Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Morning came, cold and gray. The fire had burned down to embers, and the faint scent of rain still lingered in the air. Scarlett stirred beneath the quilt, blinking against the pale light filtering through the window.
For one blissful second, she forgot where she was. The warmth beside her, the weight of another body, she almost turned into it.
But the space was empty. Her eyes flew open.
Robert stood near the window, broad-shouldered and distant with his back to her. He was already dressed, tartan belted, shirt laced, boots polished to a soldier’s precision.
Her chest tightened.
“Ye’re up early,” she said softly, her voice rough with sleep. He didn’t turn. “We’ll leave within the hour.”
Scarlett sat up, clutching the quilt around her. “So soon? The rain’s only just stopped.”
“Aye,” he said, his tone clipped. “The roads will be soft but passable.”
Something in his voice, the way it sounded so impersonal, cut deeper than she wanted to admit. It was as though the night before had never happened, as though all the heat between them had burned away with the fire.
She swallowed. “Ye’ve the charm of a thundercloud this morning.”
He looked over his shoulder briefly, his face unreadable. “Dress yerself, Scarlett. I’ll see to the horses.”
And then he was gone.
The door shut softly behind him, but it might as well have slammed.
Scarlett sat still, the echo of his words hanging in the quiet. The quilt slipped from her shoulders, and the chill of the morning biting at her skin.
So that’s how it is, she thought bitterly. A kiss one night, orders the next morn.
Her throat tightened, but she forced a small, humorless smile. “Well done, Scarlett,” she muttered. “Ye’ve gone and fallen for a man who thinks feelings are a battlefield.”
She dressed quickly, tugging her now dry gown from the chair. The silver necklace caught the light, and she found her fingers brushing the green stone at its center. Once, it had felt like a promise. Now, it only reminded her how easily he’d retreated behind his walls again.
Outside, the world was still soaked. Mist clung low to the ground, and the air was still heavy with the smell of rain. Robert was already at the horse, tightening the girth on their mount. He looked up when she approached, and his eyes scanned her briefly before returning to the task.
“I could’ve managed that,” she said, keeping her tone even.
“I daenae doubt it,” he said without looking up. “But I prefer the saddle stay on.”
Her lips twitched. “Ye’re in a grand mood.”
He didn’t answer. He only helped her mount, his hands firm and detached.
They rode into the gray morning, the inn shrinking behind them. For miles, neither spoke. Scarlett tried not to glance back at him, but the silence pressed too hard to ignore.
“Ye’ll turn into stone if ye keep scowling like that,” she said finally. Robert kept his gaze on the road. “I’m nae scowling.”
“Ye are,” she said. “Ye’ve the face of a man marching to war.” “Perhaps I am.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Och, and here I thought we’d left the battlefield behind.”
He exhaled, something between a sigh and a quiet laugh. “Ye’ve a talent for talking when silence would serve better.”
“And ye’ve a talent for brooding when company would serve best.”
That earned her a sidelong glance. “Company or quarrel? I cannae tell which ye’re after.”
Scarlett smirked. “Depends which gets a reaction out of ye.”
For a moment, his mouth curved, barely, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Careful, lass. Ye’ll find me patience runs shorter than ye think.”
“Patience,” she said dryly. “That’s rich, coming from a man who spends half his days commanding folk and the other half glowering at me like I’m one of them.”
He gave her a look. “Ye mistake glowering for thinking.” “And what are ye thinking now?”
“That ye’ve talked since sunrise without breathing once.” Scarlett gasped, feigning offense. “Rude.”
“Aye,” he said, deadpan.
Her laughter escaped before she could stop it, carried off by the wind. For a fleeting moment, the space between them softened. Then she said, too lightly, “When we return, I’d like to visit Hallow Castle.”
Robert’s hands tightened on the reins. “For what?”
“To see me brother,” she said. “And Lorna. I’ve been gone long enough.”
He was silent for a heartbeat too long. “Nay.” Her brows rose. “Nay?”
His jaw flexed. “Ye’ll stay at Gundor.” Scarlett stared at him. “Ye cannae mean that.” “I do.”
Her voice sharpened. “On what grounds, pray tell?”
He didn’t look at her. “Our marriage remains unconsummated. Ye’re bound to Gundor, not Hallow. Until that changes, ye willnae go running back to yer clan.”
The words struck hard.
Her hands clenched around the reins. “Bound to Gundor?” she repeated. “That what ye call it, then? Binding? Like a rope?”
Robert’s expression didn’t shift. “It’s law.”
