Page 15 of Plaid Attitude
“Time, aye.” The laird was already shuffling away. “I dinnae have much more time, lad. She’s a good lass.”
Unexpected irritation rose in Doughall’s chest. “Aye, milord, sheisa good lass. She’s smart and loyal and kens her duty to the clan.” Why couldn’t her father see that? “She’s a good leader, she’s respected and well-liked.”
“Well-liked, aye, but will the men follow her?”
Well,fook. That was a surprisingly well-reasoned jump in questioning. Doughall frowned.
“I dinnae ken, milord. I’d like to think they would.”
“Would, aye, theywouldfollow ye.” That didn’t make any sense, but ‘twas even worse when the auld man winked. “I’m no’ getting younger, Doughall. Kiss her.”
And that, it seemed, was that. He waved vaguely and shuffled off, leaving the cousins to gape after him.
Finally, Barclay nudged Doughall’s shoulder. “Kiss her. Her da just gave ye permission.”
“By St. Berthwald’s hairy arsehole, Clay, what the fook was that?”
“Was it hairy? Berthwald’s arse? How do ye ken?”
Doughall dragged both hands through his hair, shaking his head. “Thelairdjust told me tokiss Coira.”
“Aye.” Barclay shrugged, watching the sway of a servant lass’s skirts as she moved about, setting up for the afternoon meal. “That’s what I told ye, as well. So why have ye no’ kissed her?”
“Because—because she’s a lady, and—”
“And her father just gave ye permission.”
“So?” Doughall bleated—and aye, that was a bleat, years of caution warring with the way his cock had stirred at the thought of Coira in his arms. “I dinnae haveherpermission!”
Barclay shrugged again. “So, get it.”
Kiss Coira.
The saints knew he wanted to. But…wouldshe?
For years, they’d worked together, a respectful relationship that he valued. Could she ever see him as more than just the clan’s Commander? And what if hedidkiss her, and she cold-cocked him or something? They’d have a hard time working together in the future.
But a small voice in his head whisperedIt’s worth the risk.
Because what if she kissed him back?
“By St. Agnes’s left bollock,” he whispered, “I dinnae ken…”
Barclay shoved his shoulder. “IkenSt. Agnes didnae have a left bollock.”
Still disoriented, Doughall nodded vaguely. “Aye, she kept them in a pouch for good luck.”
“Ye said it was hers!”
“I dinnae say they grew on her—whyare we talking about this?”
His cousin grinned. “Because ye’re trying to distract me from convincing ye to kiss Coira.”
“I’m no’ going…”
But would he?
Barclay’s grin grew. “Why no’ ask her? She might want it. Hell, cousin, she mightneedit. The lass is as tight and stressed as a rope wrapped around the axle of a cart. With the knowledge of what her clan is facing right now—the possible dangers—she’s likely to snap.” He winked lewdly. “Ye can help her snap in the right direction.”
