She stole a glance at him and quickly looked away again.
He hadn’t touched her since the vows or even kissed her when they were pronounced man and wife in their little wedding. Not at the kirk when the priest had bound their hands, not on the ride.
He had touched her only once. A brief, bruising contact as he gripped her arm to hoist her into the saddle. It had been a gesture of cold efficiency, the impersonal movement of a man handling a crate of grain or a hound that belonged to him.
She had expected to feel insulted. She had expected to feel small. She hadn’t expected the ghost of his heat to sear through the thick wool of her sleeve, marking her skin long after he’d let go. His fingers had felt like iron bands, steady and terrifyingly strong.
Her mind strayed, unbidden, to the moment she had left Hallow. And now here she was, worn to the bone, a wife by name, and about to step into her new life at Gundor.
The gates of the castle swung wide as their company rode in. Torches flared to life along the battlements, and the clang of hooves echoed across the courtyard. Servants hurried to meet them, bowing and curtsying in practiced lines.
One man broke from the group, striding forward with easy confidence. He was broad-shouldered with sandy hair and a grin that made him look more mischievous than solemn. He swept a bow that was just a touch exaggerated.
“Welcome home, Laird McLaren,” he said to Robert before turning to Scarlett with a spark in his eye. “And welcome to Gundor, Me Lady. Leon, at yer service. Steward, voice of reason, and on good days, the one who keeps this place from tumbling into chaos.”
Scarlett blinked at him, caught off guard by the warmth in his manner. “It’s kind of ye to welcome me so.”
“Aye, it’s easy to be kind,” Leon said cheerfully. “Though I’ll warn ye, Me Lady, ye’ve given me twice the work now.”
Scarlett tilted her head. “How so?”
Leon leaned closer, lowering his voice as though confiding in her. “Because I’ll have to keep a closer watch on the gates. Half the men in the Highlands will be knocking for a glimpse of ye.”
Scarlett blinked, startled, before letting out a soft laugh. “Is that so?” “Aye,” Leon grinned. “With a face like that, I’d better keep a sword on me at all times.”
Robert’s scowl cut through the levity like a blade. “That’s enough, Leon.”
Leon only straightened, unrepentant, though he dipped his head with mock solemnity. “As ye wish, Me Laird.”
Scarlett glanced between them, her amusement bubbling up despite her weariness. “It’s nice to meet ye, Leon.”
“And ye, Me Lady,” he said warmly. “If ever ye need something, call on me.”
Robert cut in, “She’ll call on me.” He turned to Scarlett, his gaze unreadable. “I’ll show ye to yer chambers.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together, bowing her head slightly to Leon before following Robert across the courtyard and through the wide doors of the castle.
Inside, Gundor was a fortress of shadow and firelight. The hall stretched vast and high, banners in crimson and gold swaying above. Scarlett slowed, her eyes trying to take it all in.
“It’s… beautiful,” she murmured before she could stop herself.
Robert glanced at her. “It is strong. That is what matters.”
Scarlett’s lips curved faintly, but she didn’t press him. She let her gaze wander instead, tracing the intricate tapestries, the gleam of polished wood along the long tables. It was different from Hallow—darker, heavier—but there was majesty in every stone.
Robert led her down a corridor lined with torches. At last, he stopped before a carved oak door and pushed it open.
“The Lady’s chamber,” he said simply.
Scarlett stepped inside and halted. The room was spacious—tapestries softening the cold walls and a wide bed draped in crimson covers. A fire already crackled in the hearth. Her eyes caught on another door along the far wall.
Robert followed her gaze. “Me chamber lies through there. The doors stay unlocked should ye need anything.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She turned quickly toward the fire, pretending interest in the crackling flames. “That will… be convenient.”
He said nothing though she felt his eyes on her. The silence pressed until she forced herself to busy her hands with her gloves, pulling them free, one finger at a time.
Her mind betrayed her with sudden thoughts of the kirk, of the vows spoken, and of the kiss that had never been given. Her lipstingled at the thought. What would it feel like to taste him just once?
