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

She giggled happily and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

‘Twas hard to follow his twisted stalk through the gathered clans, but he barely acknowledged the greetings and jests thrown his way. Before she knew it, he was releasing her, letting her slide down his body until she stood on her own feet, and she found they’d stopped before a small circle of even smaller tents.

Auld Gommy was crouched before a fire at the center. He slowly stood, his mouth agape as he took in her state.

Before he could comment on her half-nakedness, she planted her hands on her hips. “Auld Gommy MacBain! Have ye had tents in yer saddlebags all this time? And ye’ve made me sleep on the ground?”

Beneath his beard, his mouth was opening and closing.

Kester’s hand closed around hers. “They thought ye a lad, remember.”

“I’m no’.” She smiled as she pointed one finger from her free hand at her tits.

Auld Gommy made a choking sound.

Kester growled again and tugged her toward one of the tents. “In here. Get changed. When we go see Murray and get this mess worked out, I’ll no’ have him—or anyone else—staring at what’s mine.”

‘Twas rude. ‘Twas demeaning. ‘Twas definitely sexist—whatever that word meant.

So why did Robena’s knees go all weak at the sound of his possessiveness?

She sent him a flirtatious smile as she ducked into the tent, hoping he’d be thinking of her stripping out of her wet clothing.

Unfortunately, that was much more difficult than expected, given the fact the tents really were miniscule. She could barely rest on her knees under the highest point, which meant she ended up getting changed while half-reclined.

This tent was definitely Kester’s, and someone had placed her bags here as well. She ran her fingers lovingly over the strings of the lute before taking a deep breath and reaching for her yellow gown.

There was no use pretending any longer.

Everyone here knew wee Robbie Oliphant had tits, and she wouldn’t be able to enter the Highland Piping Competition, which was due to start at sundown. So, she might as well embrace who she was.

The silk was difficult to pull on over her wet hair, but she managed. Of course, ‘twas horribly wrinkled, but in the general scheme of things, she doubted anyone would be looking at her wrinkles.

She would stand proudly at Kester’s side when he confronted the Murray, and she’d do it as herself.

And to hell with her reputation.

But before she clambered out of the tent, her hands dropped unbidden to the pipes. When her fingers closed around them, a jolt of energy passed through her.

Thiswas who she was.

She was a lass, aye, but she was also a piper.

That sense of surety filled her, emboldened her. She took a deep breath and half-rolled, half-crawled out of Kester’s tent. He was standing at the fire, his arms crossed and a heavy frown on his lips as he stared down at whatever Auld Gommy was cooking.

But when she emerged, his glance turned into a long, appreciative perusal, lingering on the pipes under her arm, and she knew she was making the right decision.

“Lass,” he finally murmured in that tone which never failed to make her thighs clench, “ye look good enough to eat.”

Since she could guess what he was referencing, Robena blushed. But she didn’t look away; in fact, she smiled at him, hoping to tempt him into a kiss.

It worked.

He stalked closer, his hands settling on her hips before he tugged her closer, pulling her flush against him. He’d changed as well, into a dry plaid and shirt, although his hair looked as wild and curly as hers did.

“I’m proud to call ye mine, Robena Oliphant, nae matter what Murray or the King says. But I’ll be even prouder that ye’ve decided to stand beside me as yer true self.”

“Och, so ye dinnae want me to glue on another mustache?” she teased.