Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

  Ainsley adjusted his legs but he didn’t turn his head. Still, an improvement, which gave Joachim the impetus to sing louder, making up words in a jumble of nonsense that ought to have the prone man laughing in no time.

  But he made it through the song twice and still there was no more animation. He snapped again, waved his hand over the unseeing eyes and fought the quiver of panic that something was very wrong with the younger man.

  George had suffered shell shock, and Joachim had found a novel way to bring his mind back to the surface of reality. A method he’d never dared try with a patient or even another soldier.

  Anything was worth a try at this point. He needed to get the hell out of the bloody close and never venture back.

  Leaning over, he braced his hands by Graham’s opposite shoulder and shut his eyes.

  It’s not like the handsome bugger hasn’t tried to goad me into it since I arrived.

  Still, Joachim Cockburn was the last sort of man on earth to push himself on an unconscious man. He pressed his lips to the ginger’s in a medical insufflation. Not a kiss. He blew a breath into Ainsley’s mouth, feeling a right fool and refusing to partake in any delight at the way the soft lips opened under his. None whatsoever.

  He pulled his head back up in time to see Graham’s eyes flicker back to the present. Ainsley winced as he looked around and struggled to sit up. He rubbed the back of his skull and blinked at Joachim with all the innocence of a fallen angel.

  “Did you kiss me?” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as if tasting Joachim there.

  Struggling to stand, Joachim brushed his dusty palms on the fronts of his trousers. “I did not. I’d never kiss a man who couldn’t say yes. I was merely reviving you.”

  “Looks like I’m not the only one who was revived.” Ainsley’s eyes drifted to Joachim’s hips before his smile uncurled over those lips that Joachim assuredly hadn’t kissed. “I feel a bit like that princess who fell asleep in the brambles.” He rose to his feet in a swift movement that left him too near to Joachim’s body for comfort. A hand stroked his beard. “But this is softer than the thorns in the story. Feel free to do it again.”

  Joachim pushed Ainsley’s hand off and half turned to concentrate on anything besides the yearning to press their mouths together for real. He adjusted his trousers and said sternly, “It wasn’t a kiss. You fell down in a faint, can you remember why?”

  The younger man’s breath hitched as he scanned their close quarters. “Bugger, I’d forgotten where we were.” All the seduction in his voice evaporated, replaced by consternation. “Let’s leave.”

  Not that he wished to stay, but what had provoked Ainsley? he asked, quietly.

  “I must have gotten some sort of chill.” The brash man tidied his clothes back to perfection but wouldn’t make eye contact.

  A lie if there ever was one, but Joachim wouldn’t push. At least not too much. “Will you at least tell me if you encountered some sort of vision?”

  “Why? Did you?”

  He flicked the light of his torch down the far end of the close. “I did wonder if we’d surprised a pair of illicit lovers, or someone with nefarious purpose, but there’s no one down here but us, Dr. Graham.”

  Ainsley’s mouth moved as though he searched for words and then he exhaled deeply. “No. I didn’t see any ghosts. I was here once before as a lad and...well... I shouldn’t have come back.” A tremor of his jaw told Joachim there was much more to the story.

  He touched the other man’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Then why did you choose to bring me here?”

  “Honestly?”

  Joachim chuckled. “I’m hardly likely to ask you to tell a fib.”

  Ainsley placed his hand over top of Joachim’s. “Not to inflate your head, but there’s a security about you. Plus, you’re strong enough to have carried me out if you’d needed to.”

  As nice as that was to be praised, Joachim kept his face neutral. “You expected to pass out?” It made no sense.

  “It happened last time. Poor Charlie couldn’t drag me out, poor sod. He was a gibbering mess when I finally came back. Swore at me when I laughed and left me down here for the rest of the evening.”

  “Charlie’s your brother?”

  A bittersweet smile twisted Ainsley’s mouth. “Was.”

  His voice was gruff. “I hope he got a hiding for leaving you here.”

