She clamped her mouth shut though her glare could’ve burned holes clean through him. He rode hard, and within minutes the village roofs came back into view through sheets of rain.
By the time they slid from the saddle, thunder was rolling so close the ground trembled beneath their boots. Robert kept a hand on her arm as he shoved open the inn’s door, the warm glow of firelight spilling over them.
Inside, the keeper looked up in alarm at the dripping pair. “Saints preserve ye, Laird McLaren! Ye’ll catch yer death out there. Room, aye?”
Robert gave a short nod. “Aye, we’ll need a room.”
The man winced. “Ye’re lucky, Me Laird; there’s only one room left. Storm’s driven half the shire in tonight.”
Scarlett froze mid-step, her breath catching hard. One room.
Robert’s gaze flicked to her, unreadable, though his jaw worked as though grinding stone.
Scarlett forced her voice steady though her cheeks burned. “One will do.”
The keeper bobbed his head eagerly, bustling to fetch a key.
Robert leaned closer, his voice pitched low and rough in her ear. “Ye’ll test me patience all the way to hell, lass. And now God himself seems bent on helping ye.”
Her pulse stuttered. She swallowed hard, clutching her satchel tighter to her chest.
“Patience, Me Laird,” she whispered back, daring to meet his gaze. “Maybe ye’ll learn some tonight.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The innkeeper’s wife led them up the narrow stairs, the boards creaking under their steps. Scarlett kept her chin high, but her palms were damp around the strap of her satchel. Robert walked just behind her, silent as a shadow, and she swore she could feel his gaze on her back with every pace.
The woman stopped at the last door, pushing it open with a grunt. “Here ye are, Me Laird. Fire’s already lit, and I had water brought up for a bath. Supper will be sent along once the cook’s ready.”
Scarlett stepped inside and stopped short.
Her fear, or perhaps her wickedest hope, had proven true. One bed. Broad and sturdy, pressed against the wall, its quilt was a faded red. Not two, not even a pallet in the corner. One.
Her stomach twisted in a tumble of nerves and anticipation she refused to name.
One bed. One bloody bed. God above, what sort of inn cannae manage two?
Heat prickled her cheeks as her mind raced. If he thinks I’ll simply curl up beside him as if we’re…as if we’re truly husband and wife.
“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Of course, there’s only one.”
Robert glanced over his shoulder. “What was that?” She lifted her chin. “I said there’s only one bed.”
“Aye,” he answered simply, as if she’d remarked on the color of the
Scarlett blinked. “Aye? That’s all ye’ve to say? Aye?”
He turned fully now, arms folding across his chest. “What else is there to say? We’ll use it.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “We?”
He gave her a look, one brow raised in quiet challenge. “Did ye expect I’d sleep on the floor like a dog? Or will ye take the floor instead?”
Scarlett sputtered, every nerve in her body alive. “I’m nae sure. It wouldnae be proper.”
Robert’s mouth curved, not kindly. “Proper? We’re wed, lass. It’s the most proper thing in the world.”
Scarlett’s throat worked. “We may be wed, but…”
