She swallowed hard and then shook off the thought. Scarlett slipped the gloves into her skirts and forced a smile. “It’s a fine room. Thank ye.”
Robert’s voice came from the doorway, “Before I leave ye to rest, I’ll remind ye of what we spoke. The rules stand, Scarlett. Ye’ll give me an heir. Ye’ll share me bed without quarrel. And ye willnae mistake this marriage for love.”
Scarlett turned slowly, her chin tilting high. “Aye, I remember. How could I forget such poetry? Heir, bed, and nae love. Quite the vows of romance.”
The look in his eyes should have stopped her, but she went on, her voice laced with dry humor. “But daenae trouble yerself, Me Laird. I ken well enough what’s expected. I’ll play the dutiful wife, smile at the right times, curtsy when ye demand it, and try nae to dream of love, lest it offend ye.”
She swept into a graceful curtsy, skirts whispering across the floor. “Yer obedient bride,” she added.
When she straightened, his eyes were locked on hers, as if her words had struck far somewhere deep.
Something in his gaze burned hotter than the hearth fire, storm-gray irises fixed with an intensity that rooted her to the spot. He took a slow step toward her, and Scarlett’s pulse leapt.
She could hardly breathe as he stood in front of her now. His eyes lowered to her mouth before rising back to hers.
A knock at the door broke the moment.
Robert stilled his jaw. Another knock followed, brisk and insistent.
Scarlett stepped back quickly. “Come in,” she called, her pitch higher than it would have normally been.
The door creaked open to reveal a woman of middle years with rosy cheeks and dark hair streaked with gray. She curtsied deeply, her smile as warm as spring.
“Begging yer pardon, Me Lady. I’m Mary. I’ll be looking after ye here at Gundor.”
Robert’s gaze lingered on Scarlett one last time, sliding once more, almost unwillingly to her lips. Then he stepped past Mary without a word, the door shutting firmly behind him.
Mary clucked her tongue, setting down a folded bundle of linens she carried. “Och, that one. Grim as a thundercloud, is he nae? He barely nods to the servants half the time. Daenae fret, Me Lady, I’ll soften the edges for ye.”
Scarlett blinked, still trying to gather herself. “He is… rather stern.”
Mary laughed, the sound bright and bubbling. “Stern? Lass, he’s stiff enough to snap if the wind catches him wrong.” She bustled about the chamber, checking the hearth, smoothing the bedcovers, and fussing over the curtains. “But daenae let that scowl fool ye. The Laird looks after his own. He’ll look after ye too whether he admits it or nay.”
Scarlett sank onto the chair by the fire and felt her head spinning. “I’ll hold him to that, then.”
Mary straightened and winked. “Good. Someone has to.”
Scarlett bit her lip, and her mind still tangled with the memory of his eyes fixed on her, the nearness of him. She tried to push it aside, focusing instead on the cheerful woman before her.
“Tell me, Mary, have ye been at Gundor long?”
“All me life,” Mary said proudly. “I was born in the village, came to the castle when I was just a slip of a girl. I’ve seen three lairds, and none could cow me, so daenae think I’ll quake at the sight of ye either.”
Scarlett laughed; she felt the tension in her chest easing a little. “I should hope nae. I’d rather ye speak plain with me than walk on eggshells.”
“Oh, I’ll speak plain,” Mary assured her. “First plain word is this, ye’ll need patience. The Laird is set in his ways. Lives and breathes order. But ye—” She tipped her head, eyes twinkling. “Ye’ve a spark about ye. I can see it already.”
Scarlett flushed faintly. “A spark? I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
Mary chuckled. “Aye. And sparks make fire. Gundor’s been too long without a fire in its halls. Mark me, lass, ye’ll change the air in this place.”
Scarlett felt her throat tighten though she managed a small smile. “I only hope to fit in, Mary. To do what’s expected.”
“Expected?” Mary waved her hand. “Expected keeps the bread on the table, aye, but unexpected, that’s what keeps a soul alive.”
Scarlett couldn’t help laughing again, a soft, genuine sound. “Ye’re bold, Mary.”
“Bold enough to keep me place,” Mary said with a grin. She leaned closer, lowering her voice in mock secrecy. “And bold enough to tell ye that the Laird’s scowl is nae half so fearsome when he thinks nay one’s watching.”
