Page 20 of Pretty in Plaid
Sorley dismounted and greeted the other man with a hearty arm shake. “Good to see ye again. This is Kenna Forbes.”
Dirk raised a brow. “Forbes?”
“Aye, niece of Laird MacLeod.”
Dirk crossed his arms over his chest, feet planted on the ground. Though he wasn’t holding out his fists, he was certainly letting on that he was ready to fight if it came to that. “What relation to Duncan Forbes?”
* * *
“Niece,”Kenna answered for herself, having jumped down from the horse to join them, not liking that they were talking about her as if she couldn’t hear. Or that the other man seemed immediately on alert. “But I can promise ye I am a Jacobite loyal, just as my parents were.”
“Good to know. My condolences.”
He knew her parents...or at least knew of them.
She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but the man made a slight bow and then said, “I’ve go’ to be going, or Mistress J will have my head.”
“Travel well, friend,” Sorley said. He turned to her with a grin and a wink and grabbed her hand. “Shall we eat?”
“I’m starved.”
They went to the fire then. They were offered seats on logs, and a woman handed them each a slice of slightly stale bread topped with roasted venison. “We canna offer more, but hopefully this’ll do.”
“’Tis more than we could have dreamed of,” Kenna said, sinking her teeth into the hearty meal and closing her eyes as she chewed. They’d only eaten the jerky and bannocks the day before, and she found her stomach turning in on itself.
“Ale?” A man passed them a jug, and they both drank heartily, Kenna gasping as a not-so-feminine burp escaped her.
Sorley laughed, a twinkle in his eye. “Got to say, Kenna, ye’re my kind of lass.”
“That was an accident.” She frowned.
That made him snort. “Do it again. It shows how much ye trust me.”
“Or that I dinna care at all what ye think.” She sniffed, thrusting her nose up in the air.
“Oh, ye care, lass, that much is evident.”
Heat rose to her face, and she ducked her gaze away from his, tucking into the bread and meat to keep herself busy.
They ate and drank and enjoyed some of the music played by the rebels who were awaiting orders or there for a rest as well. Everyone seemed to feel safe this deep into the woods.
“Why do the dragoons no’ bring an army in here?” she asked. “Sure, ’tis unsafe for a small horde of them, but what if they joined forces?”
“The redcoats seem only to have a talent for battle when the lot of them are lined up with the enemy in sight. To be honest, Highlanders scare the devil out of them because we’re no’ opposed to tactics that involve ambushing. Or hiding in trees.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Whisky?”
Kenna glanced down at her hands, encased in wool gloves. Being near the fire was nice with food in her belly, but the whisky from the day before had cut a bit of edge off her chill, and she was not going to get any warmer unless she climbed back onto Sorley’s lap. That wasn’t a sad prospect. She would have very much enjoyed curling up on him again, but considering how much she liked it, doing so was probably a bad idea.
After all, wasn’t one not supposed to enjoy such things? Restraint was next to saintliness, wasn’t it?
Och, but she didn’t know. Nor did she care about being saintly. What she did care about was how much he made her want to kiss him. To crawl all over him. And how that was not a possibility in the slightest. They were not wed, and she hadn’t gotten this far in life unsullied only to do it now. Even if she wanted to.
She took a small sip of whisky. Feeling semi-warm—though mostly on the front of her, the back was still quite chilly with no flames at it—she curled herself deeper into the extra layer of plaid around her shoulders.
Sorley yawned and stretched. “I need to sleep,” he said. “Come on.”
