Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
The next few days slipped past in a hush that gnawed at the edges of Scarlett’s patience.
Robert buried himself in ledgers and councils, his voice reserved for orders or the occasional clipped remark at supper.
He spoke to her as though nothing between them had changed, as though he hadn’t kissed her breathless in the dark or left her lying awake afterward, listening for his steps that never came.
Scarlett had learned to wear indifference like armor. She smiled when spoken to, laughed lightly with the servants, and kept her chin lifted at meals. Beneath the calm, though, her chest ached with a silence that shouted.
The castle, once merely cold, had grown cavernous, filled with echoes that belonged to no one.
So she began to fill them.
Each morning, after breaking her fast, she took her sketchbook and charcoal and slipped into the gardens. The autumn air had turned sharp enough to mist her breath, but she didn’t mind. The quiet suited her.
At first, she drew what she saw, the hedges, the slope of the hills beyond Gundor’s walls, the wildflowers clinging to life along the garden’s edge. But as the hours stretched, her hand began to wander, her lines softening into something far more dangerous.
A broad shoulder. The strong curve of a jaw. A mouth she knew too well.
The realization struck her one afternoon. She had been lost in the rhythm of shading when the image appeared clearly, Robert’s profile, familiar and unmistakable. Even on paper, he managed to invade her thoughts.
Scarlett stared at the drawing for a long moment before tearing the page free. The parchment ripped clean in her hands. Folding it small enough to hide in her palm, she dropped it into the fountain. The water caught it, pulling the ink apart until the face disappeared.
“Fool,” she muttered though she wasn’t sure whether she meant him or herself.
By the fourth day, her restlessness had grown worse.
The air felt thick with what neither of them said.
At supper, Robert kept his eyes on his cup, asking after provisions and winter stores while ignoring the woman across from him.
She matched his calm with her own though her appetite vanished with every silence between them.
When he rose at last, bowing slightly before leaving, Scarlett watched him go with an ache she refused to name.
Let him, she told herself. If he wants distance, I’ll give it to him.
Yet the next evening found her wandering the gardens long after the maids had lit the corridor torches.
The sun had long since slipped behind the western ridge, leaving the sky washed in violet and rose. The fountain shimmered faintly in the half-light, its surface rippling with the soft breeze. Scarlett settled on the stone ledge, her sketchbook across her knees though she hadn’t drawn in an hour.
She told herself she was waiting for the stars that she liked this hour. But she knew the truth.
She was waiting for him.
A rustle in the ivy startled her, and her heart leapt before she realized it was only the wind. She exhaled slowly and pressed the charcoal to the page, sketching without thought. When she glanced down again, her pulse faltered.
It was him once more, Robert’s eyes.
Scarlett smudged the lines with her thumb and gave a faint, frustrated laugh. “God’s teeth, I’ll go mad if I keep this up.” “Talking to yerself now?”
She spun in surprise, but it wasn’t Robert’s voice.
It was Mary, walking up the path with a basket of folded linens in her arms.
Scarlett pressed a hand to her chest. “Ye nearly gave me a fright, Mary.” The older woman smiled knowingly. “Then ye’ve too much on yer mind. That’s what comes of mooning about the gardens after supper. Folks will start thinking ye’re waiting for someone.”
Scarlett huffed and snapped her sketchbook shut. “I’m waiting for the stars, that’s all.”
“Aye,” Mary said with a raised brow. “And I’m the Queen of the world.”
Scarlett tried to glare though her lips curved despite herself. “Ye’re terrible.”
“Terrible, but right.” Mary set her basket down on the bench. “Ye’ve the look of a lass whose thoughts are elsewhere. Or should I say, with someone.”
Scarlett stiffened. “I’ve nae idea what ye mean.”
Mary chuckled. “If ye’re thinking of the Laird, ye’re nae the first lass at Gundor to lose sleep over him.”
Scarlett’s cheeks warmed. “I’m nae losing sleep. I simply think.” “Aye,” Mary said, folding her arms. “And does yer thinking involve
sighing at the sky?”
Scarlett groaned softly. “Go on, tease me if ye must, but I assure ye, Robert is far too occupied to haunt me thoughts.”
“Funny,” Mary murmured. “Seems he’s been haunting his own.” Scarlett blinked. “What do ye mean?”
The older woman shrugged. “Only that I’ve seen the way he looks at ye when he thinks ye’re nae watching. A man with a look of guilt.”
Scarlett’s throat tightened. “He has naught to feel guilty about.” Mary smiled faintly. “Then maybe it’s hunger alone.”
Scarlett turned away, pretending to fuss with her pencils. “Ye’re imagining things.”
