Leon chuckled. “So that’s how it is, then. Ye left her untouched.”
The silence that followed was damning.
Leon let out a low whistle. “By all that’s holy. Robert McLaren, the man who never hesitated to take what was his, suddenly finds restraint in his own chamber. Saints preserve us.”
Robert rose from the chair in one sharp movement, pacing in front of the hearth. “I willnae be lectured on me marriage.”
“This is nae a lecture,” Leon said, still grinning. “It’s astonishment. Ye’ve a wife most men would kill to have at their table, and ye spend the night staring at the fire instead of at her.”
Robert stopped at the mantel, bracing his hands against the stone. “Enough.”
Leon raised a brow. “Then tell me, what gnaws at ye so fierce ye cannae close yer eyes? It’s nae the lass herself. Ye barely ken her. What is it, then?”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, the words came, flat and cold. “The alliance with Gallaway… it buys me time.”
Leon leaned back in his chair. “Time is worth plenty.”
“But nae loyalty.” Robert’s tone was bitter. “Aaron Gallaway gave me his sister, aye, but nae his sword. His men may stand in the hall, but they willnae bleed for me. The McLarens still stand alone.”
Leon studied him a moment then shrugged. “Then the question is this, will the lass give ye what ye need? An heir. A future for the clan. Can she bear ye a child?”
Robert turned. “She can. She’s young, strong, and healthy. That’s nae the question.”
“Then what is?”
Robert’s voice dropped lower. “How to sire an heir without her mistaking it for more. How to keep her from fastening herself where I’ll never allow it.”
Leon blinked then barked out a laugh. “That’s it? Saints alive, Rob, ye twist yerself into knots over shadows. She’s a wife, nae a curse.”
"I watched a man of me own blood love a woman so completely that when she died, he forgot everything else existed. The clan. His sons. Himself." Robert’s voice was flat, stripped of any warmth. "I watched him sit in the dark and wait to join her while his people starved. I willnae repeat that."
He looked away, his jaw set like iron. "I’ll have a wife. I’ll have an heir. But I willnae have a master, and I willnae have a heart that breaks when a woman stops breathing."
Leon spread his hands in mock surrender. “So that’s yer grand plan, bed her like a stranger and send her off to weep in her own chamber?”
Robert’s mouth hardened. “If it keeps her safe, aye. Better distance than disappointment.”
Leon tilted his head, studying him. “Safe? From what? From her own heart? Rob, she’ll want more whether ye give it or nae. That’s what wives do. That’s what keeps clans whole. And ye can brood about it till the walls crumble, but it willnae change.”
Robert turned back to the fire. “Then I’ll see that it doesnae happen.”
Leon leaned forward, his grin fading into something steadier. “Listen to me, ye think too much. Ye carry legacy like it’s a chain round yer neck. But it’s simple enough—make her yer wife proper. Be done with it. The clan will have its heir, the men will have their faith, and ye can stop burning holes into the hearth with yer scowl.”
Leon stood, stretching as though the conversation had ended on his path. “I’ll say it plain, Rob. Ye’ve fought wars with less brooding than this marriage. Claim her, and settle it. Stop acting as though the lass is a storm waiting to swallow ye whole.”
Robert’s eyes cut to him, cold and hard. “Ye think it that simple.” Leon smirked. “It is. Yer the only one making it otherwise.”
The door creaked as he pulled it open. He glanced back once more; his voice was laced with wry humor. “Best hurry, Rob. A wife unattended is like ale left out too long: someone else will take it, and it’ll sour in yer hand.”
Robert shot him a look that promised retribution, but Leon only laughed, disappearing into the hall.
Alone again, Robert braced both hands against the mantel, staring into the fire until his vision blurred.
He closed his eyes. It wasn’t her mouth or her voice that stayed with him, it was the way she’d stood her ground. Chin up, spine like a rod of iron, refusing to let him see the cost of the breath she took. She’d looked like someone who had spent years practicing how not to flinch.
He didn't want to know who had taught her that.
"Hell." He said it under his breath, the word heavy with a frustration he’d been trying to ignore.
