Chapter 12 #2
“Nay!” Her hand shot out, slapping against her sketchbook for emphasis. “Ye and Aaron wanted me here at Gundor. At Clan McLaren. And here I am. Do ye think it’s a game for me? That I’m sitting with parchment and pretty lines, enjoying meself, while me life is nae mine anymore?”
His eyes darkened. “Ye speak as though ye’ve been wronged.”
Her laughter was bitter. “Wronged? Me brother hasn’t sent word in days. Edith, I’ve no word from her either. And I smile for yer folk. I laugh when I should. I even pretended to enjoy supper with Mack while ye glowered like thunder at the other end of the table.”
His stare hardened. “Ye enjoyed it well enough.”
She blinked, stunned. “Is that what this is about? Mack Little offering me a chair? That’s what’s got ye storming into me chamber like a brute?”
Robert stepped closer. “It’s about ye being me wife. Ye willnae give another man yer smiles.”
Scarlett’s lips parted, outrage spilling out. “Ye dare—–ye dare speak of smiles when ye cannae give me one yerself. When all ye’ve given me are commands and bargains and five bloody nights like I’m nothing but a fleeting conquest!”
He stiffened visibly.
Scarlett pressed on with fire in her veins. “Revoked? Do ye hear yerself? I had no liberties to begin with. Aaron thrust me into this like cattle to market. And ye—ye’ve done naught but remind me I’m here to warm yer bed when ye see fit.”
His chest rose, sharp with his breath. He leaned in until his face hovered inches from hers. “Ye think I’ve no want for ye?”
Scarlett’s throat went dry, but she forced the words past her lips. “If ye do, ye’ve a cruel way of showing it.”
For a moment, silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. The fire popped behind them.
Robert’s voice came low, dangerous. “Sit. Before I lose the will to let this remain words.”
Her pulse thundered, but she lifted her chin higher. “Do ye threaten me, Robert?”
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth then lower to the thin line of her nightdress where the firelight outlined every curve. His throat worked as he swallowed. “Nay. I warn ye.”
Scarlett’s breath shook. She turned sharply, pacing to the window where the cold seeped through the stone. Her voice trembled but not with fear. “All I’ve wanted is a letter from me brother. A word from Edith. And instead, I’ve a laird who thinks to strip me of liberties I never had.”
Behind her, his footsteps echoed slowly. “Scarlett.”
She didn’t turn. “Do ye ken what I gave up? I thought marriage would be like the stories. Love. Loyalty. A man who saw me, nae just the use of me womb.”
The silence pressed heavily then came his voice, quieter. “And yet ye want me.”
Her head whipped around, eyes blazing. “Damn ye. Aye, me body betrays me. Aye, when ye touch me, I want. But do nae mistake that for obedience.”
His eyes glinted with something dark, not anger, not quite. Desire tangled with possession.
Robert closed the distance in three strides. His hand caught the edge of her sketchbook, lifting it with a flick. “This is how ye pass the hours? Picturing places ye’ll never see again?”
She snatched it from him, clutching it to her chest. “Better than staring at a husband who cannae bear to sit with me.”
For the first time, his lips twitched, not in a smile but in something sharp, like the ghost of one. “Ye’ve a tongue on ye, lass.” Scarlett’s pulse hammered. “Better a tongue than silence.”
His hand shot out, catching her wrist. He tugged her forward until she stumbled against his chest. His breath burned hot against her ear. “Ye willnae sit with other men again. Do ye hear me?”
She stiffened, but her body betrayed her, the flush rising, the ache low in her belly. “If ye wanted me at yer side, Robert,” she whispered fiercely, “ye’d ask me yerself. Not acting like a bairn that doesnae have his way.”
His grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t release her. His mouth hovered so close she felt the brush of his breath on her jaw. “I’ll have ye at me side, Scarlett. Whether ye choose it or nae.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, fire racing through her veins. She whispered back, “Then God help ye because I willnae go quiet.”
The silence stretched again, filled only with the ragged sound of their breathing. His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, his thumb grazing the curve of her hip through the thin fabric.
Scarlett gasped softly.
Robert pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes searching, as though he were torn between fury and something far more dangerous. Then, with sudden force, he released her, stepping back like a man breaking chains.
“Get some rest,” he said curtly, his voice harsher than he meant.
Her chest heaved. “That’s it? Ye storm into me chamber, strip me of freedoms I never had, and tell me to rest?”
His hand was on the latch. He was seconds away from the door—seconds away from a clean escape.
"I pretended."
The words were flat, devoid of the heat from moments ago. Robert went still, his back to her, his fingers frozen on the cold iron of the latch.
"Last night," she continued, her voice gaining a sharp, steady edge. "Every sound. Every gasp. Every touch. All of it was a performance."
He didn't turn. He didn't breathe.
"I gave ye exactly what ye wanted," she said to his back. "I played the part so ye’d leave that bed believing ye’d bested me. I let ye win so ye would finally go."
His eyes snapped to hers, the blue of them gone nearly black.
She pressed on, reckless now, desperate to wound him. “I lay there like ye asked, and I made the noises ye expected. Does that please ye, Me Laird? To ken yer wife can feign delight as well as she can draw it?”
The silence that followed was brutal. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Only watched her with that unreadable, glacial stare.
Her throat tightened, and her body screamed at her to take it back, but her pride chained her tongue. She lifted her chin, daring him to argue.
He didn’t. He just turned on his heel and left, the door snapping shut behind him.
Scarlett sank onto the edge of her bed, her whole body trembling. God help her, it had been a lie. Every whimper, every shiver, had been real enough to drown her.
But he didn’t need to know that.