Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation (Bad in Plaid 4)

Chapter 9

Mook was still snoring,stretched out on the floor of the main room when Kester crept downstairs the morning after he’d made Robena his. After he’d almost lost her. After she’d changed his world.

I love ye. Always, Kester.

Aye, his stomach was tight with worry, but those words…they made him hopeful for the future, for the first time since he’d met Robena. For the first time since Laird Murray’s plan had been announced. For the first time since the MacBains had lost Kester’s Meadow.

He wasn’t certain what the future would hold, but he knew she’d be in it.

“Wake up, ye lazy shite.” He nudged Mook in the side, which did nothing except bruise his toe.

As he was limping toward one of the stools, Giric rolled off the bench along the wall. “Wazzat?” the handsome man muttered, sitting on his arse on the floor. “Time to go already?”

“Ye lads had some fun last night, eh?” Kester gestured to the proprietor to bring him some ale and brown bread with butter. “I thought ye were supposed to sleep in the stables.”

Giric yawned as he clamored to his feet and joined his laird. “Pudge and Weesil did that. Auld Gommy disappeared with one of the serving wenches.” Giric winced and covered his eyes with one palm “Nay, I dinnae want to speculate, thankyeverramuch.”

Ah. ‘Twas becoming clear that Giric—rejected in favor of the eldest MacBain warrior—had consoled himself with drink.

“So I should no’ order oysters in cream sauce, and pickled vegetables with mutton to break my fast?”

Giric turned green. “If ye do, I’ll vomit on yer boots.”

Kester made a show of examining his feet. “I like these boots, so mayhap I’ll just stick with brown bread.” He nodded his thanks to the proprietor and gestured for him to bring more.

Giric was picking at his bread as Pudge and Weesil entered and Mook slowly woke. Soon, all of them—save Auld Gommy, and Kester was also happy not to speculate—were gathered around the table.

He sat with his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on the stairs. And when Robena finally descended, he was the first to see her. Sucking in a breath, he slowly stood.

God’s Wounds, she was lovely. She’d worn that yellow silk for her sister’s wedding, which meant she’d been wearing it during his “tour” of the secret passages, and their kisses. Mayhap ‘twas because he’d broken her heart that day—whatever that meant—but he hadn’t noticed how lovely she looked in it.

Or mayhap ‘twas because today she wore her hair down around her shoulders, clean and curly from its accidental washing yesterday.

Or mayhap ‘twas the shy, secret smile she sent his way, the gentle coloring of her cheeks, and the reminder of what she’d screamed last night with her legs wrapped around his waist.

He was grinning proudly as he crossed to take her hand.

“Holy shite,” murmured Giric, wide-eyed. “Robbie is a lass!”

‘Twas Weesil who stood stiffly and bowed, his fist over his heart. One by one, the men followed, as Robena blushed.

“What happened to her mustache?” Mook whispered loudly.

Giric, who was sitting once more with his forehead planted in his palm, groaned. “There was nae mustache. ‘Twas fake. For shite’s sake, I cannae believe I didnae see it!”

Kester couldn’t help feeling a little smug at that.

“I’ll take it as a compliment, Giric,” Robena said softly, “that I could fool ye.”

He groaned again. “I cannae believe we joked about…everything. Pissing. Pleasuring women. Our favorite part.”

This time, Robena was grinning as she met Kester’s eyes. “I’m still me. Ye can still joke with me.”

“Nay, ye’re no’.” Giric still hadn’t looked up. “Ye have tits.”

‘Twas one thing to listen to his Robena joke with another man, and another thing altogether to hear that man—and a handsome one at that—admire her tits. Kester growled.

Giggling, Robena pressed against his arm, so he could feel those same tits under her gown.