“It’s nonsense,” she said, the edge of fury creeping into her tone. “And cruel besides.”
He gave no answer.
Scarlett leaned closer in her saddle, her voice dropping to a warning whisper. “And whose fault is that, Me Laird?”
His head turned sharply. “Careful,” he said quietly.
Scarlett’s lips curved, but there was no smile in it. “What? Have I spoken falsely?”
His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
She held his gaze a moment longer then leaned back with a sharp exhale. “Thought so.”
They rode on in silence. After a long while, she muttered, “Ye ken, most men would apologize when they’ve wronged their wife.”
He didn’t look at her. “Have I wronged ye?”
Scarlett gave a small, humorless laugh. “Ye’ve a strange memory, Robert. Let me remind ye… ye kissed me like a man starved then woke me like a soldier on duty. Forgive me if I’m confused about where we stand.”
His hands tightened on the reins. “Ye think I planned that night?”
“I think ye wanted it,” she shot back. “And I think ye want to pretend ye didn’t.”
He swore under his breath. “Ye think too much, lass.”
“And ye think too little,” she retorted. “If ye’d only speak plain—”
“Plain? Ye want plain? Fine. I’m yer husband. Ye’re me wife. The rest of it, it’s nothing but foolishness we’ve both fed too long.”
Scarlett blinked, startled. “That’s… plain, indeed.”
Robert dragged a hand through his hair, frustration cutting through his restraint. “Ye twist me words before they’ve left me mouth.” “Only when they make nay sense.”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “There’s nae winning with ye.” “Then stop trying to win,” she said softly.
The quiet that followed wasn’t empty this time. It felt heavy, full of what neither dared say.
He finally spoke again. “I daenae mean to hurt ye.” Scarlett’s chest tightened. “Then why do ye?”
He looked at her, really looked. The way he had last night, when the world had shrunk to just the two of them and everything else had fallen away. “Because ye make me forget what’s safe.”
Scarlett blinked. “And that frightens ye?”
He didn’t answer, but his silence said enough.
Scarlett swallowed, forcing a small smile. “Good. Maybe ye’ll learn what it feels like to live instead of just lead.”
Robert’s mouth twitched though his eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. “Ye’re impossible.”
“So ye’ve told me,” she murmured. “Yet here we are.”
He said nothing, but she noticed the tension in his hands ease slightly on the reins.
Scarlett glanced at him from the corner of her eye, the green stone of her necklace cool against her throat. Three nights left, she thought, her heart steadying even as it ached.
And God help me, I’ve a feeling I’ll lose more than sleep before they’re done.
The wind had turned sharp by the time Gundor’s towers broke through the mist. Their gray stone rose hard against the sky, solid and unyielding, exactly how he liked things. Yet this morning, the sight brought Robert no peace.
Scarlett rode a little ahead, the hem of her cloak damp, strands of her hair catching the wind. He watched her without meaning to, the proud line of her spine and the quiet defiance in every movement.
Aye, she’d argued him half the way here, challenged him the other half, and somehow, she still managed to look like the finest thing that ever rode across Highland soil.
God save him, he was losing his grip.
The gates creaked open, and the courtyard came alive. Stable lads hurried forward, guards nodded, and from across the yard, Leon spotted them first.
“Saints above!” Leon called, grinning widely. “The Laird returns and with his bonnie bride still intact! Tell me, Scarlett, how’s married life treating ye? Has our Robert gone soft yet?”
Scarlett’s answering smile was sweet, far too sweet. “Soft? Nay, not even close. Though I’ve half a mind to see if I can manage it.”
The men nearby laughed. Robert shot Leon a glare that could have frozen ale. “Enough,” he said shortly. “Ye’ve work to do, or did the walls mend themselves while I was gone?”
Leon laughed, undeterred. “Och, brother, I’m only asking. Every man’s curious how the mighty McLaren fares under his lady’s command.”
Scarlett arched a brow as she dismounted, cloak sweeping behind her.
“Ye’ve more sense than yer Laird gives ye credit for, Leon.”
That earned another round of laughter. Robert rubbed a hand over his face, half in exasperation, and half to hide a reluctant smile.
“Christ, woman,” he muttered. “Ye’ll have the whole keep believing I’m ruled by ye.”
Scarlett turned to him, her eyes bright with mischief. “Aren’t ye?”
He met her gaze for a long moment, too long, before forcing himself to look away. “Go inside,” he said, voice low and tight. “Mary will see ye settled.”
