Page 68 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
There was no use pretending any longer.
Everyone here knew wee Robbie Oliphant had tits, and she wouldn’t be able to enter the Highland Piping Competition, which was due to start at sundown. So, she might as well embrace who she was.
The silk was difficult to pull on over her wet hair, but she managed. Of course, ‘twas horribly wrinkled, but in the general scheme of things, she doubted anyone would be looking at her wrinkles.
She would stand proudly at Kester’s side when he confronted the Murray, and she’d do it as herself.
And to hell with her reputation.
But before she clambered out of the tent, her hands dropped unbidden to the pipes. When her fingers closed around them, a jolt of energy passed through her.
Thiswas who she was.
She was a lass, aye, but she was also a piper.
That sense of surety filled her, emboldened her. She took a deep breath and half-rolled, half-crawled out of Kester’s tent. He was standing at the fire, his arms crossed and a heavy frown on his lips as he stared down at whatever Auld Gommy was cooking.
But when she emerged, his glance turned into a long, appreciative perusal, lingering on the pipes under her arm, and she knew she was making the right decision.
“Lass,” he finally murmured in that tone which never failed to make her thighs clench, “ye look good enough to eat.”
Since she could guess what he was referencing, Robena blushed. But she didn’t look away; in fact, she smiled at him, hoping to tempt him into a kiss.
It worked.
He stalked closer, his hands settling on her hips before he tugged her closer, pulling her flush against him. He’d changed as well, into a dry plaid and shirt, although his hair looked as wild and curly as hers did.
“I’m proud to call ye mine, Robena Oliphant, nae matter what Murray or the King says. But I’ll be even prouder that ye’ve decided to stand beside me as yer true self.”
“Och, so ye dinnae want me to glue on another mustache?” she teased.
He responded by kissing her. ‘Twas a deep, slow kiss, exactly the kind she needed. It reminded her they were both still alive and had vowed to be together, somehow, someway.
When he finally pulled back, she was glad he had a hold on her hips, because she likely would’ve fallen flat on her face otherwise.
“There,” he murmured, his gaze settling on her lips. “Now ye look as if yetrulybelong to me. Let us go meet our future, eh?”
This walk through the encamped clans seemed to take much longer. Robena wasn’t certain if ‘twas because she knew what awaited them, or if Kester really was walking slower. It did seem as if he was constantly stopping to accept greetings this time, and each time he was shown respect and admiration from Highland lairds, her heart swelled a little.
By the time they made their way up the hill to the Murray camp, it seemed as if half the Highlands was trailing behind them, eager to see how this little drama would play out. Apparently, the story of Kester saving Laird Murray’s daughter—after refusing to marry her—had swept through the Games.
Gossip was apparently far more interesting than the piping competitions, which were supposed to start at sundown, within the hour. She tucked her pipes under her arm, their familiar weight helping to ground her, remind her that everything would work out fine.
Hopefully.
Laird Murray wasn’t waiting for them this time, but he emerged from the large tent before Kester had to call for him. He looked…smaller, somehow. Mayhap worry for his daughter had diminished him, and Robena found herself liking him all the more for that.
He nodded curtly, awkwardly, to Kester, before turning to Robena. He gave her a long stare, his gaze lingering on the hem of her gown and the pipes under her arm. Finally, Kester cleared his throat and the older man’s head jerked, like a dog called to a whistle.
Mayhap Murray realized this because he scowled as he offered her a curt nod as well.
“This is Robena Oliphant,” Kester announced, his fingers lacing through hers. No more, just her name. Mayhap he felt the gesture said enough.
When Murray’s gaze dropped to their locked hands and he flushed again, Robena suspected ithad.
That was the fortuitous moment for Lady Elspeth, she of the young and silly decisions, to step out of the tent. She wore a dry gown—blue this time—and was busy braiding her own hair. She marched up to her father and tilted her head back to glare up at him.
“Da, for the last time, I dinnaewantto marry MacBain!”
