Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Robert’s stride ate up the corridor, each step landing hard enough to rattle the sconces on the walls. Her words rang still, a lash across his skin. Pretended.
Christ above, did she think him blind? He’d felt her body quake beneath his hands, her nails biting into his arms, the heat of her breath breaking against his throat. There was no pretense in that.
By the time he reached his solar, his chest burned with a mix of fury and hunger so tangled he scarcely knew one from the other.
He grabbed the nearest bottle, sloshed dram into a cup, and downed it in one swallow.
The fire in his throat dulled nothing. Another pour, another swallow, and still her voice haunted him.
“I pretended.”
The cup clattered down, half-spilled. With a growl low in his chest, Robert turned back into the corridor. He didn’t think, didn’t plan, just moved, driven by the need to see her face when he called her lie.
Before he knew it, the latch was in his hand, and the door pushed wide.
Not a knock. Not a call. Just him, storming through like a man possessed. And there she was.
Her lips parted, startled, as though she’d been about to speak his name. The sight of her, unguarded and luminous, hit him harder than the dram had, as if he had not just seen her moments ago.
Scarlett froze when she saw him. “Robert.” His name was sharp, almost a challenge.
He shut the door behind him, the sound like a drumbeat. “Ye lied.” Her brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
He took two steps closer until the fire’s glow caught on the muscle of his jaw. “Last night. Ye said ye pretended.”
“I did,” she snapped though the flush on her neck betrayed her.
His eyes narrowed. “Then look at me now, Scarlett, and tell me ye didnae feel a thing when I had ye under me.”
Her lips parted then pressed tight.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me ye didnae writhe against me like a lass starved of touch. Tell me ye didnae cry out for more.”
She shoved past him, putting the table between them. “Ye’ve an ego bigger than this whole castle.”
Robert followed, slow as a predator circling. “Aye, I do. Because I ken the truth when I taste it on a woman’s tongue. And ye, lass…” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Ye tasted of surrender.”
Her hand slammed against the table. “I surrendered nothing!”
He closed the gap, leaning his fists on the table’s edge, caging her in with his body. “Scarlett, if I’d taken ye then, ye’d have shattered apart in me arms. That’s nae surrender? That’s nae truth?”
Her breathing quickened, breasts rising and falling beneath the thin fabric of her gown. She tried to laugh, bitter and shaky. “So what if I did? It doesnae mean ye’ve won.”
Robert’s eyes burned into hers. “This is nae a game to win. Ye think to wound me with lies, but all ye’ve done is make me want to prove ye wrong.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Daenae.”
“Daenae what?” He tilted his head, closing the scant inches left. His breath brushed her cheek. “Daenae touch ye? Daenae show ye how false yer words are?”
“Daenae tempt me,” she whispered though the tremor in her voice gave her away.
His jaw clenched, a battle raging inside him. He wanted to crush her mouth under his and drag the truth from her body until she admitted it with every cry. Instead, he rasped, “Lass, ye’re the one tempting me. And ye’ve nay notion how close I am to proving it.”
Scarlett’s eyes darted to his lips then back to his gaze. “Then why daenae ye? If ye’re so certain?”
The challenge in her tone was a spark on dry tinder. Robert’s body pressed nearer, his thigh brushing hers. His voice broke roughly. “Because if I do, I willnae stop. And when I’m done, ye willnae be able to pretend anything again.”
Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened on the edge of the table.
Silence swelled. Robert’s eyes dropped once more to her lips, drinking her in. Every instinct screamed at him to take her then and there, to claim what was his.
But slowly, with the will of a man breaking his own bones, he pulled back.
Scarlett sagged against the table, her face flushed and her eyes wide.
Robert’s chest heaved. He stepped away, dragging a hand over his face, muttering low, “God help us both.”
He turned, striding to the door. His hand hovered at the latch, but he didn’t look back this time. “Get some rest, lass,” he said roughly. “Ye’ll need it.”
Then he was gone, leaving her trembling in the firelight, the echo of his words burning hotter than his touch.
Scarlett was still stewing from their quarrel, the words circling like crows that would not leave her in peace.
Revoked, he said. As though I ever had liberties to lose.
His presence had been a storm, and then he’d left her, hollow and furious with herself for aching after him still.
She sat cross-legged on the rug with her sketchbook balanced across her lap as usual. Charcoal smudged her fingers, black streaks she didn’t bother to wipe away. On the page stretched the outline of the castle gardens, neat enough but lifeless. No bloom, no green, no sky. Only grey.
Her teeth caught her lip as she stared at the empty spaces.
