Chapter 5
He didn’t haveto turn to know she was there.
Kester stood with one boot foot resting against a large boulder, his back to the woods. He’d been cutting slices from an apple, slowly lifting each to his mouth with his blade to savor the tartness, as he gazed over the moon-bright loch.
He’d have to have been deaf to miss her approach.
“Ye crash through the underbrush like a wounded boar,” he said mildly, wiping his dagger on his kilt and tossing the core over his shoulder as he turned. “Ye need to move more quietly.”
Sure enough, Robena stood on the edge of the shore, her hands on her hips and her cropped curls full of leaves and twigs.
She shrugged and grinned unrepentantly. “I got lost.”
‘Twas the mustache. How in damnation was he supposed to know how he felt about her, when she was wearing a mustache? That grin she was giving him never failed to reach down under his kilt and stroke his cock into readiness….
But the mustache made it a confusing erection.
Irritated at himself for even noticing how she smiled, he scowled as he slammed his dagger into its sheath at his side, opposite the great sword. “How in St. John’s name do ye get lost between camp and the loch? ‘Tis a straight line!”
She didn’t seem bothered by his sharp tone. If anything, her grin grew as she sauntered toward him. “I never claimed to be any good at woodlore or gallivanting at night through the forest.”
It should be impossible to saunter erotically while wearing a man’s kilt.
Apparently, it wasn’t.
“I had a little trouble with what I think was an oak tree,” she was saying as she stopped in front of him. “Although mayhap ‘twas a pine.”
Kester couldn’t seem to stop his hand from rising to her temple where sap had glued a cluster of needles to her hair. “Clearly,” he murmured drily. “Are ye hurt?”
With her head cocked back, she was smiling up at him now, that mustache big and fluffy on her upper lip. “I’m flattered ye care.”
“Of course, I care, lass.” It slipped out before he could stop himself. “I mean, ye’re under my protection.”
“And that’s the only reason ye’re still touching my hair?”
Oh shite, he was, wasn’t he?
Hurriedly, he dropped his hand, but the sap stuck to his fingers, and he cursed himself for his stupidity.
“Why are ye here?” he growled, angry at himself, and at her for not being angry enough at him.
But she just shrugged again. “Auld Gommy made stew.”
And that apple wasn’t nearly enough. “I’ll eat later.”
“They’re back there telling fine tales about the size of yer cock and claiming ye’re out here pleasuring yerself—Are ye aright?” her eyes widened with alarm as he began to choke on his objections.
“Dinnae say such things, lass!”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated incredulously.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Aye. Why can I no’ speak about yer cock? ‘Tis a subject I’m verra much interested in.”
Oh for fook’s sake!
“Because…because it isnae seemly!” At a loss, he dragged his hand through his hair and only remembered too late about the sap.