“But what?” His gaze pinned her. “Do ye think I’ve waited all this time to prove some point, only to balk at sharing a bed with me wife?”
Her face burned, and she turned half away, muttering, “I only
thought—”
He stepped closer, “Aye, I ken well enough what ye thought. That I’d keep me distance, that I’d let ye drift to sleep imagining I’ve no claim to the space beside ye.” He leaned just enough to make her pulse stumble. “But make no mistake, Scarlett. Bed’s big enough for the both of us.”
Her lips parted then closed again, her mind spinning like a storm.
Big enough? The man’s out of his wits. It’s too close, too dangerous.
Robert’s tone gentled though it lost none of its certainty. “I daenae bite, lass. Not unless ye ask.”
Scarlett nearly choked on air. “Ye—” She snapped her mouth shut, dragging the quilt tighter around her shoulders though she was still standing by the fire. “Ye’re impossible.”
“And ye’re stubborn,” he countered, as always, before turning back to unbuckle his wet cloak.
Scarlett huffed, pacing once, twice, trying to steady herself. But her eyes betrayed her, flicking back to the bed again. The quilt looked soft, warm, and inviting, even. Her traitorous body ached at the thought though her pride fought tooth and claw against it.
She dragged in a breath and forced herself to sound cool, unbothered. “Well. If ye insist. But daenae expect me to enjoy it.”
Robert’s head turned again, that faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’d never be so arrogant as to expect. But I’ve a feeling ye will anyway.”
Scarlett glared though it lacked all force because her stomach chose that moment to rumble again, louder than before.
Robert’s head turned sharply, his brow arched. “Hungry, are ye?” Color flooded her cheeks. “It would seem so.”
He shut the door behind them with a decisive thud then gestured toward the steaming tub by the hearth. “Take yer bath first. I’ll see about food.”
Scarlett blinked at him, thrown. “Ye–what?”
“The water’s still hot,” he said simply, already shrugging out of his dripping cloak. “Best ye use it before it cools. I’ll bring supper back.”
She stared. He had thought ahead. Had seen to her comfort without her asking. The realization unsettled her more than his anger ever had. “Ye… planned this?”
“Aye.” He glanced at her then, the barest flicker of something softer beneath his stormy eyes. “I figured ye’d not want to sit wet and shivering all night.”
Her mouth went dry. “Robert…” “Mm?”
“Thank ye.” The words slipped out, low and earnest, before she could snatch them back.
He froze as if she’d struck him. His gaze locked with hers across the small room, and for a long breath, neither moved.
Scarlett’s throat tightened. Every sensible thought screamed at her to look away, to fuss with her satchel or busy her hands, but her body refused. She held his stare, caught in it until the air itself seemed to thrum.
At last, he cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Daenae thank me yet. The cook’s stew may kill us both.”
A startled laugh burst from her lips, shaking the tension just enough. “Och, ye’ve a gift for ruining a moment.”
“Better that than feeding it,” he muttered though the corner of his mouth twitched.
Scarlett crossed her arms, lifting her chin. “Maybe I like the moment just fine.”
That earned her a look. His eyes raked over her face, lingering at her lips before snapping back to her gaze. He stepped closer, just a fraction, enough that she felt the pull of him.
Her breath caught.
But then he turned, his hand already on the latch. “Bathe, lass. I’ll return shortly.”
