“Robena?” His voice sounded strangled.
She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of answering.
“Robena, lass, who else kens we’re down here?”
“Nae one,” she snapped, her words muffled by his shirt and the plaid he wore across his heart. “Remember? I lured ye away. Ye dinnae have to be worried about yer reputation,” she finished bitterly.
“My reputation?” he choked out. “‘Tis yer reputation I’d be worried about, lass! If yer da kenned I’d had my tongue down yer throat when I cannae marry ye—“
When he bit off the rest of his words, she raised her head. “What? Da would do naught.”
‘Twas true. Everyone in the Highlands kenned Laird Oliphant was a few notes short of a folksong—which was saying rather a lot, since folksongs were, as far as she was concerned, a form of entertainment only slightly above throwing sticks into the air and betting whether they’d come down again. But aye, Da wasn’t a particularly competent laird—hellfire, he wouldn’t be a particularly competent cabbage—and her eldest sister Coira was the one who was basically running the clan these days. And neither Coira nor any of her sisters would care what Robena did with Kester MacBain.
“This isnae relevant right now, Robena,” he was muttering. “What matters is that—“
“I think ‘tis relevant,” she contradicted. “If my reputation matters naught, then I think ye owe me an explanation for why ye willnae even consider marriage—“
“Someone is pinning me to the wall,” he interrupted in a growl.
Robena’s mouth snapped shut. After a moment, she whispered, “What?”
“I asked who kenned we were here,” he ground out, his words falling over themselves, “because someone—or something—has pressed himself against my back. ‘Tis a huge weight. I’m trying no’ to crush ye.”
Oh.
Well, that explained a) the delightful way he was pressed against her again and b) the fact his erection had mysteriously disappeared.
“I dinnae see anyone,” she whispered. Here in the secret passages in the lower reaches of Oliphant Castle, there were enough entrances and cut-outs that light seeped in.
“I can feel him,” he muttered. “And—God’s Wounds! Something wet just slithered across my arse.”
Arse.
A suspicion popped into her mind, and she squirmed about, until she could peek under one of Kester’s arms.
“Bill!”
“Bill?” he groaned.
She wiggled further, until she was out from between Kester and the wall and was able to push on the gray hide happily leaning against the laird.
“Bill the ass,” she clarified. “Go on, Bill!” Swatting at the dumb animal’s withers was a poor substitute for smacking Kester, but it needed to be done. “Find someplace else to rest.”
Kester’s arms were braced against the wall, his head hanging low. “Let me get this straight. First, I broke ye, then an ass decided I was the ideal person to lick?”
One more swat and the stubborn animal heaved upright. “Takes one to ken one,” Robena muttered.
“Why is there a donkey wandering through the secret passages of yer castle?” he snapped, pushing himself upright as Bill trotted away.
“This is his home. Surely ye noticed all the donkey shite on the floor?”
“I thought it strange enough ye had a donkey wandering through yer great hall—“
“Och, I do as well, but my mother’s as strange as Da. Ye think I like the idea—“
He didn’t let her finish. “But ye allow yer ass in the secret passages?”
She scowled up at him as she planted her fists on her hips. “He’s no’ my ass! My ass is the one I brought into the secret passageways myself and am now listening to yell at me about something which isnae my fault!”