“What did I just tell ye then?”
Scarlett’s mouth opened and then closed. “Something about… chickens?”
Mary shook her head, muttering under her breath as she moved to douse one of the candles. “Hopeless. The lot of ye. I’ll wager I ken what’s weighing on yer mind, though.”
Scarlett stiffened. “Do ye?”
“Aye. And it’s tall, broad, and answers to Me Laird.”
Heat rushed up Scarlett’s cheeks. “Mary,” she hissed, setting the brush down too quickly.
Mary smirked knowingly, but her voice softened. “It’s nae shameful, lass. Ye’re wed. Folk expect ye to be… curious.”
Scarlett twisted a strand of hair around her finger, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Curious, perhaps. But he’s kept his distance since…” Her words trailed off, and she looked down at her lap. “Since that night.”
Mary’s expression gentled. She moved to Scarlett’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Men can be strange about these things. Pride, duty, fear. Let him come to ye in his time.”
Scarlett drew in a long breath. “And what if he never does?”
Mary squeezed her shoulder. “Then ye go to him. Ye’re nae some trinket to gather dust on a shelf. Ye’re his wife.”
Scarlett’s lips twitched in a faint smile, but her chest tightened. She thought of the way Robert’s mouth had claimed hers, the way his hands had burned against her spine, only to let her go as though she were fire he dared not touch again.
Mary busied herself with the wardrobe, muttering about clean linens until Scarlett finally rose and said softly, “That’s enough, Mary. Go and rest. I’ll manage from here.”
The maid hesitated then nodded, gathering her apron. “Very well. But mind ye, lass, don’t sit up fretting all night. Ye’ll wear yerself thin.”
Scarlett waited until the door closed before moving to the chest at the foot of her bed. She drew out the nightgown she’d tucked away, a whisper of fabric from Edinburgh, sheer enough that thecandlelight would betray every curve. She held it up, biting her lip.
She slipped it over her head without letting herself think too long about it. The silk fell cool and clinging against her skin.
She sat again at the dressing table, drawing the brush through her hair, each stroke an attempt to calm the flutter in her stomach.
Her gaze went to the connecting door. Her hand stilled mid-stroke.
She set the brush down.
If he doesnae come, I will.
The room had gone still, only the hearth giving off a faint crackle.
Then…
A knock.
A firm deliberate knock from the other side of the connecting door.
Scarlett’s breath caught, the brush slipping from her fingers. She stared at the wood as though it might breathe.
Scarlett’s hand trembled only slightly as she set the brush down upon the vanity. Her voice was soft as she tried not to make the evidence of her nervousness obvious. “Enter.”
The latch turned, and the door eased open. Robert filled the frame, broad shoulders cutting a dark silhouette against the dim light of his chamber behind him. He stepped inside, closing the door with quiet finality.
Scarlett sat motionless, facing the mirror, but her eyes lifted to catch his reflection. He stood there, watching her, his gaze sliding over her form draped in silk that clung indecently to her skin. She felt the heat in her cheeks, the betraying rise of her breasts against the sheer gown.
She swallowed, and her lips parted. “Ye found me at me vanity, Me Laird. Shall I turn?”
Robert’s answer came low, a rumble. “Nay. Stay as ye are.”
