Mack leaned closer, lowering his voice as if confiding some great secret. “And now, me brother’s drunk every waking hour. His bairns run wild. One near set fire to the byre last week.”
“That is unfortunate,” Scarlett agreed, sipping delicately from her cup. Her gaze slid to Robert. His head stayed bent toward his trencher, but the white grip on his tankard betrayed him.
Scarlett let her mouth curve faintly then turned back to Mack. “And what of ye, Master Little? Surely not all’s gone to ruin?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Och, well, I’ve kept me roof standing at least. But I cannae say the same for me luck at dice.”
Laughter rippled again down the table, and Scarlett found herself laughing with them, softly, carefully, though the heat of Robert’s stare burned at her skin like a brand.
“So ye see,” Mack continued, “a man like me, I’ve nae time for jests. Work from dawn till night patching roofs, counting hens, trying to keep the bairns out of the ale barrel. I tell ye, Lady Scarlett, a wife with sense would save me yet.”
Scarlett arched a brow, her fork pausing halfway to her lips. “A wife with sense?”
Mack flushed but chuckled. “Oh, nay meaning ye, Me Lady. Yer taken, clear as day. But one like ye, aye. God above, if I had one with half yer grace, the house would be righted in a fortnight.”
Scarlett tilted her head, lips curving faintly. “I imagine the woman would need more than grace to keep pace with ye, Master Little.”
He laughed, slapping his knee. “Och, aye, she’d need lungs like a piper and patience of a saint!”
Scarlett couldn’t help it; she laughed softly, too, though her glance slid again to Robert. His eyes had lifted at last, meeting hers across the table, dark and dangerous. He hadn’t said a word, but his stare spoke plain enough as if sayingenough of this game, lass.
Scarlett bit into her bread, feigning innocence. Inside, though, her pulse skipped. She hadn’t expected the thrill that came from needling him so.
Mack leaned nearer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Tell me the truth, Me Lady. Is it terrible, being wed to the Laird? Folks say he’s colder than a loch in winter.”
Scarlett’s fork stilled again. Her heart jumped, but she schooled her face smooth. “Folk speak too much,” she said softly, lifting her wine. “The Laird minds his duties. That’s enough.”
Mack shrugged, grinning. “Fair. I suppose a wife learns her husband in time.”
Scarlett sipped, heat spreading in her cheeks, not from the wine but from the fact that there seemed to be so many people interested in her marriage with Robert.
She set the cup down, turning to Mack with practiced poise. “And what of ye? Do ye truly mean to find another wife after such misfortunes?”
“Aye, I must. Clan needs it. A man without a good woman’s hand is like a mill without water. Runs dry.”
Scarlett hummed though her thoughts were only half on Mack’s chatter. She could feel Robert’s anger like a storm rolling closer, silent but heavy. The way he hadn’t spoken a word yet made it worse, or better, depending on how one looked at it.
Mack nudged the trencher toward her. “Try the venison, Me Lady. Best I’ve had in months.”
Scarlett obliged, cutting a bite, though her eyes strayed one last time toward her husband. He sat like a carved figure, face stern, and hands clenched around the knife he hadn’t lifted to eat. His silence spoke volumes.
Scarlett let the corner of her mouth twitch.
She ate a piece of the venison with slow, steady calm, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her. She didn't look back at him.
She didn't have to.
She could feel his attention from across the crowded hall. A prickle of heat against her skin, as steady and unmistakable as a physical touch. He was watching her, and they both knew it.
She took a slow sip of her cider, letting him look, letting him wonder what she was thinking.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The hall was still alive with chatter and pipes when Scarlett rose, offering polite smiles as she excused herself. Robert’s eyes tracked her retreat without shame, watching until the swish of her skirts disappeared beyond the archway.
Only then did he push back from the table. The scrape of his chair against stone made Mack startle beside Scarlett’s abandoned seat. “Little,” Robert said, voice flat.
Mack looked up, chewing hastily and nearly choking on his mouthful of venison. “Aye, Me Laird?” “Walk with me.”
