Page 18 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
He cocked his head as he studied her. Nay, ‘twas not the mustache—or rather, notonlythe mustache. ‘Twas the assurance in the way she rode, the boldness in how she met his eyes. Robena’s shoulders were wider, her face broader, than some of her sisters. He knew—from long walks with her through the gardens—that she didn’t consider herself beautiful, but she was wrong.
Her beauty was strength and power and confidence.
Which, with a mustache, aye, helped disguise her as a lad.
She smirked at him. “I’m right, are I no’?”
“Ye’re going back to Oliphant Castle, is what ye’re doing.”
Her horse stepped sideways, and ‘twas easy to imagine it being a response to some subtle reaction of hers.
“Ye’d lose a day of travel to take me back now, and I ken ye’d no’ send me alone.”
She was right, of course. He was still irritated she’d come all this way without a weapon to defend herself against wild animals or wilder men. Mayhap she felt protected since she was still on Oliphant land?
“Ye think I wouldnae welcome the delay?” he growled, leaning far enough to one side to clamp a hand on her knee. “Ye think I wouldnae appreciate the chance to postpone my fate?”
Her big brown eyes had grown even wider and he didn’t miss the way her pulse jumped in her throat as she stared at him.
That wasn’t fear he saw…’twas desire. And beneath his kilt, his cock jumped in response right about the same time he realized where his hand was.
Her knee.
Herbareknee.
The lass was wearing a kilt, which had hiked up on one side, and he washoldingherbareknee. With hishand. Which wason her knee.
He likely should have some sort of response to that, but at that moment, his mind seemed stuck on those relevant thoughts:hand knee bare cock hand bare.
“Kester,” she whispered, her lips barely moving, and he found himself leaning toward her, as she leaned toward him.
Thank the saints she caught herself, gave herself a little shake.
“Laird MacBain.” She straightened in her saddle. “I ken yecapableof returning me to—to Oliphant Castle.” Her emphasis made him wonder if she understood his feelings about the delay. “But I ask ye to reconsider.”
She was being so formal and stiff.
Like yer cock.
He winced, knowing he deserved both miseries.
And then her hand dropped atop his. “Please.”
She wasn’t begging. She wasn’t demanding. She was just…being polite, her tone unusually empty.
He knew her well enough to know she had control over her tone. So, if that’s how she sounded, that’s how shewantedto sound.
He hated it.
He hated that mustache, he hated her sitting over there on her saddle instead of being curled up in his lap where he wanted her.
He hated Ian Murray for taking the meadow and the prime planting land which should belong to the MacBains, and he hated his sense of honor which had forced him to retaliate, leading to the King’s decree.
He hated that, without the meadow and its resources, his people suffered.
He hated that his future was not his own, but belonged to his clan.
He swallowed down his anger, knowing it wasn’t directed at this woman.
