Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Rain still battered the stone walls of Gundor Castle when they rode through the gates, thunder rolling low across the hills. The courtyard teemed with motion, men shouting orders, horses stamping restlessly, and torches flaring against the downpour, but for Scarlett, the noise faded to nothing.
All she could see was the blood darkening Robert’s tunic.
He swung down from the saddle, landing hard, his boots splashing in the mud. For a moment, he stood steady, the image of control, then his shoulders sagged, the strength drained from him.
“Robert,” she said sharply, catching his arm before he could stumble. “Ye must rest.”
“I’m fine,” he muttered though his voice was hoarse, his face pale beneath the torchlight.
“Ye’re nae fine. Look at ye!” “I’ve looked worse.”
Scarlett glared up at him, temper flaring despite the worry gnawing at her chest. “Ye look half-dead, and if ye think I’ll stand by and watch ye collapse, ye daenae ken me at all.”
He gave a faint smile. “Aye. That much is true.”
When he swayed again, she ducked beneath his arm, ignoring his weak protest, and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Come,” she ordered. “We’re going inside.”
Servants parted as they passed, whispering as the Lady of Gundor dragged her bloodied husband through the corridors. Scarlett didn’t care. Her world had narrowed to the heat of him beside her and the tremor she felt in his body.
In his chambers, she shoved the door open with her hip. “Sit,” she commanded.
“Ye’re bossy when ye’re worried,” he murmured, lowering himself onto the bed with a wince.
“Good. Then ye ken I mean it.”
He tried to smile, but it faltered. His hand found hers briefly before falling away. “Scarlett…” His voice was quiet, almost broken. “For a moment out there… I thought ye’d gone. Thought I’d lost ye forever.”
Her throat tightened. She turned quickly, focusing on the basin, the cloth, the water going red.
"Ye found me," she said, and her voice came out smaller than she meant it to. "Ye always do."
She didn't say the rest of it. That she had sat in that hut in the dark and known, with a certainty that frightened her, that he would come. That she had not once doubted it.
He made a sound between a sigh and a groan, leaning back as she reached for the basin a maid had brought. The water rippled in the firelight, crimson blooming across its surface as she dipped a cloth and began to clean his wound.
He hissed between his teeth. “Ye enjoying that, lass?”
“Hardly,” she muttered though a ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “But if ye keep talking, I might press harder.”
“Ye threaten a wounded man?”
“Ye’re lucky I daenae shake sense into ye.”
He laughed, a sound that made her chest ache. “Ye already do, more than ye ken.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the gash along his arm. “Hold still,” she murmured. “Ye’re lucky the blade didnae cut deeper.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” he said quietly. “It was ye.” Her hand froze. “Me?”
“Aye. Ye gave me something to fight for.”
Scarlett said nothing for a long moment. She pressed the cloth carefully to the wound, her hands steady, her eyes not quite meeting his.
"Then ye'd better heal," she said at last. "I've no intention of being the death of ye. Ye’ve done enough tonight.”
His hand caught her wrist. “Enough?” he repeated, his tone rough. “I’ll never be done where ye’re concerned.”
Her heart thudded painfully. “Robert…”
“Daenae look at me like that,” he said, his thumb tracing the line of her pulse. “Like ye’re afraid of what I’ll say next.”
“I’m not afraid,” she lied.
He smiled faintly. “Aye, ye are. I can feel it.”
Scarlett tried to pull free, but he held her firm but gentle. “Ye cannae say things like that,” she whispered. “Not when ye’ve made rules… rules about no love, no feelings.”
His eyes darkened. “Aye. I made them. Thought I could keep them.” “And ye cannae?”
He let go of her wrist only to touch her face, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “And what if I told ye I cannae keep those rules anymore?”
Her voice trembled. “Ye’re speaking nonsense.”
“Am I?” he murmured. “Tell me, Scarlett, when ye thought I wouldnae come for ye, did ye feel nothing?”
“I was afraid,” she admitted quietly. “Afraid for yerself?”
“For ye,” she said before she could stop herself.
He drew in a slow breath. “Then ye ken what I mean.”
Scarlett shook her head. “It’s not the same. What ye’re feeling now, it’s gratitude or guilt or something tangled in the storm. It’ll fade.”
Robert’s lips curved, not quite a smile. “Then I’ll wait and see.” “Ye’ll what?”
“I’ll wait,” he said simply. “If what I feel fades, I’ll tell ye. But if it doesnae, and it willnae, then I’ll nay longer be pretending anymore.”