  “We both would have if I’d told tales.” Graham shrugged. “Turned out poor Charlie got a much worse punishment. So did I.” The ginger cast a last look around the old close with a shiver. “And now, let’s get out. It’s a nasty place. But it isn’t as horrifying as it has been in my memories. Thank you for sitting with me and bringing me back to life with your kiss.”

  “It wasn’t a kiss.”

  The cheeky blighter batted his lashes. “No? Then show me exactly what you did to me before, and let me be the judge. Because I’m quite certain that was a kiss and I’ll gladly give my consent.” He slid his arms around Joachim’s neck and rubbed their hips together.

  He could get drunk on the scent of the ginger’s skin. And from the way Ainsley clung to him, Joachim wasn’t the only one aching.

  What would it hurt?

  Thought he was too clever by half, did Graham.

  Joachim pressed his lips to Ainsley’s as gentle as a leaf, and the ginger’s eyes drooped shut oh so temptingly. Then Joachim blew as hard as he could, as he’d done before. Spluttering, Graham pushed him back, temper flashing like an outraged spaniel.

  It was all he could do to keep from getting stitches in his side. “Come along, Dr. Graham, or must I toss you over my shoulder?”

  “Feel free to toss me anywhere you like.” A saucy grin transformed the eccentric’s face. “Coming?”

  Joachim couldn’t help but stare at the perfection of the ginger’s bum as he sauntered back to the door leading to the modern street.

  Not yet, but perhaps I’ll revisit that idea sooner than later.

  Chapter Eight

  Ainsley

  “Do you have VD?” Ainsley parked the Austin in front of a pub in Pitlochry and removed the key from the ignition.

  “I beg your pardon? What did you ask me?” Joachim’s face—so recently placid and benign—curled into horror.

  “You know, like the clap. Or syphilis?” Was that the one that made you blind? Or insane? Both, maybe. Ainsley slid across the leather and didn’t need to whistle for Violet, who leapt from her perch on Joachim’s lap and bounded toward a clump of trees behind the building.

  Joachim remained in his seat, his fists clenched tight. Dear Lord, was that a sign of someone being caught out? Ainsley prayed not. The horrible non-kiss in the close ought to have dampened his resolve to have Joachim, but it didn’t. Nor did the hours in the car headed north. Their chatter was pleasant. Funny even, at times, though he couldn’t recall a single thing they’d discussed at the moment. Merely a sense that he wasn’t alone, and he hadn’t felt that since he lost his brother.

  He was starving. But this pub served a delicious lentil soup that rivaled any Ainsley’d ever tasted.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

  The foolish man still sat in the car, staring ahead. And when he turned, his lips pinched so tight they disappeared inside that beard somewhere. “No.”

  It was a definitive answer. Even more than the basic understanding of the word. Clipped and weighted behind with strength and fury.

  Ainsley shrugged and buttoned his blazer. “Suit yourself, I’m going to eat. And even have a beer. Come along, Violet.” He thumped his thigh and she raced over, ears back. At least she adored him.

  The door to the car slammed and Joachim matched his stride, digging into the dirt path with his walking stick.

  “I thought you weren’t going to eat.” But Ainsley held the door for him
and followed him to an age-smoothed wooden booth toward the right. Violet slipped underneath and curled back up. Dogs slept so much. It must be nice. Though deuced dull.

  Joachim shook his head as if he disbelieved something. Ainsley looked around—nothing out of the way. Men sitting at the bar with pint glasses, a few other tables with patrons eating.

  “I never said that.” Joachim drummed his fingers on the table, putting a smile on his companion’s face. He hadn’t told Joachim about that technique to hold his attention, had he? Perhaps Joachim had some latent psychic abilities. That would be a riot.

  “Wait—you just now said so.”

  Joachim glanced around and leaned forward over the table. Good heavens, Ainsley hoped he wasn’t going in for a kiss because this wasn’t the sort of place that a man could risk such a thing.

  Which was stupid, really.

  “It was the other question I responded no to.”

