Page 48 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Weesil shot a glance around the circle of men, all of whom had clustered around, with the exception of Robena. “I’ll let the laird explain, assuming we can drag Robbie away from his nice soft rock.”
“‘Tis a boulder,” she mumbled. “And I’m just observing this raid. No’ participating.”
“He’s right,” Kester declared with a nod. “I’ll no’ have Robbie placed in danger.” When more than one of his men raised a brow at that declaration, he didn’t do anything as crass as fluster, butdidclear his throat. “The lad is competing in a few days. We cannae risk his future.”
“Aright,” growled Pudge. “What’s the plan?”
Kester jerked his attention to Weesil, then moved across the clearing. As the rest of the men shifted their attention to the smaller man, Kester crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the boulder where Robena sat.
Weesil’s grin was much broader than one she normally saw on the small man. “Ye remember the patch of blackberries we passed? We found a shepherd’s hut. There’s two men, but we were able to sneak in. There’s some supplies there, an empty vat and….” He gestured them all to lean in. “A jug of vinegar!” he finished triumphantly.
Pudge rolled his eyes as Giric whooped happily. “Sheep again, aye?”
“What?” rumbled Mook.
Auld Gommy was chuckling. “If we have enough time with the beasties, we can ruin their market sales this autumn! Gray wool is harder to sell!”
“Even better,” Kester interrupted with a boyish grin. “If they have to take gray wool to market,wecan buy it at a reduced price. Our people will be warm—for cheap!—this winter. Assuming they dinnae all mind wearing gray.”
“We’ll ruin ‘em withcapitalism!” cackled Auld Gommy.
Mook was glancing back and forth. “What?”
“I’m thinking ‘twill take two groups—one to gather the berries and make the dye, and one to round up the sheep,” Kester explained. “I’ll take Pudge and Auld Gommy—since the pair of ye are shite with live animals—and we’ll start with the—“
“What are ye talking about?” demanded Mook.
Giric took pity on him and patted the large man’s upper arm. “We’re dyeing the sheep.”
“We’re killing sheep?” Mook sounded aghast and Robena turned her head to hide her snort of laughter.
“Nay, ye dumb shite,” growled Pudge. “Dyeing‘em.”
“I dinnae want to make sheep die!” wailed the large man.
Kester didn’t bother hiding his smile when he called out, “Coloring their wool, Mook. That’s the plan.”
“Och, then why did ye no’startwith that?” Mook shook his head at Pudge. “Going on about killing puir wee beasties.”
“This from the man who can eat a side of mutton by himself,” murmured Kester, and Robena pressed her palm to her mouth—and her mustache—to hide her chortles.
“The shepherds will be a problem,” Giric mused. “Especially since we’ll need to be there a while.”
Weesil nodded. “We’ll need a distraction.”
Auld Gommy hopped to his feet, beaming. “Leave it to me, lads! I’ll have those two Murrays so confused they won’t ken what’s happening!”
“And how will ye do that, auld man?” growled Pudge. “Cook for them?”
The old man ignored the insult. Instead, he underwent a transformation that left Robena agape.
Auld Gommy pulled himself up to his full height, thrusting his shoulders back as he pursed his lips at Pudge. He knocked his knees together and grabbed a hold of his kilt in both hands, swinging it back and forth around his thighs.
“Tee-hee,” he cooed in a high-pitched tone. “Ye’re such a braw pair of men. Are ye brothers? Mayhap we can find a way to pass the time, lads?”
Kester sputtered on his laughter while Giric hooted.
“I’m in love,” murmured Mook, awe-struck.
