Page 8 of Pretty in Plaid
At last, she came to the right shelves, her fingers brushing over the fabric of breeches and shirts.
“I hope these fit.” She handed him a set that felt larger, and then pulled down a smaller set for herself.
Kenna loved to wear gowns, rarely wore breeches, even for work with the farm animals. She liked the way the fabric of skirts and petticoats swished around her legs, the way she was less hot while running, than with thick fabric clinging to her legs. She liked wearing stays too, because they held her breasts in place and she’d always felt they were a bit too large and in the way of her work.
Alas, it was easier to ride in breeches, she’d give them that.
She reached behind, realizing too late that she couldn’t undo the buttons of her own gown. Her belly flopped, and a nervous flutter propelled her heart into her throat.Oh no.Trying again, she stretched her arm and hand as far as they would go, the tip of her middle finger just barely brushing the top button.
Mary Mother...
Kenna prayed and stretched and stretched to no avail. This was not a gown she could easily don on her own, and not one she’d effortlessly get out of either. Of all the days to be wearing something so frivolous! If Sorley had come but a few hours earlier, she’d have been in her day dress, one she could simply take off herself.
“I have a problem, sir,” she said, a croak in her voice.
“What is it?”
She heard him pull off some bit of clothes and drop it to the floor.
They had been saved from the lack of propriety by the darkness, and now she would have to ask him for this favor. One she’d not ask in a million years were it not for the extreme danger of prancing about the Highlands in a plaid woven gown.
“I need help.”
“With?” he prodded.
“My gown,” she managed to say, though she sounded rather strangled.
Sorley grunted. “And ye think me proficient in removing a lass’s gown?” There was a teasing lilt to his tone, but she hardly noticed as sweat gathered beneath her arms.
“I wouldna presume a thing, and I’m happy to walk ye through the task should ye no’ know how to proceed, but the fact of the matter is, I canna do it, and I canna leave this vault in this gown.”
“But the gown is so verra bonny,” he teased.
“Now is no’ the time for jests.” Oh, she could just cry! Or scream. Either one, really.
“I’m quite serious.”
But she could tell he was not. Kenna let out a low groan. “Will ye help me or no’?”
He sighed. “Of course.”
Kenna put out her hand, walking forward, her fingertips poking into a very male, very muscular, verynudechest. She gasped at the heated contact, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, and the insane need to explore every inch of that flesh now that she’d touched it.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she managed, pulling her fingers away as though she’d been burned.
“Dinna be sorry.” His hands grasped her shoulders and turned her about, and the oddest thing happened as he started to undo the buttons at her back—a tingle started somewhere in the middle of her body, fanning outwards, and her nipples... They ached and puckered.
Oh, dear heavens.
Was she attracted to Sorley? The question brought about the idea of kissing. Their lips pressed together, his bare chest touching hers, skin on skin…
“Are ye all right, lass?”
Kenna coughed, trying to dislodge the heated thoughts from her brain. “I’m fine. Why do ye ask?”
“Ye’re breathingverraheavily.” This he said in a near-whisper at her ear, his fingers on the small of her back, brushing against the thin fabric of her chemise right below her stays.
“I’m merely worried about the men above stairs,” she lied, her breathing not calming one bit.
