Chapter 9 #2
Her hand stayed steady with the charcoal though her voice gave away what her face did not. “I’ve lived too long being bartered, ordered, silenced. I willnae have me marriage the same. If ye’ve words for me, speak them. If nae, then I’ll make ye hear mine.”
Robert shifted, unsettled by the fire blazing from her eyes.
Christ, she doesnae cower. She charges.
“Scarlett…” His voice came rough, and then he cleared it. “I meant nay harm by distance.”
Her hand paused mid-stroke. She lifted her eyes, sharp as daggers. “Nay harm? Ye kissed me till me knees nearly buckled then left me to pace me chamber like a fool. That’s harm enough.”
Robert’s breath caught in his chest. He forced his arms to remain folded, to hide the tension surging through him. “It was a mistake.”
She slammed the charcoal down, the snap echoing in the chamber. “Mistake? Call it what ye like, but daenae pretend it doesnae matter. It mattered to me.”
The rawness in her voice gutted him more than any blade. He’d rather she shouted, struck him, anything but this.
He rose slowly, palms braced against the desk. “Scarlett…”
She stepped back, but her gaze never wavered. “Nay, listen. I willnae be the meek wife who waits for scraps. Ye want five nights of me? Then start by looking me in the eye and treating me as more than duty.”
Robert’s chest rose and fell, heavy. She was right, God help him, she was right. But admitting it felt like surrender.
At last he said, low, “Ye’ve more backbone than I reckoned.”
Scarlett smiled, but it held no warmth. “Then reckon again, Robert. I willnae vanish when it suits ye.”
For a heartbeat, neither moved. His eyes dropped, unbidden, to her mouth. Heat surged up, raw and dangerous. He clenched his fists to keep from reaching.
Scarlett noticed of course. She always did. She snapped the notebook shut, gathered her charcoal, and said with cool finality, “If ye’ll have me here, I’ll sit. If nae, I’ll leave. But I willnae be ignored.”
Robert’s throat worked. Words failed him. All he could manage was a short, gruff nod.
She sat across from him, opening her notebook once more, her hand already sketching. He lowered himself into his chair though the papers blurred before his eyes.
For the first time in days, he was not alone with his thoughts, and it unsettled him more than solitude ever had.
Scarlett let the charcoal drag softly across the parchment, shading the bend of a tree trunk.
She tried to keep her hand steady, but her pulse thrummed too fast. She could feel him, his presence, on the other side of the desk.
The faint scratch of his quill came and went, broken by long silences.
She dared not lift her gaze, knowing she’d catch him staring.
His voice interrupted her, as if dragged from him against his will. “What is it ye usually draw?”
Her head lifted just a fraction, startled that he had spoken at all. “Faces, mostly. Loved ones. Edith, Aaron. Sometimes landscapes.” She let a small smile tug at her lips. “Things I want to carry with me, even when I’m nae close to them.”
He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes flicking to the parchment in front of her. “Show me.”
Scarlett hesitated. It was one thing to sketch in solitude, another to offer it up to him. But slowly, she turned the notebook, sliding it across the desk with charcoal-stained fingertips. “This was the view from me chamber at Hallow Castle. The garden. Edith and I spent hours there, reading.”
Robert studied it, the crease of his brow easing. The strokes were rough, but she had captured the curve of the hedges, the scatter of wildflowers, the sunlight breaking over the stone wall.
His voice was quieter this time. “Ye’ve talent.”
Heat rushed up her neck. “Nay,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I’m only passing time. Nothing more.”
“Scarlett.” The way he said her name stopped her fidgeting. His tone was certain, and he repeated, “Ye’re talented.”
She looked down, her cheeks burning, and reached out to take the parchment back. Their fingers brushed.
It was a fleeting touch, but it stalled the air in her lungs. His hand was warm, calloused, and heavy, nearly twice the size of hers. Scarlett pulled back, the notebook a hard shield against her chest.
Robert cleared his throat. He didn't look at her; his gaze stayed anchored to the parchment for a beat too long before he finally turned away.
Scarlett said nothing.
She flipped to a fresh page and forced the charcoal to the paper. She began to draw, but the line was jagged, her hand refusing to settle. She kept her head down, the scrape of the charcoal the only sound in the room, both of them pretending the air hadn't just changed.
The moment stretched until at last he pushed back his chair. The scrape of wood on stone was louder than it should have been. “It’s late. Time ye retired to yer chambers.”
Disappointment pinched her chest. She gathered her charcoal, tying the ribbon back around her book. Rising slowly, she tried to sound casual, though her voice trembled. “Before I go, may I ask something?”
His dark gaze lifted to hers. “Ask.”
Scarlett wet her lips. “I want Edith to come here. To Gundor. She’s the only family I’ve truly chosen, and I… I’d feel whole with her near.”
Robert’s expression shuttered. “Now isnae the time.”
Her shoulders fell. “But–”
He cut her off with a raised hand. “I’ll speak with yer brother when it’s fitting. Until then, leave it.”
Scarlett bit her tongue until she tasted copper. She watched his jaw tighten, and his hand drift back to his papers, already dismissing her.
She picked up her notebook and tucked the charcoal into its ribbon with a slow, deliberate snap.
"I will ask again," she said. Her voice was low, a cold fact she was leaving in the room for him to trip over.
She didn't wait for his reaction. She turned and walked out. The click of the door behind her was the only answer she gave him, leaving Robert alone with his papers and the question she refused to take back.