Scarlett cleared her throat softly, drawing both men’s attention. “I’ll do what is required,” she said, “but I will speak for meself, brother, if ye please.”
Aaron gave her a stiff nod though the muscle in his jaw ticked.
“If this alliance is what must be, then I’ll do me part. I willnae cause shame to me clan.”
Robert studied her openly now. She spoke without trembling.
Out loud, he said simply, “Then let us be clear. The alliance is agreed.” Aaron lifted his cup. “Agreed.”
The men around the hall echoed with approval.
Robert’s gaze lingered one last moment on Scarlett, and he noticed her cheeks flushed faintly though whether from anger or nerves, he could not say. What he did know was that she was nothing like the obedient shadow he had prepared himself for.
This will be more complicated than I thought.
The murmurs in the hall had scarcely died when Robert turned to Aaron. “With yer leave, Laird Gallaway, I’d like a word alone with Lady Scarlett.”
Scarlett felt Aaron stiffen beside her, but before he could speak, she lifted her chin. “Aye, I’ll hear him, brother.”
Her brother’s eyes flashed with irritation at her boldness, but after a pause, he gave a curt nod. “Very well.”
Robert’s gaze flicked toward her, unreadable as ever, before he gestured toward the door. “If ye please, Me Lady.”
The hall erupted again with hushed whispers as Scarlett descended the dais and followed him out. She could feel eyes on her back, but her steps didn’t falter. The great doors closed behind them, sealing the world away as she led Robert down the corridor to Aaron’s solar.
The chamber was empty now, firelight throwing a golden glow across the maps still scattered on the table.
Robert gestured for her to enter, his large hand a dark, steady shadow against the light of the corridor. Scarlett stepped past him, the silk of her skirts brushing against his leather boots. A brief, electric contact that she felt all the way to her toes.
She walked into the center of the room, but the moment the heavy oak door groaned shut behind them, the space seemed to shrink. The high ceilings and stone walls didn't matter anymore. The room was suddenly made of nothing but him.
The air grew thick, tasting of peat smoke and the cold, sharp scent of the Highlands that clung to his wool cloak. She didn't have to turn around to know exactly where he stood. She could feel the heat of him radiating against her back, a physical weight that made the corset around her ribs feel twice as tight.
Every sound was magnified in the sudden silence.
The rhythmic thud of his heartbeat, or was it hers? The soft, predatory creak of his harness as he shifted his weight.
Scarlett took a shallow breath, her ink-stained fingers curling into her palms. She had spent her life navigating the crowded halls of Hallow, but she had never felt as trapped, or as vividly alive, as she did in this small, stone sanctuary with Robert McLaren standing guard at her back.
Scarlett folded her hands, trying to appear composed though her pulse raced. “Tell me, Laird McLaren,” she said, her voice a shade too bright, “what words demand such privacy?”
“I thought it best to be plain,” he said. “I willnae dress matters in silk for ye. Ye deserve the truth as I see it.”
Scarlett’s brows rose. “And what truth is that?”
Robert studied her, his storm-gray eyes fixated on her. “This marriage is nae born of romance nor of choice. It’s duty. To me clan. To yers. It must serve its purpose, or it’s worth nothing.”
Scarlett blinked at him, “Ye brought me here to tell me what I already ken?”
A flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes. He stepped closer, the space shrinking between them. “I brought ye here to tell ye me terms. If ye are to be me wife, there are rules.”
Her breath caught. “Rules?”
“Aye.” He planted his hands on the table, leaning slightly toward her. “First, ye’ll give me an heir. That is yer foremost duty. Second, ye’ll surrender yer nights to me without quarrel. And last, ye willnae make the mistake of falling in love with me.”
Scarlett’s lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Heat rushed to her face, and her pulse hammered in her ears. “I—ye—” She stopped, swallowing hard, then tried again. “Ye think ye can speak of me as if I were a broodmare?”
Robert’s expression didn’t change. “I think honesty spares us both disappointment, lass. Better ye hear it now than fashion dreams of something gentler.”