“Perhaps,” Mary said lightly. “But if I were ye, I’d stop pretending ye feel nothing.”
Scarlett’s fingers tightened on her sketchbook. “And if I do?”
Mary leaned closer, her tone softening. “Then stop running from it. The Laird McLaren is a hard man, but I’ve seen harder break when they find something worth holding.”
Scarlett didn’t answer. She only watched as the last streaks of light faded from the sky until the stars began to blink through. When she finally looked back, Mary was already making her way toward the keep, her basket balanced on her hip.
Scarlett stayed where she was, watching the moonlight shimmer across the fountain. Her reflection wavered and blurred in the rippling water, a face she barely recognized anymore.
She touched the pendant at her throat, the one Robert had given her. The metal was cool against her skin.
Maybe Mary’s right. Maybe I’m the fool for fighting it.
But another voice whispered quieter.
Or maybe ye’re the fool for hoping he’ll ever want more than duty.
The thought made her chest ache. She closed her sketchbook and held it against her knees as the night deepened.
Tomorrow, she told herself, she would stop lingering. Stop waiting. Yet when the wind shifted, she thought she heard footsteps in the distance.
Her breath hitched.
And though she told herself she imagined it, she didn’t move until long after the sound had faded into the dark.
Scarlett’s breath misted in the cold air as she sat by the fountain, her thoughts tangled between longing and pride. The moon had climbed higher, turning the water silver. She barely noticed the faint crunch of boots until the sound grew closer.
She turned, half expecting a guard on rounds or a servant sent to fetch her in from the chill, but what stepped from the shadows was neither.
“Master Little?”
He looked nothing like the man she remembered. His face was thinner now, his eyes wild, hair hanging damp against his temples. The grin that spread across his face wasn’t friendly; it was stretched too wide, and his teeth glinted in the dark.
“Aye,” he said softly, stepping forward. “Ye remember me, then.”
Two men followed close behind him, broad-shouldered, cloaked, and grim. Scarlett’s pulse began to hammer in her throat. “What are ye…?”
Before she could finish, one of the men lunged forward and caught her by the arms. Her sketchbook fell from her lap, charcoal scattering across the path.
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting hard, but the man’s grip tightened cruelly. “Release me, ye fools! Do ye ken who I am?”
“Enough,” Mack snapped. “Do as I said.”
Scarlett’s voice rose, panic cutting through her fury. “Ye’ll answer for this! If Robert…”
The rest of her words drowned in a muffled gasp as a cloth pressed to her mouth. The smell hit her instantly. Her limbs thrashed once, twice, then the world tilted. Stars burst behind her eyes before everything slipped into darkness.
When she woke, her mouth was dry, and her head spun as though the ground itself had turned upside down. Cold air bit at her skin. She blinked slowly, trying to make sense of the blur around her.
Trees loomed above, their branches cutting through a thin veil of moonlight. The smell of damp earth and rotting leaves filled her lungs.
She tried to move, but pain flared in her wrists. The rope bound her hands tight enough to cut the skin. Her ankles were tied too.
Panic clawed at her throat. She forced it down.
Think, Scarlett. Think like Robert.
When she lifted her head, she saw Mack crouched beside a dying fire, muttering to himself. The blade of a dagger caught the light as he turned it over in his hands.
“Mack,” she rasped. “Ye daenae have to do this.”
He turned sharply. The moonlight revealed the madness in his eyes, raw and fevered.
“Daenae have to?” he repeated, laughing once, the sound jagged. “I’ve nae choice, lass. It’s too late for that.”
Scarlett’s stomach twisted. “What is it ye want? Coin? Freedom? I’ll help ye if I can—”
He barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Coin? Freedom? Ye think this is about coin? This is about him.”
She swallowed hard. “Robert?”
Mack’s face contorted, grief and rage tangling into something ugly. “He took everything from me. Everything. Ye think I daenae ken what he’s done? He stole me post, me home… and then he took ye.”
Scarlett flinched. “He took me?”
“Aye,” Mack hissed. “Ye were meant to be mine. Ye smiled at me once, ye remember? In the stables. I’d have given ye the world if he hadn’t come.”
Her pulse thundered. “Ye’re mad.”
He grinned wider. “Mad? Nay. Just awake. He walks about like some noble saint, and everyone bows to him. But I ken what he really is—a man who takes, who ruins.” His voice cracked. “Well, now, he’ll lose something too.”
Scarlett forced her breathing to steady. “Listen to me. Ye’re angry, I understand that. But if ye harm me, Robert will—”
Mack’s laughter was manic, cutting her off. “Aye, he’ll come. That’s the plan. He’ll come, and he’ll find ye gone, and he’ll ken what it feels like to lose the one thing he cannae control.”
