Page 39 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Robena was already reaching for her lute—which she’d taken to strapping to the saddle without wrapping since the men enjoyed her playing so much—when she asked, “Which one?”
“Och, make up a new one for us!”
Her fingers plucked out a succession of soft, cheerful notes. “About what?”
“About the story Mook just told!” hooted Giric. “Tell it again!”
The large man smiled hugely over his shoulder. “Ye remember, Auld Gommy? ‘Twas the time ye were napping under that bush—“
“This again?” snapped the old man. “I wasresting my eyes!”
“And I had to take a piss, aye?” chortled Mook. “Only I didnae ken ye were under there!”
Kester shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He remembered this, aye, and how angry Auld Gommy had been.
“Robbie!” Mook called, hardly able to breathe, he was laughing so hard, “Robbie, ye should’ve seen the way—the way Auld Gommy rose up out of that bush!”
Giric was doubled over with laughter, while Weesil snickered. Pudge, ignoring them all, kicked his horse into a trot to take point, while the others clustered around Robena’s animal.
She strummed the lute, making the notes loud enough to gain attention. “I think I have an idea where this is going.”
“I’ve changed my mind, Robbie lad,” grumbled Auld Gommy. “I dinnae want to hear a song after all.”
“Well,Ido!” hooted Giric.
Robena frowned thoughtfully, her lips moving silently as she strummed. Finally, her face broke into a smile.
Kester found himself urging his horse closer to hear her words.
She began to hum, a spritely little tune which matched the notes she was playing. Then:
“In the merry month of May—“
“Och,nay!” interrupted Auld Gommy, frantically shaking his head. “Robbie, lad, yecannaestart a good song with ‘in the merry month of May’! Everyone kens that!”
From ahead, Mook rumbled, “‘Twas September, I think.”
“Aye, ye dobber, but ye cannae rhyme aught with September,” Weesil pointed out.
Mook frowned. “September rhymes withremember.”
Weesil glanced, wide-eyed, at Giric. “Is he right?”
Giric grinned hugely. “He’s right. Good work, Mook!”
“I think I could rhyme January with ‘wee’,” mused Robena, her fingers plucking at the strings again. “Any chance ‘twas January?”
“January’s too cold to take a piss outdoors,” snapped Auld Gommy. “What kind of lad are ye, ye dinnae ken that sort of thing?”
Kester began to chuckle.
“Oooh,” Robena teased. “So ye only piss indoors all winter?”
“When ye get to be my age, Robbie, ye’re afraid a bit of cold might freeze yer willie!”
“Who’s Willie again?” asked a confused Mook
With a lewd gesture toward his crotch, Giric bragged, “Have to be more than abitto freezemine, auld man!”
