But slowly, with the will of a man breaking his own bones, he pulled back.
Scarlett sagged against the table, her face flushed and her eyes wide.
Robert’s chest heaved. He stepped away, dragging a hand over his face, muttering low, “God help us both.”
He turned, striding to the door. His hand hovered at the latch, but he didn’t look back this time. “Get some rest, lass,” he said roughly. “Ye’ll need it.”
Then he was gone, leaving her trembling in the firelight, the echo of his words burning hotter than his touch.
Scarlett was still stewing from their quarrel, the words circling like crows that would not leave her in peace.
Revoked, he said. As though I ever had liberties to lose.
His presence had been a storm, and then he’d left her, hollow and furious with herself for aching after him still.
She sat cross-legged on the rug with her sketchbook balanced across her lap as usual. Charcoal smudged her fingers, black streaks she didn’t bother to wipe away. On the page stretched the outline of the castle gardens, neat enough but lifeless. No bloom, no green, no sky. Only grey.
Her teeth caught her lip as she stared at the empty spaces.
It’s all shadows without color. Like him. Like me.
She pressed harder, the charcoal almost splintering under her grip. “Charcoal’s a poor liar,” she muttered aloud. “It cannae give me what I need.”
From the corner, Mary lifted her head from folding linens. “What’s that, Me Lady?”
Scarlett turned the sketchbook toward her, showing the smudged garden. “I need color. Reds, greens, blues. Do we keep pigments in Gundor?”
Mary chuckled, shaking her head. “Pigments? Och, lass, this is nae Edinburgh. Ye willnae find paint pots lying about the keep.”
Scarlett’s brows drew together. “There must be somewhere.”
The old woman set down the cloths and tapped her chin. “Well… there’s a merchant two villages south. Carries cloth, spices, and sometimes even pigments. But it’s a day’s ride, there and back. Hardly a jaunt for a lady of Gundor.”
Scarlett’s eyes lit up. “A merchant.” She snapped her sketchbook shut. “Then I’ll ride out.”
Mary nearly dropped the linens. “Ride out? Alone? Have ye lost yer wits?”
Scarlett’s mouth curved into a stubborn smile. “Nae, I’ve found them. If I want to capture this place as it is, I’ll need more than coal smudges.”
Mary planted her hands on her hips with her eyes narrowing. “Ye’d ride two villages away without so much as a guard? Do ye ken what sort of men linger on those roads? Bandits, drunkards, worse.”
Scarlett lifted her chin. “I grew up with Aaron watching every step I took. Here, Robert watches me in silence and keeps his distance. I willnae waste away locked behind stone walls.”
The old woman huffed. “It’s nae about wasting; it’s about living to sketch another day! Do ye think the Laird will thank me if I let his wife gallop off alone?”
“Then come with me,” Scarlett offered, half-teasing, and half-serious.
Mary let out a bark of laughter. “Me bones would snap before the horse left the yard!”
Scarlett laughed too, then sobered. “I’ll find a way. Ye said yerself the pigments might be there.”
Mary leaned closer, her expression softening. “Scarlett, lass, are ye so restless already? It’s only been weeks since ye came to Gundor.”
Scarlett lowered her gaze to her hands. “I’m restless because I need something of me own. Edith’s words used to color me days. Now she’s gone, and all I’ve left are these sketches. If I can make them sing with color, it’ll be like carrying her with me.”
The older woman sighed heavily. “Och, ye’ve a poet’s heart, and poets are always trouble.” She wagged a finger. “But if ye insist, ye’ll speak to the Laird. He willnae forgive me if ye vanish down the road without a word.”
Scarlett groaned, flopping back onto the rug. “He’ll only say nay.”
