Page 49 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Pudge shook his head and said drily, “Ye have a beard, ye auld fooker. ‘Tis down to yer waist!”
In that same high-pitched voice, squeezed through his pursed lips, Auld Gommy declared, “I’ll plait some flowers in it. They’ll never notice!”
Although Kester and Giric were still laughing, Weesil patted the air, gesturing for silence. “‘Tis a good idea, actually. The guards would be definitely distracted, and Auld Gommy could get ‘em with their kilts up and tie them up.”
“Nae one will ever believethatis a lass!” declared Pudge hotly, stabbing his finger at the old man who was still making kissing noises.
Robena was surprised to hear herself volunteering. “I’ll do it.” She pushed herself off the rock and cleared her throat. “I could pass as a lass.”
As the men stared, Kester was the first to object. “Nay. Absolutely no’.”
From the sincerity of his tone, she guessed his issue was with the thought of her participating at all.
But Weesil snorted and shook his head. “Ye couldnae pass as a lass, Robbie. No’ with that lovely mustache.”
The mustache was the issue? “But Auld Gommy’s beard—“ she began, only to be interrupted by the old man, whose voice had returned to normal.
“Nae offense, laddie, but there are certaintellsa man looks for in a lass, ye ken? The way she stands, the way she plays with her hair.” He winked flirtatiously while twirling a strand of his beard around one finger. “See? Ye dinnae do any of that, and ye dinnaesoundlike a lass.”
Robena opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a single response.
“Besides, the mustache,” pointed out Auld Gommy smugly.
“I could…shave?” She wasn’t certain why she continued to offer suggestions, especially when the responses of the men around the circle ranged from shock to outrage.
“Shavethat mustache?” Giric was shaking his head forcefully. “‘Twould be a crime against nature!”
“Are ye daft, lad?” murmured Weesil as Mook announced, “Auld Gommy’s prettier.”
Pudge just raised a brow at her, his eyes twinkling with some emotion she couldn’t identify.
Beside her, Kester muttered, “Jesu Christo.” He shook his head.
“Nay, lad,” Weesil announced with conviction. “Thank ye for yer volunteering, but we’ll use Auld Gommy this time. Mayhap when ye’re aulder ye’ll make a more convincing lass. Now, we’re all going to have to cross the river first. ‘Twas no’ too deep, but is running fast.”
As he squatted to draw a map in the dirt and the men nudged aside one of Mook’s horse’s legs to gather closer, Kester shifted his weight so he was closer to her.
“Are ye certain ye dinnae mind joining us?” he murmured. “I’ll stay behind with ye, if ye’re uncomfortable.”
“Ye’re really just planning on dyeing the sheep’s wool?” Thatwasmischief, and she found herself grinning at the thought.
Kester shrugged, his attention still on the men, but a boyish grin on his lips. “Dyeing thesheep. ‘Tis the fun of it, ye ken.”
She could understand why Laird Murray wanted to make peace with this man. The MacBain led a fine band of warriors, but they were anannoyance. As Pudge had pointed out, theycoulddo much worse, but why would they if they planned on claiming the land for themselves?
Was it any wonder her smile was a bit sad when she told the man she loved, “I’ll no’ deny ye one last time to make trouble for Laird Murray, Kester. As ye said, it’ll be fun.”
Something flickered in his blue eyes, and he reached for her…only to stop himself and scrub his hands across his face as if he’d meant to do that all along.
The men were beginning to mount up, calling taunts and instructions back and forth. Mook was cajoling his horse into gaining its feet, and Giric gave Auld Gommy a lift into the saddle.
Kester blew out a breath. “Aye,Robbie,” he finally said without looking at her. “Let us enjoy what time we have, eh?”
‘Twas…interesting, riding in the midst of what she could only call a war party. Aye, she knew the MacBains weren’t heading to battle—not really. But they were silent and swift, their horses well-trained and their senses on high alert.
Even Auld Gommy, who was practicing his lines—“Och, sirrah, what strong arms ye have!Nay, higher.What strong arms ye have!Can I touch them? Teehee.”—did so under his breath. The rest of them were focused on their surroundings, more than a few hands resting on the hilts of swords.
They met with no Murrays on the way to the river.
