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

The sensation—the knowledge she couldn’t bind them because he’d cut her wrappings—and the memory of how they’d tasted in his mouth last night, made his cock stir happily.

He cleared his throat.

“Lads, we’ll be at the Games in two days if we ride hard. Once there, I’ll meet with Murray.” He glanced down at Robena, who was chewing on her lower lip as she stared up at him. Taking a deep breath, he continued. “And I’ll tell him there’ll be nae alliance.”

The responses from his men were varied, but Robena’s was all that mattered. Something like hope had flickered in her eyes at the announcement, but it faded to worry. “The King….”

He didn’t allow her to finish. With a sharp shake of his head, he faced his men. “I will no’ marry Murray’s daughter.” He kept his voice pitched low in case the proprietor was listening. “I’ll face the King’s wrath if it comes to that. Pudge will take my place as laird if I have to—“

She tugged hard on his hand with both of hers. When he glanced down at her once more, ‘twas to see her frowning fiercely.

“I love ye, Kester MacBain, but I dinnae want ye hurt just so we can be together.”

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips and he bent to press a quick kiss to her lips. “I love ye too, Robena. Hopefully, it willnae come to that.”

“Fook me,” rumbled Mook. “Robbie is a lass, and the MacBain loves her?”

Robena’s grin was rueful as she shook her head, likely at the big man’s inability to accept her transformation. “I’ll go get changed once more.”

“Why?” Kester’s fingers tightened on hers to let her know she had his support.

With a sigh, she hiked up her skirts and turned for the stairs. “I dinnae mind feeling pretty, but a kilt will be easier to wear if we’re riding hard.”

Riding hard.The phrase reminded him of what they’d done last night and how she was likely sore this morning.

So, when they set out on their horses—after she repacked her pipes and carefully rolled gown—he made certain the pair of them rode at the rear, as was his preference.

And as the men’s animals settled into their steady traveling pace, he nudged his horse next to hers. Without breaking stride, he pulled her from her saddle, and before she could do more than gasp, he’d settled her in his lap.

Like yesterday, she rode sideways, one arm supporting her back, and her thighs draped across his. Only now, she was upright, and her pert little bottom was warm as it cradled his cock.

Mayhap she understood that, because she gave him the naughtiest grin as she snaked her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest.

That night, despite her obvious exhaustion, Robena smiled as she collected their blankets. She took his hand and led him out of the circle of the firelight, and they both pretended not to hear the jibes and hoots the men called after them.

Apparently Giric had overcome his embarrassment.

Kester had never spent a day riding while holding a woman in his lap. He supposed his thighs and back might ache…but when she turned to him and gave him that devastating come-hither smile, he had no choice but to, well, come hither.

She led him into a tree.

Then another tree.

By the time she smacked into the third tree, he took the lead, finding a protected pile of pine needles out of the wind. He made quick work of laying out their blankets, and by the time he turned, she already had her boots off.

There were benefits to loving a woman who wore a kilt.

Easy access, and all that.

After, Kester wrapped them both in his plaid and settled against the bed he’d made. She was tucked up against his chest, and he smiled to feel the way their hearts beat in unison.

One of her fingers was drawing small circles on the skin of his neck, and he never wanted her to stop.

“Kester?” she whispered.

He hummed in response.

“I’m scared.”