“Aye, Me Laird.” She gave him a mock curtsy and swept past, her skirts brushing against his boots.
Robert’s hand flexed at his side. Everything about her tested him, her wit, her will, the way her laughter lingered even after she was gone.
Leon sidled up beside him, still grinning like a devil. “She’s something, that one. Reckon she’s the first woman to make ye look twice.”
Robert shot him a dark look. “Watch yer tongue.”
“Only saying what’s plain to see.” Leon folded his arms, with amusement glinting in his eyes. “Ye’ve that look about ye, like a man walking a line he knows will give way beneath him.”
“Ye’ve too much time to talk,” Robert said dryly.
Leon ignored him. “Aye, but tell me the truth, Is she what ye expected?”
Robert gave a quiet snort. “She’s what I deserve, likely.”
Leon chuckled. “If that’s punishment, I’ll take her twin when ye’re done.”
Robert turned sharply. “Watch yerself.”
Leon lifted both hands, laughing. “Easy, Me Laird! I’m jesting. Though I’ll say this, she’s got fire.”
That drew a breath from Robert, something between agreement and surrender. “Aye. Fire enough to burn the roof off Gundor.”
Leon clapped him on the shoulder. “Then perhaps, Me Laird, ye gained more than an alliance after all.”
Robert didn’t answer. His gaze followed Scarlett across the courtyard until she vanished into the archway.
The truth pressed hard in his chest, and he hated it. He’d built his life on control, on mastering every impulse that could weaken him. But Scarlett was a storm no discipline could tame.
He turned away, muttering, “She’s driving me mad.”
Leon grinned. “Good. Ye’ve been too steady for too long.” “Steady’s what keeps this clan alive.”
“Maybe,” Leon said. “But it’s nay way to live. A man can hold his ground all his life and still drown standing still.”
Robert barked, | “A man can lose everything if he lets his guard down.”
Leon studied him for a long moment. “Or gain everything if he learns when to stop fighting.”
Robert didn’t answer. He wasn’t built for talk like this, not about what stirred in his chest when she smiled.
He walked away instead. Behind him, Leon called, “Ye ken I’m right, Robert. Ye just hate hearing it.”
“Aye I do,” Robert muttered under his breath. “But it doesnae change the fact that ye talk too much.”
Inside, the keep smelled of smoke, stone, and something faintly floral, her scent, already woven into the air.
He paused at the base of the stairs, his hand on the banister. Above, faint footsteps receded toward her chamber. He could almost see her, shrugging off her cloak, tracing the edge of that necklace he’d bought her, the one she couldn’t seem to stop touching.
He hadn’t meant to buy it. He hadn’t meant to want her either. But everything about Scarlett—her defiance, her laughter, and her fire—pulled at him like a tide he couldn’t resist.
He climbed halfway up before stopping himself. What was he doing, going to her door like a fool?
He turned sharply, heading for his own chambers instead.
He tossed his cloak aside and sank into the chair by the fire with his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. The memory of her came rushing back, the warmth of her body beneath him, the sound of her voice breaking against his mouth, the tremor in her breath when she whispered aye.
He swore softly. “Christ, what have I done?”
He’d set rules for a reason. Five nights. No more. It had been meant to protect them both.
But the boundaries were already crumbling.
He was losing control. Of her. Of himself. Of everything.
When Leon appeared in the doorway again, a tankard in hand, Robert didn’t look up.
“Ye’re brooding again,” Leon said cheerfully. “Can always tell. Ye’ve that look like the world’s offended ye personally.”
Robert exhaled. “Go away, Leon.”
“Nay. I’ll stay and enjoy the sight of the mighty Laird McLaren undone by a lass.”
Robert shot him a glare. “Ye think this is a jesting matter?”
Leon smirked. “Aye. Because ye’re not the first man undone by love, nor will ye be the last.”
“Love,” Robert repeated flatly, as if the word itself were poison.
Leon raised a brow. “If it’s nae love, then what has ye staring at her door like a man torn in two?”
Robert said nothing.
Leon clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s nae weakness, me Laird. She’s a good match. Strong. Smart. Reckless as sin, aye, but she makes ye feel alive. That’s nay curse.”
Robert’s voice was quiet. “It could be.”
Leon studied him for a long moment. “Or it could be what saves ye.”
When the door closed behind him, Robert sat in silence. Scarlett McLaren.
The woman he couldn’t tame.
The wife he wasn’t sure he wanted.
And for the first time in years, Robert McLaren was afraid, not of battle, not of blood, but of what would happen when he finally stopped fighting her.