Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Mary fussed as she always did, pacing the chamber like a hen with too many chicks.
“Did ye hear about Mairi and young Dougal? Caught behind the stables, the pair of them carrying on like… och, the shame of it, and on the very day of the Laird’s council!
” She clucked her tongue, straightening the coverlet Scarlett had already smoothed. “Folk will talk for weeks, I swear it.”
Scarlett sat at the dressing table, brushing her hair in long, steady strokes. She hummed faintly, pretending to listen though the words passed her like water over stone.
Mary bustled on, piling another blanket at the foot of the bed. “And Old Angus, muttering about the hens laying soft shells, claims it’s a bad omen. As if a man’s chickens ken more about fate than the kirk itself. I told him—”
“Mm,” Scarlett murmured, eyes fixed not on Mary but on the closed door that linked her chamber to Robert’s.
Her pulse leapt every time the floor creaked, every time the castle sighed against the wind. Three nights since the solar, five nights since he kissed her like he meant to break her in half, and nothing. Not a word and not even a glance.
I thought we were making progress since the solar…
Mary caught the far-off look in her eyes and sighed, coming to rest her hands on her hips. “Ye’re nae hearing a word I’m saying, are ye?” Scarlett blinked, forcing a smile. “Of course, I am.”
“What did I just tell ye then?”
Scarlett’s mouth opened and then closed. “Something about… chickens?”
Mary shook her head, muttering under her breath as she moved to douse one of the candles. “Hopeless. The lot of ye. I’ll wager I ken what’s weighing on yer mind, though.”
Scarlett stiffened. “Do ye?”
“Aye. And it’s tall, broad, and answers to Me Laird.”
Heat rushed up Scarlett’s cheeks. “Mary,” she hissed, setting the brush down too quickly.
Mary smirked knowingly, but her voice softened. “It’s nae shameful, lass. Ye’re wed. Folk expect ye to be… curious.”
Scarlett twisted a strand of hair around her finger, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Curious, perhaps. But he’s kept his distance since…” Her words trailed off, and she looked down at her lap. “Since that night.”
Mary’s expression gentled. She moved to Scarlett’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Men can be strange about these things. Pride, duty, fear. Let him come to ye in his time.”
Scarlett drew in a long breath. “And what if he never does?”
Mary squeezed her shoulder. “Then ye go to him. Ye’re nae some trinket to gather dust on a shelf. Ye’re his wife.”
Scarlett’s lips twitched in a faint smile, but her chest tightened. She thought of the way Robert’s mouth had claimed hers, the way his hands had burned against her spine, only to let her go as though she were fire he dared not touch again.
Mary busied herself with the wardrobe, muttering about clean linens until Scarlett finally rose and said softly, “That’s enough, Mary. Go and rest. I’ll manage from here.”
The maid hesitated then nodded, gathering her apron. “Very well. But mind ye, lass, don’t sit up fretting all night. Ye’ll wear yerself thin.”
Scarlett waited until the door closed before moving to the chest at the foot of her bed. She drew out the nightgown she’d tucked away, a whisper of fabric from Edinburgh, sheer enough that the candlelight would betray every curve. She held it up, biting her lip.
She slipped it over her head without letting herself think too long about it. The silk fell cool and clinging against her skin.
She sat again at the dressing table, drawing the brush through her hair, each stroke an attempt to calm the flutter in her stomach.
Her gaze went to the connecting door. Her hand stilled mid-stroke.
She set the brush down.
If he doesnae come, I will.
The room had gone still, only the hearth giving off a faint crackle.
Then…
A knock.
A firm deliberate knock from the other side of the connecting door.
Scarlett’s breath caught, the brush slipping from her fingers. She stared at the wood as though it might breathe.
Scarlett’s hand trembled only slightly as she set the brush down upon the vanity. Her voice was soft as she tried not to make the evidence of her nervousness obvious. “Enter.”
The latch turned, and the door eased open. Robert filled the frame, broad shoulders cutting a dark silhouette against the dim light of his chamber behind him. He stepped inside, closing the door with quiet finality.
Scarlett sat motionless, facing the mirror, but her eyes lifted to catch his reflection. He stood there, watching her, his gaze sliding over her form draped in silk that clung indecently to her skin. She felt the heat in her cheeks, the betraying rise of her breasts against the sheer gown.
She swallowed, and her lips parted. “Ye found me at me vanity, Me Laird. Shall I turn?”
Robert’s answer came low, a rumble. “Nay. Stay as ye are.”
He crossed toward her, unhurried, his eyes never leaving hers in the mirror. Her body betrayed her with every second, her chest rising faster and her thighs pressing together under the thin fabric.
