Page 52 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
“She’s the Oliphant lass he fell in love with,” Pudge explained.
Kester set his jaw, pulling Robena closer. Aye, he’d fallen in love with her. Helovedher, and look what his stupidity had done to her.
“Where are we going?” Auld Gommy called out. “No’ that I’m complaining, if ye think galloping willy-nilly westward will help the lass. But if ye want some nourishing broth, I’m going to need a fire.”
“There’s a village ahead, mayhap two miles,” Pudge explained.
Kester wasn’t certain who ‘twas who asked, “Which one?” but before he could answer, Pudge did it for him.
“’Tis on Murray land. A Murray village, but they dinnae ken us as enemies on this side of the land, so we should be able to find shelter.”
“WhichMurray village, is what I’m asking.” That was definitely Weesil.
“I cannae tell ye the name,” growled Pudge. “Because then ye’ll look at a map and be able to tell exactly where we are. Surely ye’ve noticed, thus far in the narrative, we’ve been sufficiently vague about where exactly in the Highlands we actually are? Naming the town will make it too obvious. ‘Tis also possible the narrator is making shite up and doesnae actually have any real understanding of basic Scottish geography, but far be it from me to disparage such an intelligent and graceful narrator.”
The men were silent for a few moments, the only sounds the pounding of their horse’s hooves as they thundered westward. Finally, Weesil said, “Aye, fair enough.”
Then, in the distance, he saw smoke from a hearth, and he dug his heels into his horse’s side, ignoring his men.
Thankfookthis village had a tavern. As he threw himself from the saddle, clutching Robena to him, Kester found himself praying there were rooms upstairs for rent. He left his men to care for his exhausted horse and strode inside.
Cradling the woman he loved, he planted his boots and glared at the man who’d frozen in the middle of stirring something thick and bubbling over the fire.
“A room,now!” he demanded. “A fire, and a big bowl of whatever that is!” Once Robena woke—and shewouldwake—she’d be hungry, for certes.
The Murray man just gaped at him.
Did he recognize Kester? He recognized the MacBain plaid, undoubtedly, but would that be trouble? It didn’t matter; Kester would gladly forfeit his freedom—his very life—to keep Robena safe.
Slowly, the man straightened, wiping his hands on his apron. “Aye, milord, but—“
“Now!” repeated Kester, hefting Robena so her head lolled against his shoulder.
“But this is soap, milord.”
A cautious sniff confirmed that, aye, there were more florals and less meat in the pot than necessary for a stew.
“Then a bowl of somethingedible,” he snapped. “The fire is more important.”
As Kester took the stairs two at a time behind the proprietor, Robena began to shiver. That was a good sign, aye? That she was waking? For certes, as the Murray man began to build up the fire in the small room, Kester was gratified to see her open her eyes, her gaze dazed, as she tried to determine where she was.
“Shh, lass,” he whispered against her hair, trying to take her shivering into his own body and grant her some warmth. “’Twill be aright.”
But would it?
Aye, she was alive, but he’d comeso closeto losing her. Now that she was safe, Kester’s body was reacting to whatmight’vehappened.
He was barely aware of the proprietor’s words as the man bowed his way out the door, knowing Pudge or Giric would pay the man whatever he asked, since the proprietor didn’t realize the MacBains had originally come to Murray land to cause mischief.
Now, Robena was all that mattered.
Whispering nonsensical promises and cursing his heavy hands, Kester stripped Robena’s plaid from her waist and pulled her soaked shirt over her head. He had no time to hang them properly, and instead turned his attention to the bindings around her breasts.
She was unable to help, standing there before the hearth, clinging to him, shivering so hard he thought she might fall over. She gave no indication she saw him or understood what had happened, and each moment that passed without her being warm seemed a lifetime.
Finally, in frustration, Kester pulled his dagger from his side and sliced through the wrappings, leaving them to fall to the floor as he scooped her up.
Tucking her into bed was difficult because she couldn’t seem to release him. And, truth be told, he didn’t want to let her go either.
