Not Half Plaid (Bad in Plaid 2)

“Aloud?”Wynda prompted.

The lassie’s smile grew and she blinked guilelessly. Wynda rolled her eyes. “Reading is much easier if ye use the sounds, lassie.”

Pherson defended his daughter. “She’s causing nae one harm.”

“Of course no’.” Wynda pretended to scowl down at the little girl. “She’s just doing it on purpose, to bedevil me.”

Wren bobbed her head enthusiastically, which caused her father to chuckle.

At the sound, Wynda’s gaze jerked up in shock.

Pherson blinked. “What?”

“Ye have…a verra nice laugh.” Flustered, she waved a hand in front of her face as if she could dispel the words. “I just mean, yer voice is nice. Nay, that’s no’ what I—I mean, aye, of course yer voice is nice, and yer laugh, and I’d like to hear it—I’m blathering.”

“Aye,” Pherson drawled.

“Aye,” his daughter echoed.

Both adults twisted in shock, and Wren shrugged and nodded encouragingly.

“See? She’s teasing me.”

Wren nodded again, and Pherson chuckled again.

Wynda managed not to comment on it this time, although she found herself admiring that little soft place where his jaw met his neck and the stubble darkened his skin. It was just as nice as his laugh. She wondered what that particular spot would feel like.

What it would taste like.

Find someone to give ye pleasure.

She bit down on the urge to shudder. Pleasure? Aye, this man could absolutely give her that. She was certain.

And that certainty surprised her.

“Have ye come to dine with us?” she blurted.

Wren tugged happily on her hand. “E sounds like ehh.”

With a wry twist of his lips, Pherson lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’m to the kitchens. Brodie promised me two fresh loaves if Geraldine could bring him six plump hares.”

Wren was still swinging on her arm, but Wynda’s attention was on the way Pherson’s forearm rippled intriguingly under his burden. “She managed six in one morning?”

“I had one of the young eagles out as well. He’s no’ reliable, and no’ worth naming yet, but he performed well.”

As he’d explained the afternoon he showed off Geraldine’s skills, hawking was an ancient skill. Mostly ‘twas a sport of kings and powerful men, who paid dearly for trained birds.

Here in the Highlands, Golden Eagles, Harris Hawks, and falcons were the preferred hunters. Some castles might have a dozen falconers devoted to the birds, but Laird Oliphant had not been interested in maintaining mews. Instead, when Pherson, his daughter, and his falcon had arrived on Oliphant land years ago, Da had offered him the chance to hunt for the laird’s table.

Now, Pherson was one of the few villagers who had regular supply of meat, and he often shared what he couldn’t cook, and what he didn’t owe to the castle kitchens.

“Wind.” Wren had become tired of waiting and tugging on Wynda’s hand. She sounded exasperated, which was interesting.

Wynda hummed and pretended to notice her. “Och, aye, lassie? Did ye tag along because ye want to visit the kitchens? Or because ye want another lesson in letters?”

Wren bobbed her head in excitement, but Wynda continued to stare as if she didn’t understand. Finally, the little girl rolled her eyes, stuck her hand on her hip, and said. “E sounds like ehh.”

Wynda burst out laughing.