Not for the kiss. He’d known that was coming from the moment she’d stood her ground in the corridor. What he hadn't known, what he still couldn't wrap his head around, was that she had named a truth he hadn't even realized he was hiding.
Ye daenae get to decide when I matter.
The words sat in the room like a challenge. He’d been treating her like a piece on a board, a duty to be managed, and she’d just knocked the board over.
He pressed the quill to the parchment. Too hard. The nib snagged, and a heavy blot of ink bled black across the map, drowning the lines he’d spent an hour drawing. He didn't reach for the sand to dry it. He just watched the stain spread, his pulse still heavy in his throat, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was the one who didn't know the next move.
The door creaked open without a knock.
Leon strolled in, carrying two cups of dram balanced in one hand. “I thought I’d find ye buried alive in here.” He shut the door with his boot, grinning as though the ruined ink and Robert’s scowl were entertainment.
Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do ye want, Leon?” “Company,” Leon said, dropping into the chair opposite his desk without waiting for an invitation. He slid one of the cups toward Robert.
“And to drag ye out of this cave ye call a solar. The sun’s high, the horses are restless, and the lassies in the yard are betting on which of us looks better in the saddle.”
Robert shoved the cup back toward him. “I’ve papers.”
Leon’s brows shot up. “Papers? Saints save us. Ye think scribbles will keep Gundor safe? Or is it that papers daenae kiss ye back, so ye can stomach staring at them longer?”
Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Mind yer tongue.”
Leon smirked, leaning back with his cup. “Ah, struck a nerve, did I? Thought so. Ye’ve been hiding from yer wife these two days. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
“I’ve nae been hiding,” Robert bit out. “I’ve been busy.”
“Busy avoiding her, aye.” Leon’s grin widened, wicked and unrelenting. “Tell me, Robert, what’s it like wed to a bonny lass and spending yer nights alone with parchment? Must be the grandest marriage in all the Highlands.”
Robert’s jaw flexed. He picked up a sheet of paper as if to prove his point, but his eyes glazed after the first sentence.
Leon chuckled. “Saints, ye’ve nae read a word of that. Ye’re sitting there thinking of her mouth.”
Robert slammed the paper down. “Enough.”
But Leon only took a sip, savoring it. “Was it soft? Or did she bite ye?” A muscle jumped in Robert’s cheek.
Both.
The memory of her kiss crashed back—the heat, the desperate little gasp when he’d pressed closer. His blood stirred, and he cursed himself for it.
Leon barked a laugh. “There it is. Ye’re red as a lad caught peeking at the baths.”
“Ye push too far, I shouldnae have told ye anything,” Robert growled. “I push till ye stop glowering at walls,” Leon said easily. “Ye cannae fool me. I ken that look. Ye want her. And it’s eating ye raw that ye cannae decide if ye’ll take her or keep hiding behind inkpots.”
Robert shoved back his chair and stood. "She's fire. I touch her again, I'll get burnt."
Leon set his cup down. The teasing was gone from his face. "Aye," he said. "Ye probably will."
Robert stared at him.
"I'm nae saying daenae," Leon added. "I'm saying ye already ken that, and ye're still thinking about her. So the question isnae whether to get burnt. It's whether ye'll keep pretending ye willnae."
Leon countered smoothly.
“Och, Robert, ye think restraint makes ye strong, but it makes ye miserable. A man’s married now, yet he’s brooding like a monk starved of ale.”
Robert turned away, bracing his hands on the desk. “I’ll claim her when the time’s right. Till then, she’s nothing but a distraction.”
“Distraction?” Leon whistled low. “If she’s half as distracting as ye look thinking of her, I’d say she’s worth the ruin. Tell me, do ye lie awake staring at that door between yer chambers, waiting to hear her knock?”
