Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Scarlett lay sprawled across her bed, her sketchbook open beside her but untouched.
Her hair spilled loose around her shoulders, and though the morning sun streamed through the curtains, she didn’t have the will to move.
Her body still hummed faintly, every nerve remembering the night before.
When she dared glance at the mirror across the room, heat climbed her cheeks, and she turned quickly away.
The door pushed open without a knock, and Katie slipped in, balancing a steaming cup in one hand and a small satchel in the other. “I thought ye’d still be in bed,” she said with a knowing smile. “Mary claims ye’ve barely stirred, so I brought tea to rouse ye.”
Scarlett sat up too quickly, tugging the coverlet around her shoulders. “I slept poorly; that’s all.”
Katie set the cup on the bedside table and perched at the foot of the bed, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Poorly, eh? Strange, when the Laird’s chamber is just on the other side of that door.” She tipped her chin toward the heavy wood that divided their rooms. “Tell me, did he pay ye a visit?”
Scarlett’s hands fumbled with the blanket, nearly upsetting the tea. “Katie!”
Katie’s grin only widened. “Och, I’ve hit the mark. That blush could light the whole hall.” She crossed her arms, trying and failing to look serious. “So, well then? Did he?”
Scarlett huffed, setting her parchment down. “Aye. He came.”
Katie squealed, clapping a hand over her mouth to smother it. “Saints above, and here I thought he’d keep brooding at ye for another fortnight.”
Scarlett turned back to her parchment, pretending her drawings demanded her full attention. “It wasn’t–” She faltered, biting her lip. “It wasn’t what ye’re imagining.”
Katie leaned forward, eyes alight. “Then tell me. What was it?”
Scarlett swallowed hard, the heat creeping higher on her neck. “He said it was one of his nights.”
“And?” Katie prompted, impatient.
Scarlett twisted the brush in her lap. “And… he made me feel things I didnae think possible.”
Katie’s mouth dropped open then curved into a wicked grin. “Did he now? The cold Laird’s got heat after all.”
“Katie, hush!” Scarlett hissed, glancing at the door as though Robert might stride in at that very moment.
Katie ignored her, bouncing on the mattress like a girl half her age. “I knew it! There’s fire in that man. I could see it in the way he looks at ye.”
Scarlett’s throat tightened. “He didnae take me if that’s what ye’re prattling at. He pleased me, but he left before I could…” Her words dwindled to a whisper.
Katie blinked then gave a low whistle. “So he touched ye but wouldnae let ye touch him back? Saints preserve us, that man’s a riddle.”
If he needs an heir so soon, then why did he nae take me?
Scarlett’s voice came softer. “He reminded me of his rule.”
Katie tilted her head. “Rule?” “Aye. That I mustn’t fall for him.”
For once, Katie’s smile dimmed. “Och, Scarlett…”
Scarlett forced a shaky laugh though her chest ached. “Imagine that. A husband warns his wife not to love him.”
Katie said nothing for a moment. She fussed with the gown draped over the chair, her back to Scarlett.
Scarlett shook her head, voice low. “I felt him, Katie. All of him. He wants me, aye, but he’ll never let it be more than that. And God help me, part of me still wants to break through anyway.”
Katie came up behind her, resting her chin lightly on Scarlett’s shoulder. “Then be patient. Ye’re clever, and he’s only a man. Even lairds can fall.”
Scarlett turned slightly, meeting Katie’s eyes. Wide, uncertain, yet bright with mischief. That look alone made Scarlett’s pulse stumble. Katie nudged her with a grin.
“Well?” Katie pressed. “Ye cannae stop there. What was it like? The Laird in yer chamber?”
Scarlett’s fingers toyed with her brush, her pulse still unsteady.
Her lips parted, then closed again. She wanted to keep it all to herself, to guard it like a secret treasure, but the words burned too hot to stay locked inside.
“He… he made me feel alive. As if me whole body was aflame, and yet I didnae want the fire to stop. I could scarcely breathe for it.”
Katie clasped her hands together, a delighted squeal bursting free before she could stop it. “Och, lass, that’s how it should be! Folk talk of cold duty and stiff men, but ye, ye’re glowing.” She reached out, squeezing Scarlett’s arm with mock severity. “I can see it on ye plain as day.”
Scarlett ducked her head, cheeks hot, her voice softer now. “It was… overwhelming. I didnae ken a man could make a woman feel such things.”
Katie’s teasing softened into something gentler. “Aye. But ye mustnae be ashamed if it hurt, too. It is always the way, the first time. The body fights against it. Sometimes there’s blood, sometimes tears. It’s normal.”
