Not Half Plaid (Bad in Plaid 2)

“Ye think this is embarrassing?” asked Craig. “Imagine being measured.”

Fen shared a wince of commiseration with the blacksmith. “At least ‘tis because she finds ye attractive, eh?”

“I can hear ye both,” muttered Wynda, currently wrapping her string around various parts of Craig’s muscular forearm. “And I dinnae find ye attractive; I said others find ye attractive— God’s teeth, would ye look at the size of these things?”

Robena, who’d been eyeing the blacksmith’s forearms, hummed appreciatively. “I am. And if ye dinnae find Craig handsome, can we assume ye prefer to ogle men of the tall and mysterious variety?”

Fen leaned closer to Robena. “Let us suggest Pherson next,” she mock-whispered. “He fits her preferences, aye?”

As Robena giggled, Wynda snapped upright. “We’re no’ measuring Pherson,” she replied firmly. Then she whirled back to Craig. “Thank ye. I’ve collected the information I need.”

“We’re done?” he asked, looking relieved.

“We’re done. Go be handsome elsewhere.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, but nodded gratefully to Fen and strode toward his smithy.

“A shame,” mused Robena, watching the sway of his kilt. “We didnae get to measure anything interesting.”

Fen wasn’t certain if, now that Craig was gone, fewer people were watching them, or if it just felt that way. Either way, she was more comfortable when she quipped, chalk in hand, “If we had, we could’ve finally used cucumber as a unit of measurement.”

Snorting with laughter, Robena nudged her shoulder, causing Fen to draw her line crooked. “Fen! I dinnae think I’ve heard ye make a dirty joke afore.”

“Then ye havenae been listening.” Fen was smiling slightly as she erased the jagged line on her slate. “Cucumbers arenae grown in the ground, as carrots are, but they can still get quite dirty. Eppie and the girls ken I expect all produce to be washed afore—”

Robena interrupted her with a groan. “Nae more, please! Just when I thought I was going to have some good company to speculate on Craig’s cucumber and its uses…”

Pursing her lips, Fen stared up at the fluffy clouds floating high overhead. “The Soldier and the Crucible. Och! And The Clinging Vine.” She dropped her gaze to see Robena gaping at her and winked in response. ”That’s what I’d do with his cucumber.”

“Fenella Oliphant!” exclaimed Wynda, inserting herself back into the conversation with ease. “Never say ye’ve been reading my manuscript?”

For months now, Wynda had been working on what her sisters liked to call, “The Harlot’s Guide”. As the only Oliphant who actively communed with the specters which haunted the castle, Wynda was beset with requests and headaches. But the Gray Lady had insisted on sharing lessons she’d learned during life, imparting knowledge…and Wynda’s sisters had learned all sorts of things.

“I dinnae have to read it,” explained Fen. “Ye talk about it non-stop.”

“The worst was when she made me and Nichola act out Three Towers to work out the logistics of it,” Robena offered.

Wynda huffed. “If ‘tis to be illustrated, I have to ensure each of the coital positions work, aye?”

Pointing a long, callused finger at Wynda, Robena sniffed. “If ye illustrate it, leave me out of it. Especially The Gladiator and the Unfortunate Squid.”

“That was the one where she used yer lute as the stand-in for the man’s tongue—”

Robena interrupted Fen. “And my poor lute hasnae been able to play L’autrier m’iera levaz since then! She traumatized the poor thing.”

“’Tis a musical instrument, Robena.”

Their talented sister sniffed. “Each instrument has a soul, and my lute has been traumatized.”

Fen hid her smirk by bending back over her slate. Everyone knew Robena was intent on her music. She could play any instrument handed to her, and her singing voice wasn’t bad either. Her greatest wish was to be recognized for her talent, and she was constantly frustrated by the fact she’d been born without a penis, and therefore, couldn’t participate in the musical competitions.

Although what penises had to do with musical ability, Fen didn’t know.

Likely the same thing lutes have to do with The Gladiator and the Unfortunate Squid.

Wynda was still trying to defend herself. “Look, if the Gray Lady ever stops remembering positions, I’ll be able to stop, and then I can stop making ye participate!”

“Can ye no’ just tell her to stop?” demanded Robena. “Ye’ve written plenty. And ‘tisnae likely anyone besides us will ever read it!”