Page 75 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Her mock threat was cut short by her squeal when he—as naked as she—hoisted her over his shoulder.
“What are ye doing?” she half-squeaked, half-laughed.
He lightly smacked her arse-cheek, which caused her laugh to turn a little breathless, especially when he turned the touch into a caress.
“Kester?” she breathed.
He was already crashing through the woods and she admired his sense of surety. Especially without boots.
“I’m taking ye to bathe, wife. I figured this was the easiest way to get to theaaahhh, without a mustache.”
She propped her elbows up on his back, planted her chin in her hands, and decided to enjoy the ride. From this angle, she could see his arse-dimples in the moonlight.
“Well, love, far be it for me to object to yer plan.”
“I love ye, Robbie.”
And she began to laugh.
Really, what more could a lass ask for?
Epilogue
“Oh, this is terrible. Just terrible.”
Since Mother’s refrain hadn’t changed much in the hour since she’d come into the solar to “help,” Nicola felt justified in ignoring her. Instead, she tried to block out the older woman’s mumbles and pacing and hand-wringing and concentrate on her measurements.
Should she bring a full measure of wormwood, or would a half-measure do?
The nunnery would likely have it in their herb garden, but could she trust them to have dried it properly for use?
Oh, St. Crystal’s retina, ‘tis no’ as if ye dinnae have room in yer bags for an extra handful.
Mind made up, Nicola carefully poured more of the herb into the pouch, then hefted it. Aye, ‘twould do. Besides, how much trouble could a cohort of nuns get into, really? ‘Twas unlikely she’d have to deal with stab wounds and whatnot.
On the other hand, Coirawasescorting her….
Lips curling wryly, Nicola slid the pouch of wormwood into the pile of supplies to secure to her saddle.
“Just terrible.Terrible. How could ye do this to me? Yer own mother? I birthed ye, I raised ye, I cared for ye….”
Nicola managed to refrain from snorting as she turned back to hear weights and measures on her worktable.
More like I cared for ye.
“And now my darling daughter is preparing toabandonme most cruelly, just when I need her most!”
With a sigh, Nicola rounded on her mother, her hands on her hips. “Andwhydo ye need me? In particular, right now? What is wrong this time?”
Mother was wringing her hands in front of her. With a completely serious expression, she announced, “My collapsing malaria is acting up again.”
Collapsing malaria?
Collapsing malaria?
Only years of experience treating Mother’s ridiculous ailments kept Nicola from reacting. She might’vewantedto sigh meaningfully, pinch the bridge of her nose, and shake her head. Shecould’vethrown up her hands and shouted, “Ye complete imbecile, ye cannae just slap two words together and claim ye suffer from it! No’ whenI’mbusy suffering fromye!”
But she didn’t, because she’d learned Mother’s tears were worse than her collapsing malaria. Or screaming lupus. Or, that one time, cow herpes.