Scarlett stilled, her brush slipping from her fingers onto the coverlet. Her pulse leapt in confusion. Hurt? Blood? Tears? None of that had happened. Her body had sung under his touch, not fought it. There’d been no sting, no pain, only heat that left her trembling, desperate, and undone.
She blinked at Katie, struggling to keep her voice even. “I… I see.”
Katie, mistaking her pause for embarrassment, patted her knee. “Ye’ll ken it all better with time. For now, just enjoy what he gives ye.”
Scarlett managed a faint smile, though it felt brittle. If only Katie knew the truth, that Robert hadn’t claimed her fully, not yet. That his touch had been both torment and gift, awakening her body and then denying it. Some things were too raw, too private to lay bare even to a friend.
The word stayed with her after Katie moved on.
Blood.
Scarlett looked at the bedsheets, white, undisturbed, and said nothing.
Katie tilted her head, puzzled by the question. “Och, aye. Ye didnae ken? Every lass talks of it after her wedding night. It eases soon enough, but the first time, it nearly always stings.”
Scarlett sat frozen, her mind scrambling. She had no such tale to share. No hurt. No crimson proof on the sheets. Only the memory of his hand on her, his breath at her ear, her body shattering around him without him ever being inside her.
Her lips parted, the truth threatening to spill, but she caught it back, forcing herself to nod. “Aye… I suppose.”
Katie gave her a pitying smile, as though she were reassuring a frightened child. “Daenae fret, Me Lady. Ye’ll find it sweet enough soon. Ye’ll learn his ways, and he’ll learn yers. That’s marriage.”
Scarlett looked back at her reflection, at the flush in her cheeks, the too-bright gleam in her eyes.
Her stomach twisted. Katie thought she had spoken of consummation, and Scarlett had let her believe it.
Because how could she confess otherwise?
How could she admit that her laird husband had left her writhing under his hand yet untouched, unclaimed in the way everyone expected?
She swallowed hard, gripping the brush tighter until her knuckles whitened. “Aye,” she murmured faintly. “That must be it.”
Katie patted her shoulder once more, oblivious. “Ye’re lucky, Scarlett. Truly. Some men give their wives nothing but duty and silence. At least ye’ve found a laird who can stir ye.”
Scarlett’s throat worked as she forced a thin smile. She didn’t trust herself to answer.
Katie bustled toward the wardrobe, humming as she began to fuss over the gowns. The cheerful rustle of silk felt loud in the quiet room.
Scarlett sat still, her gaze anchored to the mirror. The woman in the glass was flushed, her eyes darker, possessing a knowledge that hadn't been there yesterday. She looked like a secret waiting to be told.
She picked up her brush and began to work through her hair. The strokes were rhythmic and hard, a penance for the heat still humming under her skin.
She didn't look at Katie. She just watched the silver-backed brush rise and fall, bracing herself for the moment she would have to walk out that door and face the man who had left her undone.
Scarlett sat still as Mary pinned back the last strand of her hair. The maid had been fussing since sundown, muttering about cloaks and gowns until Scarlett finally lifted her hand.
“I’ll eat in the dining hall tonight.”
Mary blinked at her through the mirror. “With the men?”
Scarlett gave a small nod. “Aye. I’ve hidden away too long. If I’m to belong here, I must sit with them.”
Mary’s mouth worked as if to argue then softened. “Then ye’ll need courage more than silk. But wear the blue lass. Folks warm quicker to a woman who doesnae look as though she’s stepped out of a kirk painting.”
Scarlett laughed under her breath. “The blue, then.”
By the time the bell rang, her nerves thrummed. She followed Mary down the passage, the din of voices swelling with each step. At the tall oak doors, Mary stopped. “Ye’ll be fine,” she said, squeezing Scarlett’s hand. “Go on.”
Scarlett swallowed, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.
The hall was alive with noise and warmth. The smell of roasted meat and buttered bread clung to the air. Laughter spilled from one side, mugs clattered on another. Men crowded the trestle tables, talking over one another with the ease of kin.
Scarlett lingered at the edge, her heart drumming as heads began to turn. Conversations dipped. One by one, faces swung toward her.
“Me Lady,” an older man greeted with a nod.
“Ye honor us tonight,” another called, grinning wide.
Scarlett offered polite smiles, lifting her chin, though her palms were damp against her skirts. Each step forward sent her pulse quicker.
Then Mack Little, planted in the middle of a bench, raised his mug high. “Good to see ye at table, Me Lady! We thought ye meant to hide away forever.”
The men around him chuckled.
Scarlett arched a brow. “Would ye rather I had left ye to yer drink in peace?”
“Nay, never,” Mack shot back, wagging a finger. “Drink’s sweeter when a lady graces the hall.”
“Flatterer,” someone muttered, sparking another round of laughter.