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

Mook twisted in his saddle. “The fook’s a beep?”

“Did he just say please?” Weesil whispered in awe at the same time.

Pudge was still staring straight ahead. “Beeeeeeeep.”

“He beeped!” Mook’s frantic look flicked between Pudge and Giric and Auld Gommy. “He beeped! Is he supposed to beep?”

“Should we leave a message?” Weesil hissed.

Auld Gommy rode up on Pudge’s other side and waved a wrinkled hand in front of the warrior’s face. “Good Lord, he’s possessed again!”

Again?

Beside Kester, Robena was chuckling. She pulled her fingers from his and nudged her horse forward. “Nay, he’s fine. Just leave a message. He got back to me last time.”

Mook was shaking his head. “That is Pudge! I can see him! That’s Pudge right there!”

But Giric, looking uncertain, leaned closer to the stoic man and cleared his throat. “Ho, Pudge? Um…’tis Giric. I wanted to tell ye Mook’s joke. When ye have a chance, get back to me, aright?”

Without glancing over, Pudge nodded solemnly. “Beep.”

Giric looked relieved—and still confused—when he sat back in his saddle. His horse had slowed enough to allow Robena to catch up with him.

“He’ll get back to ye, dinnae fash.”

“Do I have to beep at him?”

She grinned. “Nay, no’ unless ye want to.”

The handsome man was staring at her, his attention obviously diverted. “Och, lad, ye must tell me how ye get yer mustache so luxurious! I find myself jealous of a wee stripling!”

“Glue.”

“What?”

Robena shook her head. “Never mind. ‘Tis a family secret.”

And Kester, unable to help himself, began to chuckle.

Weesil glanced over his shoulder and grinned at his laird, and Kester wondered how worried they’d all been about his doldrums. Well, they’d have to get used to it; once he married Murray’s daughter, they’d learn exactly how depressed a man could—

Och, nay, dinnae dwell on the future, ye arse. Here and now.

Aye. Here and now, Robena made him happy, even if he hadn’t the chance to sneak her away for more kisses. He knew that was all they could share, not with her reputation at stake. Unless she wanted to bathe again. Then he’d have no choice but to go in the loch after her.

Right.

“Laddie!” called Auld Gommy. “How about a song?”

Robena was already reaching for her lute—which she’d taken to strapping to the saddle without wrapping since the men enjoyed her playing so much—when she asked, “Which one?”

“Och, make up a new one for us!”

Her fingers plucked out a succession of soft, cheerful notes. “About what?”

“About the story Mook just told!” hooted Giric. “Tell it again!”

The large man smiled hugely over his shoulder. “Ye remember, Auld Gommy? ‘Twas the time ye were napping under that bush—“