Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Scarlett’s fingers kept straying to the necklace at her throat.
The green stone was cool against her skin, and every time her hand brushed it, she felt Robert’s thumb again at the back of her neck when he’d fastened it.
It was ridiculous, really. A trinket. A bauble. And yet she couldn’t leave it alone.
“Ye’ll wear the shine off it if ye keep stroking it like that,” Robert muttered from behind her, his voice rumbling low against the rain-washed silence of the woods.
Scarlett’s chin lifted though he couldn’t see it from his seat behind her. “I’ll have ye ken, I’m only making certain it stays in place.”
He huffed, the sound half a laugh, “It’s clasped well enough. I wouldnae have bought a poor chain.”
She bit back the sharp retort on her tongue then let it loose anyway. “Aye, the great Laird McLaren, judge of silversmiths and savior of wandering wives. Should I bow me head in thanks every time ye spend coin on me?”
His arm shifted where it rested at her waist, steadying her as the mare picked its way down a muddy slope. “Nay,” he said simply. “Only wear it. That’s thanks enough.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together, her fingers brushing the pendant again.
“Once we’re back home. I’ll take it off; I’ll keep it safe. It would be foolish to risk losing something so fine on a whim.”
But the word caught in her mind and lingered, home. Strange that she was already thinking of Gundor as that.
The rhythm of the horse’s gait filled the silence that followed. Robert said nothing more, and she found herself stealing glances at his hands on the reins, the firm set of his jaw when she dared twist her head slightly.
He was unreadable, maddeningly so, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him, scream at him, or kiss him senseless. The choice was taken from her when the sky split.
A clap of thunder cracked above them, so sudden that the mare tossed her head. Rain followed, thick and heavy, drumming the earth in great sheets. Scarlett gasped as the first drops pelted her skin, soaking her hair in moments, her gown plastering itself indecently to her curves.
“Oh!” She tipped her head back to the heavens, closing her eyes, laughing as water streamed down her cheeks. “Saints, it’s glorious!”
Robert swore behind her, hauling the reins to keep the horse steady. “Glorious? It’s a bloody downpour.”
Scarlett spread her arms wide for a moment, letting the rain soak her through. “Better than brooding silence.”
His chest rumbled against her back. “Ye’d prefer I chatter like Leon? Fill yer ears with nonsense till ye beg me to stop?”
Her eyes flew open, and she twisted enough to glare at him over her shoulder. Rain dripped from her lashes, and she saw his gaze flicker, briefly, to her mouth. “Och, so ye can speak after all. I was beginning to think the thunder would say more than me husband.”
Robert’s lips quirked. “I speak when there’s worth in words. I daenae waste breath.”
She scoffed, turning forward again. “Saints forbid ye ever waste breath on yer wife.”
His hand tightened at her waist, not harsh but firm. “Careful, Scarlett.”
She flushed, not from fear but from the pull of his voice, threaded with something that made her belly twist.
Careful? God help me, I’ve never wanted to be more careless in me life.
For a long stretch, they rode through the storm in silence.
Scarlett let the rain wash over her until it felt like her skin was singing.
Every shift of Robert’s body against hers, his thighs bracketing her, his chest at her back, and his arm firm at her waist was magnified by the closeness forced on them.
At last, she couldn’t hold her tongue. “Ye ride like a man with iron in his spine. Not a word, not a glance, just stone.”
His chest rumbled behind her. “And ye ride like a lass who cannae keep still. Squirming as if the saddle bites ye.”
Scarlett snorted, turning her face up to the sky, rain streaming over her lips. “Better to squirm than to sit silent and grim, like death on horseback.”
Robert leaned closer, “Would ye rather I whisper sweet nothings, then? Sang ye ballads through the mud?”
Her cheeks flamed though the rain hid it well. “Oh, spare me. I’d rather the thunder than yer attempts at poetry.”
He chuckled. “A relief, then. Leon’s the bard, nae me.”
She shook her head, droplets flying. “Sometimes I think ye like the silence too much. As if words might crack the armor ye wear.”
His hand tightened briefly at her waist. “Armor’s kept me alive.” “And lonely,” she shot back before she could stop herself.
For a moment, she feared he’d ignore her or worse, cut her down with something cold. Instead, his voice came quietly.
“Do ye think yerself a stranger to me?”
Her heart leapt, a traitorous thing. She tried to smother it with sarcasm. “What else should I call it when ye cannae spare more than three words strung together? Stranger suits well enough.”
This time, his laugh startled her. “Ye’d rather I woo ye with words, then? Sweet lines like Leon spouts at lasses in taverns?”
She sniffed though her lips twitched. “It wouldnae kill ye to try.”
“I’d make a poor poet,” he admitted, his voice warm despite the grumble.
She turned, rain dripping down her jaw, studying him. “Aye, but ye’d make a worse gaoler.”
His brow furrowed. “Gaoler?”
Scarlett lifted her chin though her pulse raced. “Ye speak of liberties revoked, rules and bargains. Sounds more like a prison than a marriage bed.”
The silence that followed was heavy, thick as the rain between them. She half expected him to bristle, to cut her down with a single sharp word. Instead, he leaned closer, his mouth near her ear.
“Ye’d run wild without me.”
Scarlett’s breath hitched. Her answer came sharper than she intended. “And I’d enjoy every second.”
The horse plodded on, rain splashing around them. Robert’s laugh came again, low and rough, but this time it lingered. “God help me, lass, ye just might.”