When he stopped behind her chair, his shadow swallowed her. He leaned closer with his voice grazing her ear. “Are ye ready to retire, Scarlett?”
Her throat tightened. She forced herself to meet his gaze through the glass. “I was. But I can change me plans if ye require me.”
The words slipped out breathier than she intended.
Robert’s hand rose, his fingers brushing her hair. He gathered the heavy black strands and drew them over one shoulder, baring the long line of her neck. His other hand rested briefly on the back of her chair as he bent closer, his breath feathering warm across her skin.
Scarlett’s eyes fluttered shut, her head tipping back just slightly, helplessly.
Robert’s voice rumbled low against her ear, rough enough to make her knees weak. “This night, lass, will be one of mine.”
Her lips parted, a tremor running down her spine as the words sank in. “One… of five?”
“Aye.” His breath warmed her neck, his nose grazing her skin as he drew in a long inhale. “One of five.”
Scarlett’s fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity to steady herself. “Ye waste no time,” she managed though the tremble in her voice betrayed her.
His gaze caught hers in the mirror, “I’ve wasted too much already.”
The conviction in his tone sent another shiver through her. She closed her eyes, breath quick, and whispered, “Then claim yer night.”
His mouth curved, the ghost of a smile without softness. “Always so eager to command.”
Her eyes snapped open, defiance sparking even as her body betrayed her by leaning back into him. “Nay command, Me Laird. A bargain. Ye asked for five nights. I offer meself now.”
He bent lower, lips brushing the shell of her ear, and the sound of her own breath hitched against the charged silence. “Ye tempt me, Scarlett. More than ye ken.”
Her pulse thundered with every nerve alive. “Then… why wait?”
His eyes narrowed, his reflection dark and sharp in the glass. “Because once I start, lass, I willnae stop until I’ve had ye spent and shaking.”
Scarlett’s stomach clenched, heat pooling low between her thighs. She tried to laugh, but it broke into a shaky sound. “Ye think that frightens me?”
Robert’s lips ghosted down her throat, pausing at the fluttering pulse. “It should.”
Her fingers drummed nervously against the wood of the vanity then stilled. “And yet… I want to know.”
His jaw ticked, his gaze locking with hers again. “Careful, Scarlett. Ye’re standing on the edge, and I’ll drag ye over it with me.”
She shifted in her seat, turning just enough that her bare shoulder brushed his chest. “Then maybe I’ll fall willingly.”
Robert straightened slightly, his hands gripping the back of her chair now. “Christ, lass, ye’re bent on testing me.”
Scarlett gave a breathless little laugh. “Perhaps I am. Someone has to.”
He studied her long enough that the silence crackled. Then, suddenly, he spun the chair halfway, bringing her face to his. Their lips hovered an inch apart.
Her chest heaved. “Robert…”
He tilted his head, his voice low and rough. “Say it again.”
Her lashes lowered, heat flooding her face. “Robert.”
His eyes closed for the briefest moment, as if her voice was a blade through him.
When he opened them again, his control looked thinner than glass.
He brushed his thumb along her jaw, his other hand still tight on the chair.
“Ye ken what happens if I kiss ye, aye?” Her voice came out hoarse.
“Aye. I break.” His mouth almost touched hers. “So do I.”
Neither of them moved. The fire shifted in the grate and neither of them looked at it.
"Then why hold back?" she whispered.
Robert’s restraint cracked, and his mouth crashed against hers, hard, brutal, and consuming.
She gasped, but he swallowed it, his tongue slid against hers, taking what he’d denied himself for nights. Her fingers clutched at his arms, nails biting through the fabric and desperate.
The chair scraped as he dragged her closer and her body pressed flush to his. She could feel him, hard and hot, straining against her belly through his trousers. A moan slipped from her throat before she could stop it.
He growled into her mouth. “God’s blood, Scarlett…”
Her lips broke from his only to whisper raggedly against his jaw, “Ye waited too long.”
He kissed down her throat, biting lightly, leaving a mark that made her whimper. “Aye. And now I’ll pay for it.”
Her head fell back, baring her neck to him with her gown slipping from one shoulder. “Robert…”
His hands gripped her waist, dragging her half up from the chair into his chest. His mouth caught hers again, slower now but deeper and hungrier.
She trembled with her thighs squeezing together and her voice breaking in a gasp. “Please—”
He pulled back just enough to look at her, and his forehead pressed to hers. “This is me night, Scarlett. I’ll take it slow or I’ll take it rough, but I will take it. Do ye understand?”