Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Robert’s solar was littered with parchment, with maps unfurled across the desk like the battlefield of his own mind.
He sat stiff in his chair, and his eyes fixed on a column of figures though he’d read the same line thrice and still could not recall it.
All he could see was her face, lips parted under his, and the taste of her still clinging like a curse.
Damn me.
Not for the kiss. He’d known that was coming from the moment she’d stood her ground in the corridor. What he hadn't known, what he still couldn't wrap his head around, was that she had named a truth he hadn't even realized he was hiding.
Ye daenae get to decide when I matter.
The words sat in the room like a challenge. He’d been treating her like a piece on a board, a duty to be managed, and she’d just knocked the board over.
He pressed the quill to the parchment. Too hard.
The nib snagged, and a heavy blot of ink bled black across the map, drowning the lines he’d spent an hour drawing.
He didn't reach for the sand to dry it. He just watched the stain spread, his pulse still heavy in his throat, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was the one who didn't know the next move.
The door creaked open without a knock.
Leon strolled in, carrying two cups of dram balanced in one hand. “I thought I’d find ye buried alive in here.” He shut the door with his boot, grinning as though the ruined ink and Robert’s scowl were entertainment.
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do ye want, Leon?” “Company,” Leon said, dropping into the chair opposite his desk without waiting for an invitation. He slid one of the cups toward Robert.
“And to drag ye out of this cave ye call a solar. The sun’s high, the horses are restless, and the lassies in the yard are betting on which of us looks better in the saddle.”
Robert shoved the cup back toward him. “I’ve papers.”
Leon’s brows shot up. “Papers? Saints save us. Ye think scribbles will keep Gundor safe? Or is it that papers daenae kiss ye back, so ye can stomach staring at them longer?”
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Mind yer tongue.”
Leon smirked, leaning back with his cup. “Ah, struck a nerve, did I? Thought so. Ye’ve been hiding from yer wife these two days. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
“I’ve nae been hiding,” Robert bit out. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy avoiding her, aye.” Leon’s grin widened, wicked and unrelenting. “Tell me, Robert, what’s it like wed to a bonny lass and spending yer nights alone with parchment? Must be the grandest marriage in all the Highlands.”
Robert’s jaw flexed. He picked up a sheet of paper as if to prove his point, but his eyes glazed after the first sentence.
Leon chuckled. “Saints, ye’ve nae read a word of that. Ye’re sitting there thinking of her mouth.”
Robert slammed the paper down. “Enough.”
But Leon only took a sip, savoring it. “Was it soft? Or did she bite ye?” A muscle jumped in Robert’s cheek.
Both.
The memory of her kiss crashed back—the heat, the desperate little gasp when he’d pressed closer. His blood stirred, and he cursed himself for it.
Leon barked a laugh. “There it is. Ye’re red as a lad caught peeking at the baths.”
“Ye push too far, I shouldnae have told ye anything,” Robert growled. “I push till ye stop glowering at walls,” Leon said easily. “Ye cannae fool me. I ken that look. Ye want her. And it’s eating ye raw that ye cannae decide if ye’ll take her or keep hiding behind inkpots.”
Robert shoved back his chair and stood. "She's fire. I touch her again, I'll get burnt."
Leon set his cup down. The teasing was gone from his face. "Aye," he said. "Ye probably will."
Robert stared at him.
"I'm nae saying daenae," Leon added. "I'm saying ye already ken that, and ye're still thinking about her. So the question isnae whether to get burnt. It's whether ye'll keep pretending ye willnae."
Leon countered smoothly.
“Och, Robert, ye think restraint makes ye strong, but it makes ye miserable. A man’s married now, yet he’s brooding like a monk starved of ale.”
Robert turned away, bracing his hands on the desk. “I’ll claim her when the time’s right. Till then, she’s nothing but a distraction.”
“Distraction?” Leon whistled low. “If she’s half as distracting as ye look thinking of her, I’d say she’s worth the ruin. Tell me, do ye lie awake staring at that door between yer chambers, waiting to hear her knock?”
Robert’s silence was answer enough.
Leon grinned like a fox. “Aye, thought so. Ye’ll wear a groove in the floor pacing before long.”
“Leon,” Robert said through his teeth, “take yer dram and go.”
Instead, Leon stretched his legs out, comfortable as if he owned the place. “Ye ken, if ye keep starving her of yer attention, she’ll find it elsewhere. Half the lads in this castle would slit their own purses just to have her smile. Do ye want to test her patience so soon?”
Robert spun on him, with his eyes flashing with anger. “She’s mine. That’s nae in question.”
