Page 53 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Ever.
“Hold a moment, Robena,” he whispered gruffly, knowing where he belonged.
Sure enough, as soon as he stripped out of his sword belt, boots, and shirt and climbed into the bed with her, she latched onto him as if her life depended on it.
Mayhap it did.
He wrapped himself around her, and slowly her shivers subsided. Thankfook‘twas summertime, even if late in the season, and the water hadn’t been truly frigid. But ‘twas only his stupidity in allowing his men—and himself—one last adventure, which had resulted in Robena’s current state.
“I’m sorry, lass. Ye’ll never ken how sorry. I should never have agreed to this.”
“Dinnae blame yerself.”
Her voice startled him enough to pull back and peer down into her eyes. Her half-grin was wry, and she pressed her cold palms to his back, as if encouraging him to return to her.
“Kester, I wanted to come along as much as the rest of yer men. I was just stupid enough to risk my life for my pipes—“ She stiffened with a gasp. “My pipes?”
He shushed her, running his hands along whatever skin he could reach, trying to give her all of his warmth. “Yer horse was frightened but made it across. With all its bundles, as near as we can tell. I’ll check on them for ye.”
“Thank—“ A yawn interrupted her. “Thank ye. I dinnae ken why I’m so—“ Another yawn.
He tucked her head under his chin and stretched one heavy thigh over her legs, ignoring how perfect she felt in his arms.
“Ye’ve had a battle, lass, and ‘tis nae wonder ye’re tired. That blow to yer head alone was scary—“
“I’m fine, Kester. The branch didnae hit me, just pulled me under. I likely swallowed half the river.”
Saints above, the reminder was as chilling as her hands. Unable to help himself, he examined her head with his fingers until he was satisfied in her claim; there was no lump, no blood.
Still, a near-drowning and catatonic shock from the cold was nothing to sneeze at.
As if on cue, Robena let out a mighty sneeze then sniffled and apologized.
Smiling, he kissed the top of her head. “Rest, love. I’ll be here.”
Forever.
After a while, her breathing evened in sleep and Kester decided she was sufficiently warm. Andbecauseshe was sufficiently warm, his body was having a hard time remembering she’d had a near-death experience today.
Hypothermia apparently meant little to his cock, which kept insistently trying to poke her thigh.
Cursing himself, he slid from the bed then gently draped another blanket atop her mound of blankets, hoping ‘twould be enough to replace his body heat.
He took his time hanging her clothes to dry and pulling his boots back on, and finally decided he’d dallied long enough. Best get on with seeing how his future looked.
Downstairs, he found his men sitting solemnly around a table, enjoyingactualstew. The innkeeper bustled up with a bowl for him, which Kester sniffed suspiciously before deciding it smelled a little like soap, and hazarded a bite.
He couldn’t taste it, nor the ale the proprietor served them all. Kester ate, but the food was heavy in his stomach.
All he could think of was the woman upstairs, and how close he’d come to losing her.
Weesil assured him Robena’s pipes were unharmed—they were barely wet—and he’d taken the liberty of arranging everything in her bundles to dry. Including, he admitted without meeting Kester’s eyes, a fine yellow silk gown and chemise.
“So, sheisa lass?” Mook muttered in confusion to Giric.
The handsome man was flushing in embarrassment, which Kester might’ve found amusing had he been in a different state of mind.
“Aye, Mook,” mumbled Giric. “And we’ve spent the journey talking of our penises.”
