Page 22 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
“My—thanks.” She hesitated only a moment before snatching the blanket and ducking around him.
He waited until she’d swung the blanket around her shoulder and laid down in the grass before he headed toward her.
Flustered, she shot upright. “What are ye doing?” she hissed as he sat beside her.
“I’m getting comfortable.” He jerked his chin toward the grass and pulled his plaid up around his shoulders. “Ye should as well.”
“I—I cannae sleep beside ye!”
Since she’d kept her voice low, he did the same.
“Robbiewouldnae mind a warm back against his, would he? Especially if ‘tis his first night sleeping beside a fire in the wilderness?”
When she just set her jaw mulishly, he lowered his voice further. “Besides, if ye think I’m going to allow any of these bastards to sleep beside ye, ye’re mistaken.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Ye dinnae trust yer men?”
“I trust them with my life.”
I just dinnae trust them with ye.
The dying embers threw out enough light for him to watch her swallow. “And ye, Laird MacBain?” she whispered. “Can I trust ye?”
Dagger. Heart. Twist.
Ugh.
Instead of answering, he made a point to turn his back to her, to hide behind his plaid. “Go to sleep,Robbie. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
To the Games.
“To yer wedding.”
‘Twas said quietly enough he thought he might’ve imagined it. But then he felt her back settle against his, in the ancient position of two comrades watching out for one another. It should’ve been comfortable, but it wasn’t.
Because of the hurt in her voice.
Chapter 4
She was warm.Sowarm.
A smelly horse blanket shouldn’t—oh. There was a body at her back, thefrontof a body.
‘Twas Kester. He was curled around her, both of them lying on their sides, and despite the hard ground, despite the lack of a pillow, Robena didn’t think she’d ever slept more comfortably.
Except….
There was a hardness pressed into her backside, one she recognized. One she wanted.
One she couldn’t have.
Damn Lady Elspeth Murray and her beauty!
Robena squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to feel comforted by Kester’s arm around her middle.
She vowed then and there to write a biting, witty song disparaging his soon-to-be-bride.
There once was a lass from Clan Murray,