  Absolutely no clue what Cockburn spoke of. No worries. A young man came over and asked if they knew what they wished to eat. Ainsley reeled off their order; the delicious soup followed by fried haddock and potatoes, and two of whatever was on draft.

  “You’re exasperating, did you know?” Joachim leaned back against the high wood back of the bench and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “What do you mean?” Because that was unfair. Ainsley’d been as attentive as possible for hours now.

  “It’s quite heavy-handed to order for me when I hadn’t a chance to hear what they served.” Joachim was still handsome, even with a scowl on his face. It didn’t appear angry as much as pouty because those lips were round and full and quite pink against the golden-tipped hair of his beard.

  “Shall I call him back? You’re welcome to eat whatever you wish to—I couldn’t care less.” Unless it was his cock.

  He grinned without meaning to and that precious blush swarmed up the skin of Joachim’s neck and ears. He really must be psychic, because Ainsley hadn’t said that aloud.

  Dear God—had he?

  He’d been good all day not mentioning anything to do with his plans for the evening. It was best to catch Joachim unawares and let him pine a bit. He had been—Ainsley caught him staring over and over again on the ride up. He hadn’t even adjusted his trousers when they almost cut off his circulation, because that bulging area in particular caught his companion’s attention with a single-mindedness that nearly made Ainsley blush. If he were the type to, that is.

  He had a truly excellent tailor.

  “No, I don’t mind soup and fish. I wish you’d waited for me to decide on my own.” Joachim tapped his fingers again. He lowered his voice. “And I meant that I don’t have any diseases.”

  Ainsley’s mouth dropped. Christ on a stick—was Joachim telling him this in an opening volley for sex later, because if so—they could stay two nights in Pitlochry and spend this one in a private room instead of the cold, damp ground in a tent.

  Because the tent would be a bit of a squeeze, especially with Violet in the picture.

  But she could stay outside for that bit. No need for the dog to witness how he planned to debauch Joachim so he could end this fixation. Funny word; debauch. It sounded as wanton as...well, wanton.

  The soup and beer were placed in front of them and after his first sip—he was parched from all that driving with such a hangover—he traced his finger around the rim.

  He’d much rather do that to Joachim’s arse, frankly.

  Lord, was the man waiting for a response? “I don’t have any diseases, either.” Not Ainsley’s usual flirtatious repartee, but better to have the discussion out now rather than in a dark tent where it would be difficult to see clearly.

  Should he mention those...flea creatures he’d had the one time? It was easily four years earlier—before Ainsley was adept at surreptitious examinations. He’d say something if asked specifically, but not otherwise.

  The soup was as delicious as he remembered. The two of them slurped in unison. Companionable. Ainsley stretched his leg over Violet’s back and propped his calf on the bench next to Joachim. No reaction. He rocked his heel and tapped his foot against Joachim’s thigh. It was as hard as it looked, God almighty.

  Joachim slid over a fraction. For show, because he was still easy to reach.

  He rolled his eyes. “Stop, Graham. I don’t have enough pairs of trousers with me to manage if these get dirty.”

  Ainsley smirked. Joachim would have to make sure he took them off before he got on his knees, then, because it was rather soggy outside. Wouldn’t want to muddy them all up.

  “Do I even want to know what’s making you look so devilish?” Joachim ripped a crust of bread off and stuffed it in his mouth. But he didn’t look angry.

  “The very same thing I was thinking yesterday.” Ainsley licked the back of the spoon. Not the best prop, but it would do. “I believe I made myself clear then?”

  At first, Joachim dropped his eyes and Ainsley kicked himself for letting the cat out of the bag when there was no way to follow up surrounded by so many people. And then Joachim raised his face, a hint of a smile playing on those lips. “There’s some merit to the idea, I suppose.”

  Bloody hell, really? A tingling buzz raced down his spine.

  Cockburn ran his tongue over his lips. Cruel bastard. “But...”

  Dear God. “What?” Ainsley didn’t recognize the breathlessness in his own voice. “What?”

  Chewing the inside of his cheek, Joachim raised a shoulder in a half shrug. “I remembered something you said at breakfast.”

