Ye Give Love A Plaid Name (Bad in Plaid 3)
Chapter 8
Wynda wasn’tcertain why she was nervous as she led Pherson toward the women’s solar. He’d just shared so much of himself, so much of his past…and all she was doing was baring part of her present.
“I ken ye thought I was a bit mad when I told ye about the Gray Lady,” she said as they slipped into the large room she and her sisters had always used as a gathering place.
“The who now?”
She grinned, and not just because he was trying to surreptitiously adjust his cockstand under his kilt. “The Gray Lady is one of my ghosts.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. “There’s quite a few of them who haunt this castle, and ‘tis said once a generation someone is unlucky enough to be born able to hear them. This time ‘tis me.”
He was staring at her, his hand on his crotch. “Ye mean…ye were being serious?”
As she crossed to her desk, she quickly amended her earlier claim. “Och, then ye did no’ think me mad, ye just didnae believe me.” When he began to sputter objections, she waved them away. “’Tis nae concern if ye dinnae believe me, verra few do. But this castle is the home of quite a few spectres, and I’ve made it my mission to help at least one cross over to the afterlife. So whoever comes after me doesnae have to put up with her nagging,” she finished in a mutter as she shuffled scrolls out of the way.
“The…Gray Lady?” he clarified as he stepped closer.
With a sigh, she propped her hip against her desk and turned. “Aye. She’s…well, she’s never told me her name, but that doesnae stop her from meddling in my life all the time. Some of the other ghosts are tolerable, but—“
“Ye cannae wait to get rid of her.” His lips twitched. “And when ye said ye dreamed of living in a simple home with plenty of natural sunlight, are ye certain ‘twas no’ influenced by a desire to escape yer resident ghosts?”
She blinked, then burst into giggles. “I never thought—nay!” She was trying to shake her head and nod at the same time. “I mean, aye, mayhap.” She finished with a smile. “But I’m happy to say the Gray Lady has finally agreed to move on.”
His brows rose and he sidled closer to the desk, peering down at the manuscript she’d unearthed. “She’s the one who taught ye about…?”
“About passion, aye,” she confirmed when he trailed off, shifting so now her hip touched his and they stood tucked up against her workstation. “She’s a big believer in a woman kenning her own body and how to bring pleasure.”
“So she wanted ye to experience it?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes when she confessed. “That was…the excuse she used. Apparently I murmur in my sleep, and she was well aware of how attractive I found ye.”
There was a pause, then his hand fell on her hip, and he tugged her rear end against his pelvis. They were both staring down at her work, but she definitely wasn’t seeing it. Nay, all of her attention was on the hard length of him pushing against her buttocks.
“Christ, lass.” His breathing sounded ragged. “Ye certainly do ken how to make a man feel good.”
Knowing he couldn’t see it, she grinned wickedly. “I ken all sorts of ways to do that.” And without moving her arse away from his cock, she leaned forward to open her book.
Behind her, Pherson sucked in a harsh breath at the first page revealed—although mayhap ‘twas her illustrations.
“Ye have an instructionmanual?” He sounded as if he were choking.
“This is the knowledge the Gray Lady wants to leave for other young women. One hundred positions for coitus.”
“A hundred? There’s really that many? It’s just…” She felt him shake his head in disbelief. “Insert Tab A into Slot B. How hard can it be?”
Well, that sounded like a different kind of instruction manual; likely one involving disassembled furniture and not enough fasteners. Still, she briefly squeezed her buttocks together, trapping his thickness. “Verra hard,” she murmured.
He groaned.
“That is called All Out Of Carrots.” She pointed helpfully. “Because the way the man grabs his partner looks a bit like a cabbage, see? I’ll admit I’m no’ as fine an artist as my great-great Aunt Nessa was; she could’ve embroidered a much more realistic scene.”
Pherson didn’t seem to care, judging from the way his breathing had hitched. “And this?” He reached over her shoulder to tap the next page.
“Ah, A Soldier And A Crucible. I havenae been able to illustrate that one yet, because I dinnae quite grasp the complexities of the position. That was part of the Gray Lady’s ultimatum, ye see. She wishes me to experience some of these positions, to be certain I fully understand them.” She felt him flex forward, felt an answering rush of wet heat in her core, and hurried to flip the page. “But others, like this one, are self-explanatory.”
“Good Christ,” he rasped. “Is that…?”
“Aye, The Twin Mountains requires three participants, and I feel that I captured the essence well enough.” Proudly, she flipped another page. “This is The Supplicant Swan.”
Behind her, Pherson made a little choking sound.