending a shiver through her thighs. He kissed her throat next, his breath scalding her skin.
Scarlett tilted her head back, eyes fluttering shut, torn between fury and want. “Ye cannae ignore me all day and then…” Her voice hitched when his teeth scraped her collarbone. “…and then kiss me like this.”
His reply was a rasp against her flesh. “I’ll take ye when I choose.”
"Ye daenae get to decide when I matter," she whispered.
Robert went still. He didn't pull back. He just stopped, his lips pressed against the heat of her neck, his breath heavy against her skin. The silence stretched, tight and fragile. He held himself there as if that one word, matter, had snagged in his throat.
Then he stepped back. One slow, agonizing pace at a time. He looked like a man pulling himself out of deep water, lungs burning, his eyes dark with a frustration she couldn't name.
Scarlett swayed where she stood, clutching at her skirts to keep her hands from reaching for him again.
His voice came out rasped. “I’ll see ye on our next night.”
She blinked, stunned. He turned, striding to the door. His hand paused on the latch just long enough to throw one last look at her lips, swollen and damp from his kiss. “Five nights for ye, Scarlett. Then five for me. Remember that.”
And then he was gone, leaving her trembling, furious, and shamefully wet with want.
Scarlett pressed her hands to her mouth, biting back the sound that wanted to escape. Her body still hummed with the taste of him, her skin prickled with the ghost of his touch, and her belly ached for something she hated herself for craving.
She slumped onto the bed, whispering to the empty chamber, “Saints preserve me. What in God’s name have I gotten meself into?”