  Ainsley could barely remember what he’d said five minutes ago, how was he to combat something from breakfast? And he’d been hungover. And cross still. The drive and the companionship pushed it all away.

  “What was it? Don’t leave me in suspense.” He stroked his thumb over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist, soothing himself into focus. This wasn’t a conversation he wished to fumble.

  “It’s stupid. I know it is. But, who’s Hugh?” Joachim cringed after he asked and finished his soup in a rush.

  Ainsley wasn’t known as an empathetic man. Not by a mile. But something about the worried crease in Joachim’s brows made him wish he knew how to make it go away.

  “Hugh?” His nerves heightened. Who the fuck was Hugh? Right. He grinned. “He’s the man I planned to seduce last night, but he didn’t arrive. You showed up instead, remember?”

  Potatoes and fish were set down. Haddock was lovely when prepared correctly, and this was. Flaky and battered just right. Especially with malt vinegar, though he didn’t wish it to touch his potatoes, so he scooted them over with his fork.

  After supper, he’d drive to that place in the woods where he’d pitched his tent last time. Then perhaps they’d walk back over to the pub for another round of drinks until it got dark. The thing that lurked by the hedge never made its presence known until it was quite black outside.

  “Sorry,” said Joachim, not sounding it.

  “Pardon?” Ainsley blinked at Joachim, fork in midair. “What are you sorry for?”

  “Not being Hugh.” Joachim pushed his hair off his forehead and watched Ainsley’s face for something. What?

  Ainsley winked. “It’s no bother. I ended up going to the club in Edinburgh to find him.” He tipped his glass back and drained it. “Will you have another?”

  Joachim’s lips stretched into a shape resembling a smile but that didn’t touch his eyes. “Why not?”

  Why not, indeed?

  He settled the bill at the bar. Joachim seemed the type to wish to pay, yet from the look of his frayed cuffs, it might be a struggle for him. Ainsley, on the other hand, had plenty of money. And, now that he was out, it was nice to be away from Rosethorne for a few days. It was getting stuffy.

  “Tell me about the plans for the evening.” Joachim stared right at him and mad
e it impossible for Ainsley to disappear into his murky mind.

  So he explained. “It’s not a spirit in the sense of the ones that speak to me. Those were all people at some point, and this—thing—is unable to communicate. I’ve tried twice now.”

  Joachim’s face read amused disbelief with the way his head cocked to one side and his eyebrows raised. “And you see this—whatever it is—rather than hearing it?”

  “My good man,” Ainsley started, making it clear he used the term sarcastically, “how are you so sure that there are no such things as ghosts?”

  Snapping his mouth shut, Joachim took a moment to think. “Because if there were, people would know it.” It was wrong that man still looked so fuckable when he was dismissing Ainsley like a chump.

  It always seemed to frustrate Ainsley’s adversaries that he could remain calm during a debate. His fork poised in the air, halfway to his lips. “Do you know, I’ve never heard of a culture that doesn’t have stories about spirits. Have you?”

  “Well, no, but that’s not my expertise.”

  Ainsley flashed his most cherubic smile. “It is mine. Folklore—not ghosts. But so many old stories have some sort of basis in historical fact. I’m not sure I understand why you’re so adamant that this isn’t one of them.”

  The tips of Joachim’s ears reddened but he continued to slice his fish as if it was the only thing on his mind. He had lovely cheekbones, Cockburn did. High and slanted and curving back toward his ears, which were unremarkable other than the lobes, which begged to be sucked. Begged.

  Then Cockburn snapped his fingers under Ainsley’s nose, as if he wasn’t paying attention.

  “The Hebrews.”

  Ainsley was lost. “The Hebrews?”

  “No mention of ghosts in the Bible.”

  “Good Lord, Mr. Cockburn. I might be more than usually irreverent but even I know that the book is full of spirit this and spirit that.”

  “The holy spirit? It’s not the same thing. Have you even ever read it?” The prat. Fuck him—Cockburn could get muddy knees for all Ainsley cared.