It’s all shadows without color. Like him. Like me.
She pressed harder, the charcoal almost splintering under her grip. “Charcoal’s a poor liar,” she muttered aloud. “It cannae give me what I need.”
From the corner, Mary lifted her head from folding linens. “What’s that, Me Lady?”
Scarlett turned the sketchbook toward her, showing the smudged garden. “I need color. Reds, greens, blues. Do we keep pigments in Gundor?”
Mary chuckled, shaking her head. “Pigments? Och, lass, this is nae Edinburgh. Ye willnae find paint pots lying about the keep.”
Scarlett’s brows drew together. “There must be somewhere.”
The old woman set down the cloths and tapped her chin. “Well… there’s a merchant two villages south. Carries cloth, spices, and sometimes even pigments. But it’s a day’s ride, there and back. Hardly a jaunt for a lady of Gundor.”
Scarlett’s eyes lit up. “A merchant.” She snapped her sketchbook shut. “Then I’ll ride out.”
Mary nearly dropped the linens. “Ride out? Alone? Have ye lost yer wits?”
Scarlett’s mouth curved into a stubborn smile. “Nae, I’ve found them. If I want to capture this place as it is, I’ll need more than coal smudges.”
Mary planted her hands on her hips with her eyes narrowing. “Ye’d ride two villages away without so much as a guard? Do ye ken what sort of men linger on those roads? Bandits, drunkards, worse.”
Scarlett lifted her chin. “I grew up with Aaron watching every step I took. Here, Robert watches me in silence and keeps his distance. I willnae waste away locked behind stone walls.”
The old woman huffed. “It’s nae about wasting; it’s about living to sketch another day! Do ye think the Laird will thank me if I let his wife gallop off alone?”
“Then come with me,” Scarlett offered, half-teasing, and half-serious.
Mary let out a bark of laughter. “Me bones would snap before the horse left the yard!”
Scarlett laughed too, then sobered. “I’ll find a way. Ye said yerself the pigments might be there.”
Mary leaned closer, her expression softening. “Scarlett, lass, are ye so restless already? It’s only been weeks since ye came to Gundor.”
Scarlett lowered her gaze to her hands. “I’m restless because I need something of me own. Edith’s words used to color me days. Now she’s gone, and all I’ve left are these sketches. If I can make them sing with color, it’ll be like carrying her with me.”
The older woman sighed heavily. “Och, ye’ve a poet’s heart, and poets are always trouble.” She wagged a finger. “But if ye insist, ye’ll speak to the Laird. He willnae forgive me if ye vanish down the road without a word.”
Scarlett groaned, flopping back onto the rug. “He’ll only say nay.”
“Then let him,” Mary said firmly. “Better a nay than yer corpse dragged home by strangers.”
Scarlett winced at the bluntness but nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll ask him.” Mary arched a brow. “Ye promise?”
Scarlett gave a mock bow from her spot on the floor. “On me honor as Lady McLaren.”
Mary snorted. “If honor keeps ye in one piece, I’ll take it.” She gathered the linens again, muttering under her breath, “God save me from headstrong lasses and brooding Lairds.”
Scarlett hid her smile in the sketchbook. A day’s ride for color. She would make it happen, one way or another.
Scarlett held her smile until the latch clicked shut, then burst into a quiet laugh, clutching her sketchbook to her chest.
I cannae believe she bought it. Mary, with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, fooled by a smile and a promise. Saints, if this works, I’ll finally breathe free air again, even for a day.
The thought thrilled her. The weight in her chest lifted as she slipped through the corridor, her slippered steps quick but quiet. She could almost feel it already, the wind in her hair, the horizon open wide, a splash of color jars tucked into her bag instead of dull charcoal.
Scarlett’s heart raced as she pushed open the heavy stable doors. The familiar scent of hay and leather rushed her, a smell that had always meant freedom. The horses stirred, flicking their ears and snorting softly, as if welcoming her to the conspiracy.
She tiptoed between the stalls, skirts gathered in one hand, eyes darting everywhere like a thief on the run. The stablehands were nowhere in sight.
Thank the saints. All clear.
Scarlett reached the brown mare’s stall, the steady one, the horse that looked like it would not ride her to death. “It’ll just be ye and me, love,” she whispered, running her hand down the warm neck. “We’ll be quick, we’ll be clever, and no one will be the wiser.”
Her fingers closed on the reins.
“Do ye plan on riding to hell itself, or will two villages away suffice?” That voice was annoyingly familiar and entirely too close.