She stared at him. The fire crackled softly, shadows moving across his face. He looked like a man who had run out of places to hide and had decided, somewhere between the hut and here, to stop trying.
“Ye daenae make this easy,” she whispered. “Wasnae trying to.”
“Ye should be resting.”
He leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin. “And ye should stop running.”
Her pulse stumbled. “Running?”
“Aye. Ye run every time ye feel somethin’ ye cannae name. But I see it, Scarlett. Every look, every word ye try to twist into jest. I see ye.”
She tried for a laugh that wouldn’t come. “Ye think ye ken me so well, do ye?”
“I ken enough to know ye’re worth every rule I’ve broken.” Her heart twisted. “Robert…”
He lifted her chin, his thumb tracing her jaw. “Say ye daenae feel it,” he murmured. “Say ye want me gone, and I’ll walk out that door.”
Scarlett’s lips parted, but no sound came. She wanted to end it before it consumed her, but the words refused to form.
Instead, she whispered, “Ye should sleep.”
Robert’s hand fell away, but his gaze lingered. “Aye,” he said softly. “Perhaps I should.”
She turned to leave then paused when he spoke again. “Scarlett.” “Aye?”
“Thank ye.” “For what?”
“For being worth fighting for.”
Her breath trembled. She didn’t turn. “Rest, Robert,” she said and stepped toward the door.
But his voice stopped her once more, quiet, almost reverent. “Say it….”
She turned slowly. “Say what?” “That ye willnae leave,” he urged.
Her chest tightened. “How could I leave,” she whispered, “if that would mean leaving me heart behind to ye?”
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Robert exhaled sharply as though the words had struck something deep. A curse slipped from his lips, and before she could think, he crossed the space between them and caught her face in his hands.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was everything they’d held back, fierce, desperate, aching with all they’d denied. She met him with equal hunger, fingers clutching his tunic as if to steady herself.
When they parted, their breaths mingled, uneven and trembling.
“Ye cannae keep doing this to me,” she whispered. “Pushing me away then pulling me close.”
“I tried,” he muttered. “God forgive me, I tried to keep the rules I made. But the moment I thought ye were gone, all that mattered was finding ye. Holding ye. Breathing again.”
Her throat tightened. “And now?”
“Now, I cannae pretend any longer.”
He kissed her again, slower this time. The touch deepened, tender where the first had been fierce. His hand slid to her neck, his thumb brushing her pulse. Scarlett shivered beneath his touch, heat unfurling where fear had lived before.
When his lips left hers, they trailed to her jaw, her cheek, the hollow below her ear. His control wavered, frayed by want.
“Robert…” Her fingers curled in his sleeve. “What are we doing?”
He looked at her, eyes dark and unguarded. “What we should’ve done the first night ye came to Gundor,” he said quietly. “Stop fighting what’s already ours.”
Her pulse faltered. “Ours?”
“Aye.” His thumb traced her throat, lifting her chin. “Ye’re mine, Scarlett McLaren. And I’m yers, whether I wanted it or nae.”
The words left her dizzy. She wanted to argue, but the truth in his gaze silenced her. The pull between them was undeniable.
He lifted her easily, setting her on his lap, his hands resting at her waist. The closeness stole her breath. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.
“I should tell ye to stop,” she murmured. “Aye. Ye should.”
She smiled faintly. “But ye ken I willnae.”
His laugh was soft, low, filled with something close to wonder. “I ken.”
Their foreheads touched again. The world outside faded away, no storm, no clan, no rules. Only them.
When his hand slid up her back, she arched into him instinctively. He kissed her again, slower, deeper, every motion deliberate as though he meant to memorize her. His calloused fingers brushed her jaw then the curve of her neck, leaving heat in their wake.
Scarlett’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The tenderness between them grew from restraint, from everything they had not said. He trembled, not from desire alone but from the memory of almost losing her.
When he finally lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed, she didn’t resist.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
Scarlett touched his face, tracing the scar along his jaw. “Nay,” she breathed. “Nae tonight.”
A shuddering breath escaped him at her soft “nay,” the last of his restraint crumbling into dust. The kiss, already deep, turned consuming. This was no longer a question but an answer. His hands, which had been so careful, so reverent, now moved with a new and thrilling purpose.
He laid her back against the furs, the coarse wool a stark contrast to the softness of his mouth as he slanted it over hers again.
One of his hands cradled the back of her head while the other swept down her side, from the curve of her waist to the swell of her hip, mapping her through the layers of fabric that suddenly felt like an intolerable barrier.
“So many damn clothes,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a raw, husky thing.