“Then let him,” Mary said firmly. “Better a nay than yer corpse dragged home by strangers.”
Scarlett winced at the bluntness but nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll ask him.” Mary arched a brow. “Ye promise?”
Scarlett gave a mock bow from her spot on the floor. “On me honor as Lady McLaren.”
Mary snorted. “If honor keeps ye in one piece, I’ll take it.” She gathered the linens again, muttering under her breath, “God save me from headstrong lasses and brooding Lairds.”
Scarlett hid her smile in the sketchbook. A day’s ride for color. She would make it happen, one way or another.
Scarlett held her smile until the latch clicked shut, then burst into a quiet laugh, clutching her sketchbook to her chest.
I cannae believe she bought it. Mary, with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, fooled by a smile and a promise. Saints, if this works, I’ll finally breathe free air again, even for a day.
The thought thrilled her. The weight in her chest lifted as she slipped through the corridor, her slippered steps quick but quiet. She could almost feel it already, the wind in her hair, the horizon open wide, a splash of color jars tucked into her bag instead of dull charcoal.
Scarlett’s heart raced as she pushed open the heavy stable doors. The familiar scent of hay and leather rushed her, a smell that had always meant freedom. The horses stirred, flicking their ears and snorting softly, as if welcoming her to the conspiracy.
She tiptoed between the stalls, skirts gathered in one hand, eyes darting everywhere like a thief on the run. The stablehands were nowhere in sight.
Thank the saints. All clear.
Scarlett reached the brown mare’s stall, the steady one, the horse that looked like it would not ride her to death. “It’ll just be ye and me, love,” she whispered, running her hand down the warm neck. “We’ll be quick, we’ll be clever, and no one will be the wiser.”
Her fingers closed on the reins.
“Do ye plan on riding to hell itself, or will two villages away suffice?” That voice was annoyingly familiar and entirely too close.
Scarlett shrieked. She spun, skirts tangling around her legs, one foot skidding on loose straw. She grabbed the stall post to keep from crashing down, but her heart was already in her throat.
“Saints preserve me!” she gasped. “Ye’ll have me buried before me time, Robert.”
From the shadows near the door, Robert emerged. With his arms folded across his chest, face set like carved stone. He looked like he’d been standing there for ages, waiting.
“If ye fall on yer arse in the stables, lass, I willnae take the blame,” he said flatly.
Scarlett clutched her chest, still panting. “Is this how ye pass yer hours? Lurking in corners like some phantom, waiting to scare the breath out of me?”
One brow arched. “Nay. But I ken fine what sneaking looks like.” His eyes flicked to the reins still dangling from her hand. “Thought ye might be trying to steal me horses.”
Scarlett’s mouth fell open. “Steal? I wasnae stealing, I was only—” She stopped herself then lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could muster. “Borrowing.”
Robert stepped closer, his boots stepping on the straws. “Borrowing, is it? And when were ye planning to return what ye borrowed? After the bandits had stripped ye clean?”
Her cheeks flushed, partly from embarrassment, partly from how his gaze pinned her. “Och, I’d nae get caught. I was planning to be back before the sun was gone.”
“Scarlett.” His voice dropped, all stern warning. “Ye ken well there’s nae much that happens in Gundor without me hearing of it. Did ye truly think ye’d slip past me so easy?”
Scarlett gestured wildly with the reins. “I hoped! Forgive me for thinking ye had more important matters than spying on yer wife.”
His jaw flexed though something like amusement glinted in his eyes. “Important matters, aye. Like keeping the Lady of Gundor alive long enough to sit at me table without scandal.”
Scarlett planted her fists on her hips. “Och, scandal! Imagine the horror—‘Lady McLaren rides out alone and returns with nothing but a pouch of pigment.’ Folk will be weeping in the streets.”
Robert closed the distance between them, looming now. The air seemed to shrink, and his heat pressing in around her. “If ye think I’ll let ye ride off unguarded, Scarlett, then ye daenae ken me at all.”
Her breath caught, but she forced defiance into her voice. “I can ride just fine without ye.”
His hand shot out, plucking the reins from her grip, looping them over his shoulder with maddening ease. “Aye,” he said calmly. “But ye won’t.”