Scarlett shrieked. She spun, skirts tangling around her legs, one foot skidding on loose straw. She grabbed the stall post to keep from crashing down, but her heart was already in her throat.
“Saints preserve me!” she gasped. “Ye’ll have me buried before me time, Robert.”
From the shadows near the door, Robert emerged. With his arms folded across his chest, face set like carved stone. He looked like he’d been standing there for ages, waiting.
“If ye fall on yer arse in the stables, lass, I willnae take the blame,” he said flatly.
Scarlett clutched her chest, still panting. “Is this how ye pass yer hours? Lurking in corners like some phantom, waiting to scare the breath out of me?”
One brow arched. “Nay. But I ken fine what sneaking looks like.” His eyes flicked to the reins still dangling from her hand. “Thought ye might be trying to steal me horses.”
Scarlett’s mouth fell open. “Steal? I wasnae stealing, I was only—” She stopped herself then lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could muster. “Borrowing.”
Robert stepped closer, his boots stepping on the straws. “Borrowing, is it? And when were ye planning to return what ye borrowed? After the bandits had stripped ye clean?”
Her cheeks flushed, partly from embarrassment, partly from how his gaze pinned her. “Och, I’d nae get caught. I was planning to be back before the sun was gone.”
“Scarlett.” His voice dropped, all stern warning. “Ye ken well there’s nae much that happens in Gundor without me hearing of it. Did ye truly think ye’d slip past me so easy?”
Scarlett gestured wildly with the reins. “I hoped! Forgive me for thinking ye had more important matters than spying on yer wife.”
His jaw flexed though something like amusement glinted in his eyes. “Important matters, aye. Like keeping the Lady of Gundor alive long enough to sit at me table without scandal.”
Scarlett planted her fists on her hips. “Och, scandal! Imagine the horror—‘Lady McLaren rides out alone and returns with nothing but a pouch of pigment.’ Folk will be weeping in the streets.”
Robert closed the distance between them, looming now. The air seemed to shrink, and his heat pressing in around her. “If ye think I’ll let ye ride off unguarded, Scarlett, then ye daenae ken me at all.”
Her breath caught, but she forced defiance into her voice. “I can ride just fine without ye.”
His hand shot out, plucking the reins from her grip, looping them over his shoulder with maddening ease. “Aye,” he said calmly. “But ye won’t.”
Scarlett’s temper spiked. “Ye cannae simply forbid me. I’m yer wife, not a bairn ye scold from the fire.”
Robert leaned in, his voice brushing her ear. “Ye’re Lady of this Clan. And Lady of this Clan doesnae vanish onto the road alone like some farm girl on a lark.”
Scarlett’s pulse hammered. The closeness, the authority in his tone, it made her furious and hot all at once. “Perhaps I want to vanish,” she snapped. “Even lasses with titles deserve a taste of freedom.”
His eyes darkened, and for one terrifying, thrilling moment, she thought he might kiss her just to silence her. Instead, he stepped back a fraction, enough to drag her mare forward. “Up ye go.”
“I daenae need help,” she muttered, shoving her skirts higher. She caught the saddle with one foot, tried to swing the other over, and squeaked as Robert’s hands locked at her waist.
“Robert!” she yelped, breathless as he lifted her clean off the ground and placed her astride like she weighed nothing at all.
“Better?” he asked, looking up at her, his expression maddeningly unreadable.
Scarlett’s cheeks burned hot. “I could’ve managed.” “Aye,” he said, “but not fast enough.”
She barely had time to recover before he swung into the saddle behind her. The jolt of his weight pressed every inch of his chest against her back, and his thighs bracketed hers. Scarlett went rigid.
“Ye… what?”
“Ye willnae ride alone,” Robert said with his voice final.
Scarlett clenched the reins tighter, refusing to let him hear the way her breath hitched. “I never asked ye to come.”
“Ye didnae need to.” His hand settled on her hip, steadying her. “I’ll see ye safe, whether ye like it or nae.”
She stared hard at the mare’s ears, willing the flush from her cheeks. But every breath, every subtle shift of the horse pressed her tighter against him, and she could feel it, hard, insistent, the proof of his body’s betrayal against the small of her back.
Scarlett bit the inside of her cheek, furious with herself for the heat that coiled low in her belly. This is madness. Utter madness.
She tried for sarcasm though her voice wobbled. “Och, saints, this will be the longest ride of me life.”
Behind her, she felt rather than heard his chuckle. “Aye. But ye’ll be safe. And that, Scarlett, is all that matters.”
Her heart thudded traitorously as the horse jolted into motion, carrying them out into the fading light.