Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The innkeeper’s wife led them up the narrow stairs, the boards creaking under their steps. Scarlett kept her chin high, but her palms were damp around the strap of her satchel. Robert walked just behind her, silent as a shadow, and she swore she could feel his gaze on her back with every pace.
The woman stopped at the last door, pushing it open with a grunt. “Here ye are, Me Laird. Fire’s already lit, and I had water brought up for a bath. Supper will be sent along once the cook’s ready.”
Scarlett stepped inside and stopped short.
Her fear, or perhaps her wickedest hope, had proven true. One bed. Broad and sturdy, pressed against the wall, its quilt was a faded red. Not two, not even a pallet in the corner. One.
Her stomach twisted in a tumble of nerves and anticipation she refused to name.
One bed. One bloody bed. God above, what sort of inn cannae manage two?
Heat prickled her cheeks as her mind raced. If he thinks I’ll simply curl up beside him as if we’re… as if we’re truly husband and wife.
“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course, there’s only one.”
Robert glanced over his shoulder. “What was that?” She lifted her chin. “I said there’s only one bed.”
“Aye,” he answered simply, as if she’d remarked on the color of the
Scarlett blinked. “Aye? That’s all ye’ve to say? Aye?”
He turned fully now, arms folding across his chest. “What else is there to say? We’ll use it.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “We?”
He gave her a look, one brow raised in quiet challenge. “Did ye expect I’d sleep on the floor like a dog? Or will ye take the floor instead?”
Scarlett sputtered, every nerve in her body alive. “I’m nae sure. It wouldnae be proper.”
Robert’s mouth curved, not kindly. “Proper? We’re wed, lass. It’s the most proper thing in the world.”
Scarlett’s throat worked. “We may be wed, but…”
“But what?” His gaze pinned her. “Do ye think I’ve waited all this time to prove some point, only to balk at sharing a bed with me wife?”
Her face burned, and she turned half away, muttering, “I only
thought—”
He stepped closer, “Aye, I ken well enough what ye thought. That I’d keep me distance, that I’d let ye drift to sleep imagining I’ve no claim to the space beside ye.” He leaned just enough to make her pulse stumble. “But make no mistake, Scarlett. Bed’s big enough for the both of us.”
Her lips parted then closed again, her mind spinning like a storm.
Big enough? The man’s out of his wits. It’s too close, too dangerous.
Robert’s tone gentled though it lost none of its certainty. “I daenae bite, lass. Not unless ye ask.”
Scarlett nearly choked on air. “Ye—” She snapped her mouth shut, dragging the quilt tighter around her shoulders though she was still standing by the fire. “Ye’re impossible.”
“And ye’re stubborn,” he countered, as always, before turning back to unbuckle his wet cloak.
Scarlett huffed, pacing once, twice, trying to steady herself. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the bed again. The quilt looked soft, warm, and inviting, even. Her traitorous body ached at the thought though her pride fought tooth and claw against it.
She dragged in a breath and forced herself to sound cool, unbothered. “Well. If ye insist. But daenae expect me to enjoy it.”
Robert’s head turned again, that faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’d never be so arrogant as to expect. But I’ve a feeling ye will anyway.”
Scarlett glared though it lacked all force because her stomach chose that moment to rumble again, louder than before.
Robert’s head turned sharply, his brow arched. “Hungry, are ye?” Color flooded her cheeks. “It would seem so.”
He shut the door behind them with a decisive thud then gestured toward the steaming tub by the hearth. “Take yer bath first. I’ll see about food.”
Scarlett blinked at him, thrown. “Ye–what?”
“The water’s still hot,” he said simply, already shrugging out of his dripping cloak. “Best ye use it before it cools. I’ll bring supper back.”
She stared. He had thought ahead. Had seen to her comfort without her asking. The realization unsettled her more than his anger ever had. “Ye… planned this?”
“Aye.” He glanced at her then, the barest flicker of something softer beneath his stormy eyes. “I figured ye’d not want to sit wet and shivering all night.”
Her mouth went dry. “Robert…” “Mm?”
“Thank ye.” The words slipped out, low and earnest, before she could snatch them back.
He froze as if she’d struck him. His gaze locked with hers across the small room, and for a long breath, neither moved.
Scarlett’s throat tightened. Every sensible thought screamed at her to look away, to fuss with her satchel or busy her hands, but her body refused. She held his stare, caught in it until the air itself seemed to thrum.
At last, he cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Daenae thank me yet. The cook’s stew may kill us both.”
A startled laugh burst from her lips, shaking the tension just enough. “Och, ye’ve a gift for ruining a moment.”
“Better that than feeding it,” he muttered though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Scarlett crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “Maybe I like the moment just fine.”
That earned her a look. His eyes raked over her face, lingering at her lips before snapping back to her gaze. He stepped closer, just a fraction, enough that she felt the pull of him.
Her breath caught.
But then he turned, his hand already on the latch. “Bathe, lass. I’ll return shortly.”
Scarlett’s pulse hammered in her ears. “Robert—”
He paused, glancing back, waiting.
She swallowed, words tangling on her tongue.
