“’Tis no’ funny, m’laird,” Dwyn said, tossing an exasperated glance over her shoulder. “How would ye like it if yer brothers shortened all yer plaids so that yer pillicock kept showing?”
Geordie grinned at the fact that she would even refer to his cock, but was even more amused at the suggestion, and hoping to fluster her, he said, “Well, I guess that depends on whether ye’d be looking or no’.”
“Of course I’d be looking,” Dwyn said in somewhat distracted tones as she now tugged on the neckline of her gown, trying to pull it up to cover what she couldn’t push in. “What lass with half a wit in her head would no’ take the opportunity to see yer pillicock?”
Geordie burst out laughing anew at her honesty, and unthinkingly gave her another affectionate squeeze.
“Arggh!” she growled with frustration. “Do ye no’ stop doing that I’ll be giving the men on yer wall a fine show as we ride by.”
That ended his amusement rather quickly, and Geordie scowled toward the men posted on the wall ahead. He then released her to yank her top up himself. It didn’t really help much, he decided as he peered down over her shoulders at the tops of her breasts on display in the pale blue gown she wore today, so he took the plaid from her and let it drop open, then tucked it around and over her shoulders until she was fully covered up to her neck.
“Better,” Geordie judged then, and Dwyn sighed and nodded as she leaned back into him.
“Aye. Much better. I feel properly clothed fer the first time since coming here,” she admitted wryly, and then added, “I do love me sisters, but truly, this was no’ their finest idea.”
Geordie merely smiled. To his mind, it had been a brilliant idea. While he didn’t care for everyone else being able to look on what God had gifted this lovely lass with, putting her beautiful breasts on display had certainly caught his attention. Although it wasn’t the only thing that had caught his attention. There was much more of merit to the lovely Dwyn Innes than just her fine breasts. And he did find her lovely now. At first, he may have agreed that she was nothing special when it came to her face, but that was before she’d smiled. When she did that, her blue eyes widened and sparkled, her whole face lit up like a candle, and she was honestly and truly lovely.
One of the men on the wall hailed them as they rode across the bridge and Geordie slowed his horse to hear the news that his brothers were returned and in the keep. He thanked the man for the news, and then continued forward, riding to the corner of the keep rather than the steps.
Spying Drostan, the stable boy, running toward them, Geordie peered down at Dwyn as he tried to decide the best way to dismount. Should he scoop her up and dismount with her already in his arms, which might jar her? Or should he dismount and lift her down and swing her about to get her in his arms without her feet touching the ground?
Dismounting with her, he decided. There was less risk of her wounded feet brushing the ground that way.
“Are we waiting for— Oh!” Dwyn gasped when he lifted her into his arms, his seat on the horse making him hold her high enough he could have licked and kissed her breasts were they not covered with the plaid.
“Hold on to me, Dwyn,” Geordie instructed gently, and waited until she’d wrapped her arms around his neck before lifting his left leg over the horse and saddle and then dropping to the ground. He managed the landing without too much of a jolt, but the plaid Dwyn had been holding on to fell to the ground.
“I’ll get it fer ye, m’laird,” Drostan said as he reached them, and rushed to his side to snatch up the fallen plaid. The boy’s eyes went to Dwyn’s feet as he straightened though, and he paused, clutching the cloth as his eyes widened. “Gor, m’laird. The lady’s feet are cut up something awful.”
“Aye, Drostan,” Geordie agreed solemnly. “Dwyn, this is Drostan, a fine young man who works in the stables. He’s going to be stable master one day when old Fergus retires.”
As Drostan beamed at the prediction, Geordie continued. “Drostan, this is Lady Dwyn Innes. The finest lady ye’ll ever rescue a plaid fer.”
Drostan turned his attention to Dwyn and gave an awkward half bow. “M’lady. ’Tis a right pleasure to meet ye.”
“Thank ye, Drostan. I’m right pleased to meet you too,” Dwyn assured him.
Geordie smiled at the pair of them, and then glanced to the plaid when Drostan held it out. After a hesitation, he said, “Can ye bring it along and come with us fer a minute, lad? I promised Lady Innes she could rest in the orchard fer a bit and enjoy the sun, but I canno’ hold her and lay out the plaid at the same time. I’m thinking I’ll need some help to get her safely situated.”
“O’ course, m’laird,” Drostan said eagerly, and fell into step with him as Geordie turned to head around the keep.
They hadn’t gone far before Drostan tugged at his plaid to get his attention. Once Geordie glanced to him in question, he asked, “Can I ask how the lady got her feet so cut up? Or does it pain her to talk about it?”
“Asking is fine,” Dwyn assured the boy before Geordie could respond. “Ye canno’ learn anything if ye do no’ ask, right?”
“Right,” Drostan agreed, smiling.
Dwyn grinned at him, and said, “I fear ’twas naught but a silly accident. Someone broke a goblet in the upper hall and I stepped on the pieces o’ glass when I came out o’ the garderobe.”
“They did no’ warn ye or anything?” the boy asked with dismay.
“There was no one there to warn me when I came out into the hall,” she explained.
“Oh. Well.” Drostan scrunched up his eight-year-old face with disgruntlement. “What kind o’ bampot leaves broken glass on a floor and does no’ clean it up, or stay to warn others o’ its presence?”
“Someone as silly as I was when I left me chamber in me bare feet,” Dwyn said wryly.
“Going barefoot is no’ silly,” Drostan assured her. “I am always barefoot. Unless ’tis winter,” he added. “But I’m always barefoot when ’tis warm like now. I would ha’e got cut up too had I no’ seen the glass and walked into it. Nay, ’tis no’ you who were silly, m’lady. Whoever did it was though. Or mean enough they just did no’ care if someone got cut up walking through the mess they’d made.” He tsked with disgust and shook his head. “I do no’ ken what Scotland is coming to with that kind o’ goings-on takin’ place.”
The boy had sounded like an old woman when he’d said that and Geordie felt a smile split his lips, even as he saw Dwyn grin. They shared their amusement with a look, and then Drostan said, “Well, I’m sure sorry ye’re suffering fer someone else’s folly, m’lady, and I’d be pleased to help in any way I can while ye’re healing.”
“Ye’re helping right now by agreeing to bring the plaid and lay it out fer us,” Dwyn assured him solemnly.
“Speaking o’ which,” Geordie said now, coming to a halt. “This is the spot, lad. Go on and lay out the plaid fer us, please. But try to make sure the bottom quarter of it is outside the shade cast by the tree—Lady Dwyn’s feet need sun.”