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

Her sister shook her head. “Da says we have to be married. And there’s nae one here I want to marry.”

“That’s nae reason to join a convent!” Robena burst out. “We’ve had to sit in this room and listen to Wynda go on about the joys and pleasures a man can bring a woman—remember the book?” She threw out her hand, pointing to the desk where Wynda’s naughty manuscript had sat for years before being moved to her new husband’s cottage. “Remember?”

“How could I forget?” Nicola asked with a wry quirk of her lips. “I’m no’ giving up on finding pleasure, Robbie.” She used the old nickname. “I just…ken I’m no’ going to find it here.”

Robena peered in suspicion. “If ye think a bunch of dusty auld nuns can help ye….”

“I’m certain quite a few of them are young and attractive,” her sister announced haughtily.

Oh. “Ye…prefer the company of women?” Robena held her hands up, palms out. “Nay, nay, I’m no’ judging. That’s…” She cleared her throat and tried to sound enthusiastic. “I mean, hurrah! Mayhap a nunnery is exactly where ye belong.”

Nicola burst into laughter.

As Robena continued to bluster about how she loved and accepted her sister for who she was, Nicola reached out and grabbed her hands, squeezing her into silence.

Still grinning, the healer held her gaze. “Thank ye for loving me. And for being concerned about me. I will be fine, and I promise ye I’ll find fulfillment.”

She might’ve meant a sort of spiritual fulfillment, except Nicola did that thing where she waggled her eyebrows mightily, and ‘twas hard to take her seriously. Robena found her lips curling in response.

“So, what I want to ken…,” her sister continued, “is about how ye are planning on being recognized. Remember what ye said earlier? Ye wanted recognition?”

“Aye.” All her sisters knew Robena chafed here on Oliphant Land where she was the best musician heard in a century. She wanted to pit herself against other pipers, wanted to know how good she really was.

Nicola lowered her chin. “The Highland Piping Competition is in a fortnight, aye? At the end of the summer? At the end of the Highland Games.”

Oh, St. Kelsi’s uvula, they were back to this? Robena rolled her eyes. “Aye, the Highland Games.”

“The Highland Games,” her sister repeated. “Where…?”

“Good Lord in Heaven, ye’re being cryptic!”

Nicola blew out a huff of breath, half a laugh. “The Highland Games, Robbie! Where Kester is going!”

Scowling, she pulled her hands from Nicola’s grip. “I have decided I hate Kester MacBain, and he and his men can go toddle off to the Highland Games, and I hope a caber lands on his head!”

Her older sister was looking at her with an expression halfway between pity and laughter. As if she believed Robena was a complete idiot.

‘Twas a sort of smirk.

Which, to be fair, seemed to be the basic facial expression of older sisters.

“What?” Robena snapped.

Nicola shook her head as she reached for Mother’s draught. “A caber can land on his head after he gets ye to the Highland Games, sister. He’s going, and ye might no’ like him verra much, but ye—and we!—trust him to get ye there.”

On her way to the door, she threw yet another smirk over her shoulder. “Da’s changed his mind about sending any Oliphant warriors to the Games this year, but I’d wager the MacBain doesnae ken that. Just sort of…tag along, eh?”

And then she was gone.

And Robena exhaled.

Tag along.

Could she just…tag along?

In a thoughtful daze, she turned to her pipes.

The Highland Piping Competition was held at the end of the Highland Games. The MacBains were attending the Highland Games so Kester could marry his betrothed. His men were strong and capable, and Robena would feel safe traveling with them….