Her lips twitched with defiance. “I’m nae one of yer soldiers. Ye cannae bark orders and expect me to fall in line. I’m yer wife. And I’ll have five nights from ye before ye take yer five from me.”
He leaned in until his breath brushed her cheek, “Do ye ken what ye’re asking?”
Scarlett’s hand stayed planted on his chest though her fingers trembled. “Five nights with yer hands off me. Five nights to talk, to ken who I’ve wed. Then when they’re done, I’ll walk to yer bed on me own feet. Willingly.”
His eyes flicked to her lips then lower, down to the thin fabric of her nightdress where her nipples strained shamelessly, hard and peaked.
Her face burned. She should have stepped back, covered herself, anything. Instead, she could feel herself wet down there, and her pulse hammering so loud she feared he’d hear it.
Robert spoke again. “Ye’re dancing with fire, lass. And ye ken what happens when ye play with fire.”
Scarlett’s throat was dry, but she forced the words out. “Better fire than ice.”
His hand shot up all of a sudden. She thought he’d grip her chin, crush her mouth with his, but it stopped, hovering inches from her face, his fingers curling tight as if he fought himself. His whole body seemed to shake with restraint.
“If I take ye now,” he muttered, “I willnae be gentle.”
Scarlett’s lips parted. “Then wait,” she whispered hoarsely. “Wait five nights. And ye’ll have more than a body lying cold under ye.”
He stared at her like a predator deciding whether to pounce. Long enough that her knees weakened, long enough her body ached from the wanting. Her breasts felt heavy, tight; her skin prickled everywhere, begging for his touch.
Robert’s boots barely shifted against the stone as he stepped back, but it felt like the whole room exhaled with him. His eyes never left hers. He studied her lips, the parting of them, the faint tremble in her breath.
“Very well, Me Lady,” he said at last. “Five nights.”
Scarlett blinked, hardly believing he’d agreed. Relief and disappointment knotted together in her chest. She smoothed her nightdress down with shaking hands, desperate to hide the betraying stiffness of her nipples. “So that’s it, then?” she asked. “Ye’ll keep yer word?”
His head tilted. “I always keep me word.”
Silence stretched across the room. He didn’t leave. Instead, Robert shifted, lowering himself into the chair by her hearth as though he owned the room. His long legs sprawled out, and his broad frame filled the space.
Scarlett frowned. “What are ye doing?”
His gaze flicked toward the sketches pinned along the wall. “Ye said five nights. Might as well start now.”
Her stomach twisted again, heat and nerves colliding. She gathered her sketchbook and sat at the edge of her bed.
“Well?” Robert started. “Ye wanted talk. Talk, then.”
Scarlett hesitated, fingers worrying the edge of her book. “What do ye want to ken?”
He leaned back. “All of it. Who ye are. Why ye draw like a lass possessed. Why ye’d bargain instead of yield.”
She huffed softly. “That’s nae a fair start. Ye ask like a gaoler pressing for confession.”
One brow lifted. “Ye’d prefer I flatter ye, lass?”
Scarlett’s lips twitched despite herself. “Wouldnae hurt.”
He didn’t smile, but his gaze lingered on her face long enough to make her squirm. “Flattery’s wasted on those who daenae believe it. So, tell me.”
She swallowed, staring down at her charcoal-stained fingertips. “I draw because… I’ve always been alone more than I’d like. Aaron’s busy with clan matters. Edith, well, she’s all I had, really. When she was nae there, I filled the time with sketches. Faces, animals, anything that would sit still long enough. It made the hours pass quieter.”
Robert’s eyes tracked her hands as she spoke, the smudges she tried to rub away. “And Aaron? He left ye to it?”
Scarlett laughed softly, bitter. “Aaron leaves everyone to it. He thinks solitude makes a person sharper. Stronger. But the truth is, it just makes one lonely.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “And Edith? Who is she?”