Leon raised his brows, taking a slow drink. “Then maybe show her, instead of hiding in here.”
Robert stared him down, but Leon didn’t flinch.
“Ye think she doesnae notice?” Leon went on. “The lass is sharp. She’ll see ye skulking and wonder if she’s wed to a ghost. Better ye give her truth than silence.”
Robert’s chest tightened. Truth? The truth was that every time he thought of her, his body betrayed him. That restraint felt thinner than parchment. That her laughter in the hall haunted him worse than any nightmare. But he’d be damned before he said it aloud.
“I’ll handle it,” he said finally with his voice flat.
Leon clucked his tongue. “That’s what ye said when ye broke yer wrist in the yard and swore ye’d heal it yerself. Took me dragging ye to the healer before ye admitted ye’d nearly lost the hand.”
Robert’s mouth twitched, half a smirk and half annoyance. “Ye’re relentless.”
“And ye’re hopeless,” Leon shot back. “But ye’re me Laird, so I’ll drink to yer misery till ye sort it.” He drained the last of his dram, set the cup on the desk with a clatter, and rose. “Shall I send yer wife to ye, then? Save ye the trouble of glowering at ink another day?”
Robert’s glare could’ve split stone. “Out.”
Leon laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. “Aye, aye. But mark me, Robert, ye cannae out-stare desire. It’ll win every time.”
When the door shut, Robert didn't move. He didn't reach for the remaining papers or try to salvage the desk.
After a long moment, he pulled the ruined sheet toward him. He stared at the ink blot. A jagged, black bloom that had erased half the figures. He didn't try to blot the excess. He just watched it settle into the grain of the parchment.
Leon was right. He’d known it before the man had even opened his mouth, and that was the truth that sat like lead in his stomach. He wasn't in control of the distance anymore. Scarlett was.
Scarlett sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, a half-finished sketch smudged beneath her fingers. She had drawn the same sharp jaw three times, and each time it looked more like him. With a hiss of frustration, she snapped the parchment shut.
Katie, pouring tea into cups on the table in Scarlet’s chambers, arched a brow. “That poor charcoal never wronged ye, Me Lady.”
Scarlett threw the stick onto the table. “I cannae get him out of me head, Katie. We kissed, and it… it shouldnae have happened. Yet I havenae seen him since. He’s avoiding me, and I…” she broke off, pressing her hand to her chest. “I cannae breathe for the silence.”
Katie’s mouth twitched. “Men are prideful when they want to be. Maybe he thinks ye’ll bite him if he comes near again.”
Scarlett barked a bitter laugh. “He kissed me like he meant to devour me then vanished into his solar as if I were plague itself. Saints, I willnae sit here wringing me hands while he broods.” She rose, gathering a blank notebook, parchment, and her charcoal.
“If he hides behind papers then I’ll bring mine too. ”
Katie set the linens aside. “So ye’ll barge into the Laird’s den with yer sketches? That’s very bold.”
“Aye,” Scarlett said firmly, tying the notebook with a ribbon. “He doesnae get to toy with me and then shut me out. He owes me more than silence.”
Katie watched her head for the door, a grin tugging at her lips.
“Godspeed, Me Lady. Maybe ye’ll drag the great wolf out of his cave.”
Scarlett didn’t answer. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she crossed the hall, each step echoing louder than the last.
He cannae avoid me forever.
The corridor outside Robert’s solar smelled faintly of parchment and smoke. Light leaked beneath the heavy door, flickering from a low-burning fire. She hesitated for half a breath then lifted her chin, set her hand to the latch, and pushed it open.
Robert was visibly stunned by the sudden intrusion. “Ye daenae knock now?”
She shut the door behind her. “Ye’d only have ignored it.”
His mouth tightened. She was right. “What do ye want, Scarlett?” “To see me husband,” she snapped. “He’s been avoiding me.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy…” she shot back. “Do ye think ye can kiss me like that then vanish? Leave me to wonder what in God’s name it meant?”
The words hit him hard in the gut. He held her gaze, but she did not flinch.
Scarlett crossed the room, set her notebook on his desk, and untied it with steady hands. Blank pages fell open between them. “If ye’re content to bury yerself in papers, then I’ll sit with ye. But ye willnae shut me out.”
Robert blinked, caught off guard. “Sit… with me?”
“Aye,” she said. “I’ll draw. Ye’ll work. And maybe ye’ll remember I’m flesh and blood, nae a ghost ye can shove aside when it suits ye.”
He stared at her, at the flush in her cheeks, the determined tilt of her chin. He’d braced for tears, for pleading. Not this.