She hadn't managed it yet.
She straightened her shoulders and looked at the cold stone of the keep. She was a Gallaway by blood and a McLaren by law, but as she turned back toward the castle, she realized she was still a stranger to both.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Scarlett had a long night.
She lay staring at the canopy, Mary’s voice and Hannah’s careless gossip tumbling round her head.
She turned on her side then her back again, restless. She wasn’t sure what burned hotter, the sting of being spoken of like cattle or the memory of Robert’s stare in the garden, his chest bare and the way his muscles had moved like ropes beneath his skin. Saints, her own thighs had clenched without permission, and she hated herself for it.
By midnight, she was pacing. Her eyes kept straying to the narrow door connecting her chamber to his. She told herself to ignore it. Yet the thought grew louder.
He’ll come when he chooses. And when he does, I’ll have nay say.
Her hands balled into fists. She crossed to the door and reached for the handle.
It creaked before she touched it.
She had just reached for the handle when it creaked.
Scarlett froze when the latch gave a soft click. The door eased open, and Robert filled the frame, broad as the wood itself. His hair was damp, and a curl fell against his brow, his shirt unlaced just enough to show the hard line of his chest.
She blinked at him, caught between outrage and relief. “Saints, could ye nae rattle a handle like a normal man? Ye nearly stopped me heart.”
His brow lifted. “I was knocking. Ye just beat me to the door.”
Scarlett folded her arms, trying to disguise the way her pulse thudded. “That was nae knock. That was sneaking. Like a thief.”
Robert stepped inside, “If I were a thief, lass, ye’d ken it.”
Before she could retort, he pushed the door wider and stepped inside. His gaze swept the room once, catching on the scattered sketches propped against walls and stacked on tables. One corner of his mouth moved though it was not quite a smile. “So ye draw even at night.”
Scarlett crossed her arms. “Better than staring at beams till dawn.”
His eyes flicked back to her. This time, he didn’t bother to keep his distance. He closed the space in deliberate strides until he stood directly in front of her, the heat of him seeping through her thin nightdress.
Scarlett swallowed, lifting her chin. “So… ye’ve finally come.”
Robert’s gaze dipped, slowly, to the line of her throat before climbing back to meet her eyes. “Aye.”
Her insides jolted. Her nipples tightened beneath the fabric, and the rush of her blood was hot and sudden. She pressed her arms closer, hiding the betraying peaks, but her skin still prickled with awareness. Her thighs pressed together of their own accord though outwardly she stood very still.
He didn’t move further, and he didn’t touch her. Just watched her as if he could read every flicker her body betrayed.
“This will be our first night,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. She should have been afraid, but the heat crawling over her skin said otherwise. The air between them was suffocating. She lifted her hand, pressing it to his chest, the linen hot and
damp against her palm, his muscles stone-hard beneath. His heart thudded steady under her fingers, and that alone made her thighs press tight.
“Ye’ll hear me first,” she said, surprised at how steady her voice came out when everything else shook.
His brow arched, slow. “Hear ye?”
Scarlett nodded, “Ye said five nights. Five nights to bed me, to put yer heir in me. I’ll give them to ye, but I’ll have five of me own first.”
His mouth tilted. “Ye’re nae in any place to make demands, Scarlett.”
