She sniffed, feigning solemnity. “What next? Shall I wait for ye to command me to breathe or blink?”
Robert leaned a shoulder against the bedpost with his arms crossed. “Shut yer mouth, I’ve wished for more than once.” His gaze warmed with wry humor. “Eat, lass, before I take it back down to the kitchen.”
Her eyes widened in mock outrage as she clutched the bowl closer. “Ye wouldnae dare!”
A low growl rumbled from him, playful but edged. “Try me.”
Scarlett giggled despite herself, then took a spoonful, the warmth spreading through her chest. “Thank ye,” she murmured, softer this time.
His gaze lingered on her lips as she smiled, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he turned away, shrugging off his damp cloak. The firelight played across his shoulders as he tugged loose the heavy tartan and draped it over a chair.
Scarlett froze mid-bite when he reached for the clasp at his shoulder. The fabric fell away in a practiced sweep, damp wool sliding down his frame. Her spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering against the plate.
Robert glanced over his shoulder, brows raised. “What?”
Scarlett straightened quickly, heat flooding her cheeks. “N-nothing. Just… the stew. Too hot.”
His eyes narrowed, amusement lurking. “Strange, then, that yer spoon’s on the plate instead of in yer hand.”
She fumbled to grab it again. “It slipped.”
“Mm.” He turned back, his shoulders shifting as he pulled at his shirt. The damp fabric clung to him before he stripped it clean off, tossing it aside without care.
Scarlett nearly forgot to breathe. She set the bowl aside before she made a fool of herself choking. “Ye ken, it’s rude to disrobe in front of a lady without warning.”
Robert turned, brow arched. “Warning? Do ye need a bell rung?” Her jaw dropped. “A bell?”
His smirk deepened as he folded the shirt over the chair. “Ye’d still stare.”
Scarlett sputtered then buried her face in her quilt, muffling a groan. “God help me, ye’re insufferable.”
“And ye’re terrible at hiding it when ye’re caught looking,” he said smoothly.
Her head shot up, glare sharp enough to cut. “I wasnae looking!” “Aye, lass. Whatever helps ye sleep.”
Scarlett flopped back against the pillows. “Ye’ll drive me mad.” Robert’s eyes lingered on her. “Aye. But it seems ye’ll let me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Scarlett forced herself to focus on the stew instead of the sound of Robert moving behind her. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor.
“There’s more water in the tub,” she said without looking up. “After me bath, the woman brought in another bucket. Ye can go ahead and get warm.”
There was a pause, long enough for her to imagine him standing there, considering her words.
“Aye?” His voice was husky. “Ye worry I’ll catch a cold?”
Scarlett swallowed a mouthful that suddenly seemed harder to get down. “I only said there’s water.”
“Aye,” he murmured, the sound closer now and more amused. “And yet, ye said it like a wife who cares.”
Her spoon stilled. “Don’t flatter yerself, Me Laird. I’d say the same to a stray dog.”
Robert’s quiet laugh slid through her like smoke. He didn’t reply, only moved toward the bath. She heard the water shift and the low exhale he gave as he sank in. Scarlett tried to eat, but the sound, the splash of water, and that deep sigh made her pulse quicken.
She stabbed at a piece of meat and muttered to herself, “God’s sake, it’s only a man bathing.”
But it wasn’t only a man. It was him.
