Page 14 of Plaid Attitude
And Doughall stood there, opening and closing his fists, trying to think of something to say.
Kiss Coira.
Fook, aye, he’d thought about it. Aye, he’d wanted to kiss her for years. She was beautiful and smart and he liked that she was so prickly and capable. He wasn’t even too ashamed to admit—to himself, of course—that he’d had more than one wet dream about her, which had made it damned difficult to meet her eyes the next day.
Because she was the laird’s daughter and he was just the Commander. And as he’d told Bess that morning, Lady Coira Oliphant wanted naught to do with marriage.
He’d spent years knowing that, knowing she wasn’t for him. And he’d continue that way.
“I’m no’ going to kiss her,” he growled under his breath as he shook out his hands and rolled his shoulders again.
“What?” called Barclay from across the room. He winked at one of the servant lasses and stole a tart from the tray she carried.
Doughall wasn’t going to yell it out for the whole great hall to hear, so he stalked closer. “I said, I’m no’ going to kiss her. She’s no’ for me.”
“Shecouldbe.” Barclay winked and shoved the whole tart into his mouth.
Doughall resisted the urge to punch him again.
“Nae matter how much I’d like it, I cannae kiss her,” he explained as he crossed his arms.
From behind him came a new voice. “Kiss her, aye.”
Oh good, the laird was here. Just what he needed.
Managing to keep from rolling his eyes, Doughall turned and inclined his head. “Laird Oliphant, ye remember my cousin? He’s one of the King’s Hunters, and I’ve invited him to stay for the Easter celebration.”
“Celebration, aye,” the old man replied, a vague expression on his face, the way he always looked when he had to speak to someone in the here and now. “And will he be kissing someone?”
“Nay, milord.” Well, actually, knowing Barclay, hewaskissing someone. “We were discussing who Iwasnaekissing.”
“Kissing, aye. Ye ken, a man who doesnae kiss is like a cloud without a mountain: full of frogs.”
“Aye, milord,” murmured Doughall, used to his laird’s nonsensical analogies.
Barclay was trying not to laugh as he bowed.
To their surprise, rather than toddling back to his solar and his academic treatises, Laird Oliphant pulled himself upright. “Doughall, lad, who are ye no’ kissing?”
Startled, Doughall blinked. “Uh…no one?”
“One, aye. Yeshouldbe kissing someone. Ye’re a good man—quiet, but good. The men respect ye. Ye can lead them, which is as important as a milkmaid with a duck.”
“Umm…” Doughall glanced at his cousin, who shrugged. “Thank ye, milord? But I am content with my life as it is.”
He didn’t need a crazy old man playing matchmaker.
“Is, aye, but are ye?” For a moment, the laird’s gaze focused sharply, reminding Doughall of the man he used to be. “My Anna and I have waited years for ye to kiss our auldest, Robena.”
As Doughall gaped, Barclay leaned in helpfully. “Coira, milord?”
“Coira, aye. She’s a bit of the auld pocketful of nails, as we used to say, eh?”
Doughall was having trouble following. “What the hell are pockets? And yewantme to kiss her?”
To his horror, the old man winked. “Kiss her, aye. I ken she’d be in good hands with ye, Doughall.”
“I…” His gaze jumping between the laird and his cousin like some game not yet invented involving a ball and two paddles and a net, Doughall grasped desperately for some way to respond. The laird had just bestowed a hell of an honor on him with that approval, but he also didn’t want the man to think he was going to run out and molest Coira just because he had her father’s permission. “Perhaps, milord, in time…”
