He stayed where he was, his boots rooted to the floor. He didn't go back to her door. He told himself that counted for something, even as the heat of her stayed under his skin.
Scarlett stirred when the curtains were drawn back and light spilled into the chamber in a bright rush. She buried her face into the pillow with a groan.
“Rise and shine, Me Lady,” Mary’s cheerful voice chimed, full of far too much energy for the early hour. “The castle’s already alive, and they’ll be expecting their lady to greet them.”
Scarlett rolled onto her back, blinking against the light. “It cannae be morning already. Tell them I’ve taken ill, or better yet, tell them I’ve died.”
Mary laughed, bustling about as though she hadn’t heard the complaint at all. “Nay, none of that. Ye’re the Lady of Gundor now, and there’s nay hiding in yer bed. The servants are whispering, the men are waiting, and even the bairns are curious about their new mistress.”
Scarlett pulled the blankets tighter around herself. “They’ll manage another hour without me.”
Mary clucked her tongue. “Another hour, and they’ll be hammering on the door themselves. Up with ye.”
With a dramatic sigh, Scarlett swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. “Fine. But let it be known, I go unwillingly to me fate.”
Mary only shook her head, amused. “Och, listen to her, sounding like she’s marching to the gallows.”
Scarlett padded across the chamber and paused at the window. For the first time since arriving, she looked beyond the stone walls.
Rolling hills stretched as far as her eyes could see, patched in greens and golds with the river glinting like silver ribbon between them. Beyond, the high peaks of the mountains pierced the sky, their tops still frosted white. Closer, gardens wound around the castle grounds, rows of herbs and bright blossoms already stirring in the morning breeze.
Scarlett leaned forward with her hand against the glass. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
Mary joined her. “Aye. Gundor has its stern edges, but it’s a bonnie land. Ye’ll grow to love it.”
Scarlett turned, her earlier sulk forgotten. “Then that settles it. I’ll meet the people later. Right now, I want to go to the gardens.”
Mary blinked. “The gardens?”
Scarlett nodded firmly. “Aye. I need me charcoal and parchment. That view, it begs to be captured. The colors, the light... Mary, I could paint it all day.”
Mary planted her hands on her hips. “And what shall I tell the men and women waiting to see ye?”
“Tell them their new lady has found her first duty.” Scarlett smiled with a spark in her eyes. “To see this beauty and set it down before it vanishes.”
Mary chuckled, shaking her head. “Saints save us, the lady of the house wants to chase flowers instead of speeches.”
Scarlett grinned. “Better flowers than forced pleasantries.”
And for the first time since leaving Hallow, her laughter filled the chamber.
Scarlett sat in Gundor’s garden, her skirts spread carelessly over the stone bench and the sketchbook propped against her knees. Charcoal smudged her fingertips, and a streak darkened her cheek where she’d brushed her hair back too quickly, butshe didn’t care. Out here, she could breathe. Out here, she was herself.
She shaded the heavy wall of the keep, dragging the line down into a shadow when she sensed someone standing behind her.
The light shifted, and her pages dimmed.
Scarlett’s hand stilled, and she slowly looked up to see who had interrupted her.
Robert McLaren loomed over her with his broad shoulders, his plaid catching the morning wind.
Scarlett’s mouth went dry though she forced her chin higher. “Lurking suits ye, Me Laird. Ye nearly scared me into ruining the whole page.”
His eyes dropped to the sketchbook then back to her. “Ye’re an artist.”
Scarlett smirked, lifting her charcoal-stained fingers. “That’s what the mess would suggest, aye. Or perhaps I’ve been digging in the hearth for amusement.”
He didn’t bite into her jab. “It explains yer hands. When we first met in the hall, they were blackened.”