Say something, fool. Anything but thank ye again.
“Daenae take too long. Me belly might riot without ye.”
That drew a chuckle from him. “Aye. I’ll hurry, lest the innkeeper think I’ve married a wolf.”
Scarlett wrinkled her nose at him, but warmth spread through her chest at his laughter. He opened the door, and just before stepping out, his eyes found hers again, as though he meant to speak but thought better of it.
The door shut, leaving her alone with the crackle of the fire and the steam curling from the tub.
Scarlett pressed a hand to her necklace, her skin prickling where his gaze had lingered. She sank on the edge of the bed, her heart still racing.
God help me—, she thought, staring at the door.
What am I to do with a man like him?
The door creaked open on a gust of rain and cold. Robert stepped inside, balancing a tray heavy with two bowls and a hunk of bread. The fire had burned lower, but its glow was enough to set the whole scene before him.
Scarlett was curled beneath the quilt, damp hair spilling across her shoulders in loose waves.
Her cheeks glowed pink from the heat of the bath, and the rise of the covers betrayed the long, bare line of her collarbone.
Her gown hung across the back of a chair near the hearth, dripping slowly onto the stone floor.
For a moment, Robert only stood there, tray in hand, and his chest tightening.
She looked… God help him, like temptation made flesh.
Scarlett’s eyes found his, and she flushed deeper. “I’ve nothing to wear,” she said quickly, tugging the quilt higher. “That’s why I’m here under the covers.”
Robert set the tray down by the fire with deliberate care though his gaze never left her. “Aye,” he said at last. “And ye look the bonniest I’ve ever seen ye.”
Her breath caught. “Robert…”
He straightened, peeling off his wet cloak then his jerkin. His movements were slow, steady, as though he knew she watched him. “Daenae look at me like that if ye mean to scold me for saying truth.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together, her chin tilting stubbornly. “Ye’ve a heavy hand with truth, then. I’m half-dressed, Robert. What else would ye expect me to do?”
“Appreciate it,” he returned, deadpan.
Her eyes widened, scandalized. “Appreciate?”
He chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest, and moved toward the fire to stir the logs. Sparks flared, throwing light across his features, sharp and strong. “Ye think me a brute, lass, but I’ve eyes. And what they see…” He shook his head. “I willnae lie about it.”
Scarlett sank lower into the covers though a reluctant smile tugged at her mouth. “Ye’re insufferable.”
“Aye. And yet ye keep talking to me.”
Her fingers twisted the quilt. “Because silence would make it worse.”
Robert set the tray on the bed beside her, the steam from the stew curling into the air. The smell was rich meat, onions, and herbs, comforting in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Eat,” he said, voice firm but not unkind.
Scarlett arched a brow with her spoon poised. “Does every word out of yer mouth have to sound like an order?”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Only when ye’re stubborn enough to need it.”
She sniffed, feigning solemnity. “What next? Shall I wait for ye to command me to breathe or blink?”
Robert leaned a shoulder against the bedpost with his arms crossed. “Shut yer mouth, I’ve wished for more than once.” His gaze warmed with wry humor. “Eat, lass, before I take it back down to the kitchen.”
Her eyes widened in mock outrage as she clutched the bowl closer. “Ye wouldnae dare!”
A low growl rumbled from him, playful but edged. “Try me.”
Scarlett giggled despite herself, then took a spoonful, the warmth spreading through her chest. “Thank ye,” she murmured, softer this time.
His gaze lingered on her lips as she smiled, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he turned away, shrugging off his damp cloak. The firelight played across his shoulders as he tugged loose the heavy tartan and draped it over a chair.
Scarlett froze mid-bite when he reached for the clasp at his shoulder. The fabric fell away in a practiced sweep, damp wool sliding down his frame. Her spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering against the plate.
Robert glanced over his shoulder, brows raised. “What?”
Scarlett straightened quickly, heat flooding her cheeks. “N-nothing. Just… the stew. Too hot.”
His eyes narrowed, amusement lurking. “Strange, then, that yer spoon’s on the plate instead of in yer hand.”
She fumbled to grab it again. “It slipped.”
“Mm.” He turned back, his shoulders shifting as he pulled at his shirt. The damp fabric clung to him before he stripped it clean off, tossing it aside without care.
Scarlett nearly forgot to breathe. She set the bowl aside before she made a fool of herself choking. “Ye ken, it’s rude to disrobe in front of a lady without warning.”
Robert turned, brow arched. “Warning? Do ye need a bell rung?” Her jaw dropped. “A bell?”
His smirk deepened as he folded the shirt over the chair. “Ye’d still stare.”
Scarlett sputtered then buried her face in her quilt, muffling a groan. “God help me, ye’re insufferable.”
“And ye’re terrible at hiding it when ye’re caught looking,” he said smoothly.
Her head shot up, glare sharp enough to cut. “I wasnae looking!” “Aye, lass. Whatever helps ye sleep.”
Scarlett flopped back against the pillows. “Ye’ll drive me mad.” Robert’s eyes lingered on her. “Aye. But it seems ye’ll let me.”