She swallowed, her cheeks burning despite the rain cooling her skin. Finally, she bit it apart, “Tell me something, Robert.”
His chin lowered against the rain. “What sort of something?”
She hesitated then blurted, “Ye and Leon. Ye fight like brothers, yet it’s different. He teases ye without fear, and ye let him. Why?”
Robert gave a short huff that might’ve been a laugh. “Because he’s earned it. Most men I’d put flat for half the words he spits. Leon kens when to push and when to hold his tongue.”
Scarlett tilted her head just enough to catch his expression from the corner of her eye. “So he’s the only one ye’ll suffer mocking ye?”
“Aye. And even then, he tries me patience.” His hand shifted slightly at her waist, the pressure of his grip reminding her who was in control. “But he’s loyal. Fiercely. He’d bleed for Gundor and for me. That’s rare.”
Scarlett chewed her lip, rain running down to her chin. “He makes ye laugh.”
Robert’s mouth curved, almost despite himself. “More than I’d like to admit.”
She smiled faintly, emboldened by his honesty. “So, he’s the crack in yer armor, then?”
His chest rumbled against her back, low and rough. “Careful, lass. Ye speak as if ye’re looking for the rest of the cracks.”
Her belly tightened at the sound of his voice. She turned her face forward again quickly, hiding the flush the rain couldn’t cool. “Maybe I am.”
Robert’s jaw flexed behind her. “Don’t go around digging lass. Ye might not like what ye find.”
She almost pressed further, but the sky ripped open with a thunderclap that shook the earth. Rain came down harder, fat drops splattering against her cheeks. Scarlett laughed, tilting her face upward and closing her eyes.
“God, it feels alive,” she breathed, lifting her hands as though to catch it.
Robert shifted behind her. His hand at her waist tightened.
“What?” she asked, turning her head slightly. Her lashes were spiked with rain, strands of wet hair sticking to her lips.
He was staring at her. Too intently. “We’re turning back.” Her brows knit. “Back?”
“To the village. There’s an inn. We’ll take shelter.”
Scarlett scoffed, tipping her head back stubbornly to the sky again. “It’s just a few drops of water.”
“A few?” he snapped. “It’s a storm, lass. Ye’ll be soaked through in minutes.”
“I already am soaked through,” she pointed out, flicking water from her fingers with a grin.
His teeth clenched audibly. “Scarlett, this isnae the time to test me. We’re going back.”
“Nay,” she shot back sweetly. “We’re closer to Gundor than we are to the village. Best we keep moving forward. Unless, of course, the mighty laird fears a bit of thunder.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Ye truly daenae ken when to hold yer tongue.”
“Maybe I like watching ye scowl,” she teased, twisting just enough in the saddle to see the shadow storming across his face. “Ye look like one of the horses I draw, ears pinned, ready to kick.”
“Scarlett.” His tone was warning now, dark as the clouds overhead. She blinked innocently at him. “Aye?”
“Yer safety isnae up for debate.”
“Me safety,” she echoed, her eyes glinting. “Ye speak of it like I’m a bairn. I’ve ridden through rain before, Robert.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear despite the chill. “Nay, under me watch. We’re turning back, and that’s final.”
Her spine stiffened. “Ye daenae get to decide every bloody thing.” “Aye, I do. While ye’re mine, I’ll see ye safe.”
Her breath caught at that word, mine, but she smothered the reaction with a scoff. “So bossy. Has it ever occurred to ye that maybe I’d rather enjoy meself than be smothered in rules?”
He growled low in his chest, and the sound vibrated against her back. “Lass, if I let ye do what ye please, ye’d land yerself in trouble within the hour.”
“Maybe,” she admitted cheekily, “but at least I’d be smiling.”
That did it. His hand shot from her waist to the reins, jerking the horse around with sharp precision. Scarlett squeaked, clutching her paints close as the mare spun back toward the village.
“Robert!”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Argue one more word and I’ll tie ye to the saddle.”
Her jaw dropped. “Ye wouldn’t dare!” “Try me.”
She clamped her mouth shut though her glare could’ve burned holes clean through him. He rode hard, and within minutes the village roofs came back into view through sheets of rain.
By the time they slid from the saddle, thunder was rolling so close the ground trembled beneath their boots. Robert kept a hand on her arm as he shoved open the inn’s door, the warm glow of firelight spilling over them.
Inside, the keeper looked up in alarm at the dripping pair. “Saints preserve ye, Laird McLaren! Ye’ll catch yer death out there. Room, aye?”
Robert gave a short nod. “Aye, we’ll need a room.”
The man winced. “Ye’re lucky, Me Laird; there’s only one room left. Storm’s driven half the shire in tonight.”
Scarlett froze mid-step, her breath catching hard. One room.
Robert’s gaze flicked to her, unreadable, though his jaw worked as though grinding stone.
Scarlett forced her voice steady though her cheeks burned. “One will do.”
The keeper bobbed his head eagerly, bustling to fetch a key.
Robert leaned closer, his voice pitched low and rough in her ear. “Ye’ll test me patience all the way to hell, lass. And now God himself seems bent on helping ye.”
Her pulse stuttered. She swallowed hard, clutching her satchel tighter to her chest.
“Patience, Me Laird,” she whispered back, daring to meet his gaze. “Maybe ye’ll learn some tonight.”