Page 19 of Pretty in Plaid
“What is it?”
“Ye can help me. I will call out, ‘God save the king,’ and ye will say, ‘And his bonnie prince.’”
“What if the scouts are no’ the rebels ye think they are?”
“There is no one else that would dare enter these woods. Even the dragoons know to step foot in here is tempting a slit throat or an arrow through the heart. This is rebel country, lass.”
Kenna gave a tentative nod. “After ye, then.”
“God save the king,” he called out loud enough for anyone spying on them to hear.
“And his bonnie prince,” Kenna said in a sing-song voice.
“Rather pretty of ye.” He winked at her.
She grinned up at him. “Seemed a good way to show them we are friendly. I do no’ know many that have no appreciation for song.”
Sorley chuckled as they edged forward, taking note that the rebel in the tree had lowered his bow.
“Let me back on my horse. I dinna want to show up at the camp looking like an invalid or a weak woman.”
“No one who had any words with ye would think ye are.”
“All the same.” She wiggled against him, and Sorley groaned as her arse rubbed enticingly against his groin.
“All right, all right. Sit still before I die.” His hands clamped down on the swell of her hips to halt her movement.
“Die?” She wrinkled her nose up at him.
“Aye, lass, ye’re killing me with your arse.”
She looked perplexed, and he had half a mind to show her exactly what she was doing to him, but that would probably be a bad idea. Instead, he lifted her, extra plaid and all, and placed her on her mount.
The loss of her heat and her delicious arse was felt immediately, and he regretted not being a stronger man capable of withstanding the torture of her wiggling bottom.
They rode a mile or so into the forest, the scents of smoke and roasting meat rising to greet them. This particular wood was teeming with deer, providing the rebels with plenty of food.
“Smells delicious,” Kenna said. “Do ye think they’ll let us have some?”
“Aye. For the right price.”
“And what price is that?”
“Coin or trade.”
“What will ye pay?”
“I’ve coin. Though ye may get a few offers to trade.” He winked at her.
“Trade what?” She cocked her head, curious and confused.
“Let me just say there will be more than one willing rebel that wishes to trade pleasure.”
“Oh…” Her mouth formed a little O, and her cheeks reddened in a way that made him want to haul her back onto his lap and claim her mouth.
A group of men and women appeared as if from the morning mist to greet them.
“G’morning to ye.” Sorley recognized the man as Dirk, cousin to Mistress J. “I was just on my way out but glad to see ye once more.”
