Page 60 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
“Fook me,” rumbled Mook. “Robbieisa lass, and the MacBain loves her?”
Robena’s grin was rueful as she shook her head, likely at the big man’s inability to accept her transformation. “I’ll go get changed once more.”
“Why?” Kester’s fingers tightened on hers to let her know she had his support.
With a sigh, she hiked up her skirts and turned for the stairs. “I dinnae mind feeling pretty, but a kilt will be easier to wear if we’re riding hard.”
Riding hard.The phrase reminded him of what they’d done last night and how she was likely sore this morning.
So, when they set out on their horses—after she repacked her pipes and carefully rolled gown—he made certain the pair of them rode at the rear, as was his preference.
And as the men’s animals settled into their steady traveling pace, he nudged his horse next to hers. Without breaking stride, he pulled her from her saddle, and before she could do more than gasp, he’d settled her in his lap.
Like yesterday, she rode sideways, one arm supporting her back, and her thighs draped across his. Only now, she was upright, and her pert little bottom was warm as it cradled his cock.
Mayhap she understood that, because she gave him the naughtiest grin as she snaked her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest.
That night, despite her obvious exhaustion, Robena smiled as she collected their blankets. She took his hand and led him out of the circle of the firelight, and they both pretended not to hear the jibes and hoots the men called after them.
Apparently Giric had overcome his embarrassment.
Kester had never spent a day riding while holding a woman in his lap. He supposed his thighs and back might ache…but when she turned to him and gave him that devastating come-hither smile, he had no choice but to, well, come hither.
She led him into a tree.
Then another tree.
By the time she smacked into the third tree, he took the lead, finding a protected pile of pine needles out of the wind. He made quick work of laying out their blankets, and by the time he turned, she already had her boots off.
There were benefits to loving a woman who wore a kilt.
Easy access, and all that.
After, Kester wrapped them both in his plaid and settled against the bed he’d made. She was tucked up against his chest, and he smiled to feel the way their hearts beat in unison.
One of her fingers was drawing small circles on the skin of his neck, and he never wanted her to stop.
“Kester?” she whispered.
He hummed in response.
“I’m scared.”
His arms tightened, knowing only that he had to protect her. But he also understood. “About tomorrow? The piping competition won’t start until after sundown.”
She was silent for a moment, and then he felt her shoulders shake with a sudden burst of laughter. “Can ye believe I’d forgotten about the piping competition?” She sounded disgusted with herself. “Nay, I meant…Murray.”
Ah. “I’ll no’ let him hurt ye.”
She flicked him. “’Tis no’meI’m scared for, ye stubborn man. I’m scared forye. And what the King will do when he finds out ye’re no’ marrying Murray’s daughter.”
“I cannae marry Murray’s daughter,” Kester said lightly, flippantly, ignoring the worry in his own stomach, “if I’m marryingye.”
She blew out a breath, and her hand cupped his neck. “I love ye, Kester. But I’d rather ye be alive and someone else’s than mine and—“
Her voice broke at the end, and he heard her swallow thickly.
His lips dropped to her hair.
