Scarlett smudged the lines with her thumb and gave a faint, frustrated laugh. “God’s teeth, I’ll go mad if I keep this up.” “Talking to yerself now?”
She spun in surprise, but it wasn’t Robert’s voice.
It was Mary, walking up the path with a basket of folded linens in her arms.
Scarlett pressed a hand to her chest. “Ye nearly gave me a fright, Mary.” The older woman smiled knowingly. “Then ye’ve too much on yer mind. That’s what comes of mooning about the gardens after supper. Folks will start thinking ye’re waiting for someone.”
Scarlett huffed and snapped her sketchbook shut. “I’m waiting for the stars, that’s all.”
“Aye,” Mary said with a raised brow. “And I’m the Queen of the world.”
Scarlett tried to glare though her lips curved despite herself. “Ye’re terrible.”
“Terrible, but right.” Mary set her basket down on the bench. “Ye’ve the look of a lass whose thoughts are elsewhere. Or should I say, with someone.”
Scarlett stiffened. “I’ve nae idea what ye mean.”
Mary chuckled. “If ye’re thinking of the Laird, ye’re nae the first lass at Gundor to lose sleep over him.”
Scarlett’s cheeks warmed. “I’m nae losing sleep. I simply think.” “Aye,” Mary said, folding her arms. “And does yer thinking involve
sighing at the sky?”
Scarlett groaned softly. “Go on, tease me if ye must, but I assure ye, Robert is far too occupied to haunt me thoughts.”
“Funny,” Mary murmured. “Seems he’s been haunting his own.” Scarlett blinked. “What do ye mean?”
The older woman shrugged. “Only that I’ve seen the way he looks at ye when he thinks ye’re nae watching. A man with a look of guilt.”
Scarlett’s throat tightened. “He has naught to feel guilty about.” Mary smiled faintly. “Then maybe it’s hunger alone.”
Scarlett turned away, pretending to fuss with her pencils. “Ye’re imagining things.”
“Perhaps,” Mary said lightly. “But if I were ye, I’d stop pretending ye feel nothing.”
Scarlett’s fingers tightened on her sketchbook. “And if I do?”
Mary leaned closer, her tone softening. “Then stop running from it. The Laird McLaren is a hard man, but I’ve seen harder break when they find something worth holding.”
Scarlett didn’t answer. She only watched as the last streaks of light faded from the sky until the stars began to blink through. When she finally looked back, Mary was already making her way toward the keep, her basket balanced on her hip.
Scarlett stayed where she was, watching the moonlight shimmer across the fountain. Her reflection wavered and blurred in the rippling water, a face she barely recognized anymore.
She touched the pendant at her throat, the one Robert had given her. The metal was cool against her skin.
Maybe Mary’s right. Maybe I’m the fool for fighting it.
But another voice whispered quieter.
Or maybe ye’re the fool for hoping he’ll ever want more than duty.
The thought made her chest ache. She closed her sketchbook and held it against her knees as the night deepened.
Tomorrow, she told herself, she would stop lingering. Stop waiting. Yet when the wind shifted, she thought she heard footsteps in the distance.
Her breath hitched.
And though she told herself she imagined it, she didn’t move until long after the sound had faded into the dark.
