Page 29 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
But….
But right here and now, they had apresenttogether.
With shaking hands, Robena lowered her bowl to the ground beside her. She swallowed as she tried to work through these thoughts swirling in her head.
He’d been trying to keep her heart safe, but her heart knew what it wanted. It—shewantedhim. And if she couldn’t have him forever, then mayhap having him for just a few days would be enough.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, pushing herself to her feet and wiping her palms on her kilt.
“Ooh-hoo-hoo!” teased Giric, as he took her spot. “Feeling fancy tonight, Robbie? With the manners, eh?”
“I need….” She guessed where Kester would be. “The lake.”
“Aye, lad, I didnae want to say aught to ye,” Giric mumbled around a mouthful of stew, “but ye stink.”
“All lads stink after a few days in the saddle,” assured Weesil. “Even Giric.”
“No’ me.” Auld Gommy stroked his beard fondly. “I’m too auld to stink.”
Pudge snorted. “Ye stink enough to choke a goat.”
“Wellyecould choke a bull!” spat the old man in return.
Mook rumbled, “I could choke a bull!”
As Giric muttered, “Aye, ye could,” in what sounded like admiration, Weesil quipped, “Ye could choke a snake.”
“Nay, that’s what Kester’s doing all alone by the lake!”
And they all dissolved into guffaws as Robena melted into the shadows, trusting the moon to guide her way.
Chapter 5
He didn’t haveto turn to know she was there.
Kester stood with one boot foot resting against a large boulder, his back to the woods. He’d been cutting slices from an apple, slowly lifting each to his mouth with his blade to savor the tartness, as he gazed over the moon-bright loch.
He’d have to have been deaf to miss her approach.
“Ye crash through the underbrush like a wounded boar,” he said mildly, wiping his dagger on his kilt and tossing the core over his shoulder as he turned. “Ye need to move more quietly.”
Sure enough, Robena stood on the edge of the shore, her hands on her hips and her cropped curls full of leaves and twigs.
She shrugged and grinned unrepentantly. “I got lost.”
‘Twas the mustache. How in damnation was he supposed to know how he felt about her, when she was wearing a mustache? That grin she was giving him never failed to reach down under his kilt and stroke his cock into readiness….
But the mustache made it a confusing erection.
Irritated at himself for even noticing how she smiled, he scowled as he slammed his dagger into its sheath at his side, opposite the great sword. “How in St. John’s name do ye get lost between camp and the loch? ‘Tis a straight line!”
She didn’t seem bothered by his sharp tone. If anything, her grin grew as she sauntered toward him. “I never claimed to be any good at woodlore or gallivanting at night through the forest.”
It should be impossible to saunter erotically while wearing a man’s kilt.
Apparently, it wasn’t.
“I had a little trouble with what I think was an oak tree,” she was saying as she stopped in front of him. “Although mayhap ‘twas a pine.”