Her heart lurched. “Ye mean to use me to hurt him.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Clever lass.”
Scarlett shifted, testing her ropes. Too tight. Her fingers brushed only air. “Mack,” she said softly, “this isn’t the way. Ye’ll ruin yerself.”
He went still, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Ruin?”
“Aye,” she said, steady now. “If ye think this will bring ye peace, ye’re wrong. Robert willnae stop. Ye ken that. And when he finds ye, he’ll show nae mercy.”
For a heartbeat, something flickered in his eyes—doubt, maybe fear—but it vanished.
“I’m past caring,” he said. “Let him come.” Scarlett’s throat tightened. He means it.
She had to keep him talking, to buy time.
“Mack, ye’re right about one thing. Robert does take too much upon himself.
He’s proud. Controlling. I fight him near every day for it.
” She drew a breath, choosing her words carefully.
“But he’s not cruel. If ye’d gone to him, if ye’d told him what he’d done, he might’ve made it right. ”
He stared at her, firelight flickering across his face. “Ye defend him, even now.”
“I’m trying to save ye,” she said sharply. “Do ye think I want to see ye hang?”
His expression twisted. “Then ye shouldnae have married him.” Her pulse jumped. “Married him? Ye think I—?”
“Ye belong to him now, aye?” Mack spat. “And ye still wear that necklace he gave ye. Still look at him like… like—” He broke off, dragging a hand down his face. “Ye should’ve been mine.”
Scarlett’s stomach turned. “Ye daenae ken what ye’re saying. This isn’t love. It’s a sickness.”
Mack’s voice trembled. “Ye think I daenae ken love? I dreamt of ye for months after ye came. Thought if I worked harder, if I made meself useful, ye’d see me. Then he—” His hand slammed against his knee. “He ruined everything.”
Scarlett glanced toward the forest’s edge, desperate for any sign of movement. Nothing but shadows.
“Mack,” she said again, gentle but firm. “Untie me. We can talk properly, aye? Ye said ye loved me, then prove it. Daenae hurt me like this.”
He hesitated, just for a moment. Her heart leapt.
Then one of the men scoffed. “She’s tricking ye, Mack. Women like her always do.”
Mack’s head snapped around. “Shut it.”
But the moment was gone. He turned from her, pacing in the leaves, muttering, fragments about Robert, about betrayal, about justice.
Scarlett twisted her wrist hard against the rope. The coarse fibers scraped her skin raw, but she kept going. The knot shifted slightly, not enough.
Mack spun back toward her, voice soft and strange. “Ye’re thinking of running.”
Scarlett froze. “I’m thinking of talking sense into ye.”
He smiled again, hollow and tired. “Too late for sense, lass. Too late for both of us.”
He turned back to the fire, throwing another branch onto it. Sparks jumped high into the air.
Scarlett’s pulse thundered. The night pressed close, thick with smoke and fear.
But beneath it all, she clung to one thought, one desperate, defiant hope.
He’ll come for me.
Robert will come. And when he does, God help anyone who tries to stop him.
Robert stood outside her chamber door, hand hovering near the latch.
He’d come here half a dozen times in the past few days, always turning away before knocking. But tonight, he needed to speak to her, to say something, anything, before the distance between them hardened into something he could no longer bridge.
He drew a slow breath and pushed the door open. The room was still. Too still.
The fire had burned down to ash. The bed was untouched. A chill crept along his spine.
“Scarlett?” he called quietly.
No answer.
The room was too still. Her chair sat perfectly aligned, her cloak neatly draped. Everything was in its place.
Except her.
His eyes fell on her sketchbook, left open on the table. A fresh drawing of the gardens was half-finished, the charcoal still soft to his touch. She had been here only moments ago.
A cold knot tightened in his chest. He followed a faint draft out into the corridor, down into the courtyard. The wind-driven rain stung his face as he strode toward the gardens.
By the silent fountain, he found it. Her parchment, soaked and ruined, the ink bleeding away. And beside it, glinting in the wet gloom, her necklace.
He knelt, lifting the garnet from the mud.
He turned sharply and strode to the door. “Guard!”
Footsteps thundered in the corridor.
“Find Lady Scarlett,” Robert barked. “Search the grounds, the stables, the hills if ye must; she’s gone from her chambers.”
The guard blanched, bowing quickly before sprinting away.
Robert stood there, gripping the doorframe until his knuckles whitened. His heart was a slow, heavy drum in his chest.
God help anyone who’s touched her.
The storm inside him had already broken loose.