Page 67 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
For her part, the lassie was crying, her arms snaking around her father’s neck, neither of them caring she was dripping all over his beard.
With haunted eyes, the laird looked over his daughter’s head at Robena standing in Kester’s arms. He was breathing heavily when he nodded to them.
“We have—have much to say to one another.”
She felt Kester nod.
Murray nodded again, the movement jerky, as if he couldn’t quite understand all that was happening. ‘Twas as if the one thing hecouldbe certain of was his hold on his daughter. He held the lassie as if he’d never let her go.
“Soon,” he managed to say, half-turning away. “I must—Elspeth….”
“Aye, Murray,” Kester said. “We’ll meet ye at yer tent.”
Another nod—more of a jerk of his chin—and Murray splashed toward his waiting men.
* * *
She felt like a drowned rat.
Ahappydrowned rat.
Kester had saved her. He’d saved her, then he’d kissed her, and in between he’d roared out his love for her for everyone to hear.
Was it any wonder she was clinging to him as he led her through the encampment, one arm thrown around her shoulders?
“Everyone’s staring at ye,” he muttered darkly.
“Aye!” She beamed up at him. “I’m wearing a white shirt, Kester, and ‘tis soaking wet.”
He glanced down at her—or, more accurately, her tits—and with a muted growl, swept her off her feet and clasped her to his chest.
She giggled happily and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
‘Twas hard to follow his twisted stalk through the gathered clans, but he barely acknowledged the greetings and jests thrown his way. Before she knew it, he was releasing her, letting her slide down his body until she stood on her own feet, and she found they’d stopped before a small circle of even smaller tents.
Auld Gommy was crouched before a fire at the center. He slowly stood, his mouth agape as he took in her state.
Before he could comment on her half-nakedness, she planted her hands on her hips. “Auld Gommy MacBain! Have ye hadtentsin yer saddlebags all this time? And ye’ve made me sleep on theground?”
Beneath his beard, his mouth was opening and closing.
Kester’s hand closed around hers. “They thought ye a lad, remember.”
“I’m no’.” She smiled as she pointed one finger from her free hand at her tits.
Auld Gommy made a choking sound.
Kester growled again and tugged her toward one of the tents. “In here. Get changed. When we go see Murray and get this mess worked out, I’ll no’ have him—or anyone else—staring at what’s mine.”
‘Twas rude. ‘Twas demeaning. ‘Twas definitely sexist—whatever that word meant.
So why did Robena’s knees go all weak at the sound of his possessiveness?
She sent him a flirtatious smile as she ducked into the tent, hoping he’d be thinking of her stripping out of her wet clothing.
Unfortunately, that was much more difficult than expected, given the fact the tents reallywereminiscule. She could barely rest on her knees under the highest point, which meant she ended up getting changed while half-reclined.
This tent was definitely Kester’s, and someone had placed her bags here as well. She ran her fingers lovingly over the strings of the lute before taking a deep breath and reaching for her yellow gown.
