Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

“I’ve read your books,” Joachim said. “You were making quite a name for yourself as one of the leading scholars on British folklore before...” Shite—he hadn’t meant to phrase that with such awkwardness.

  “Before I ruined my reputation, you mean?” Ainsley sniffed and dug a bit harder into Joachim’s muscles. “That wasn’t on purpose. Not really.”

  Joachim had read the news, which even traveled down to Durham. A blurb in the evening post that he’d have missed if his sister, Elin, hadn’t specifically brought it to his attention. But since Joachim was planning on doing his research about delusions, she’d commented that it would be of interest to him.

  Graham had been teaching a class at the University of Edinburgh, and some of the students complained that he insisted that the stories he taught them were real. That was harmless enough, but he chattered to ghosts in class, according to some. But another faculty member had demanded he’d be removed after he gave a lecture to the city at large—widely attended because by then he’d already been in the papers—and showed the world that he wasn’t in his right mind.

  Now that he’d met Ainsley, Joachim had a moment’s dizzying shame that he’d written the man off as a loon because he believed he spoke to ghosts.

  “Is it something you’d like to explain? Or shall you tell me to shove it up my arse? Because I won’t bother you about it again, if that’s the case.” Joachim flashed his most genuine smile. “I’m just curious.”

  “If I was going to shove something up your arse, it wouldn’t be that, I assure you.” Ainsley winked, but the sentiment—even as vulgar as it was—set Joachim’s belly fluttering.

  Would there be another tumble? He’d enjoy it, but told himself to have no expectations. Theirs wasn’t a lifestyle prone to familiarity, after all. God, his throat tightened. But he’d love to be naked one more time with Ainsley. If only to prove that his experience felt so perfect only because it had been so long since he’d been with another man.

  Ainsley either forgot the question or chose not to answer, and he’d not bother the man about it again.

  The wind picked up, and Ainsley dragged his chair closer to Joachim’s so they could block it together. They shared a rug and passed the thermos back and forth between them. Joked it would be nicer if it was whiskey, but alcohol would cloud their minds, and Ainsley appeared as determined to prove himself right as Joachim planned to show he was mistaken.

  A puff of wind across the back of Joachim’s neck made every hair on his body rise up. He rubbed his hands over his arms with vigor to warm up, but a cloud or something had settled and lowered the temperature by at least ten degrees. He could see his breath.

  He checked his wristwatch—it was quarter till twelve, and he wouldn’t have expected it to grow so cold until later in the morning.

  Ainsley sniffed the air like a dog, sitting up awkwardly in the sling-back chair. He glanced at Joachim, eyes wide. “It’s here. Put your shoe back on,” he whispered, pushing Joachim’s foot off his lap. The order was obeyed without question. But slowly. Not a rush.

  Joachim wasn’t going to fall into the trap of misinterpreting something because he was mixed up in Ainsley’s delusions.

  With his shoe on, Joachim stood and stretched his arms over his head, turning at a ninety-degree angle and darting his eyes from side to side to take a lay of the land.

  Nothing.

  The damp chill seeped through his wool suit to his bones and sucked away all of the benefit from his long massage. Grabbing his walking stick, he called for Violet to come with him toward the hedge.

  He had to take a piss, to be honest, and it was as good a place as any to do so.

  Ainsley Graham’s laugh rang out behind him. “I didn’t figure you for such a risk taker, Cockburn,” he said, sauntering up next to him and unbuttoning his own fly.

  “Do you see anything?” Joachim asked, tucking everything back in its place.

  “No, but—”

  A gust of wind blew Joachim’s cap off his head and knocked him back a few steps.

  “Bloody hell. That came out of nowhere.” He bent to retrieve his hat and clapped it back on his head, pulling it tight against his skull.

  Ainsley was lost, however; eyes locked on something in the dark that Joachim couldn’t make out.

  “Everything all right, Graham?”

  Violet whimpered and sniffed at the hedge, racing back and forth over the area that was free of leaves and growth.

  A ghastly cold sensation like someone had cracked an egg that dripped down Joachim’s head in all directions, and he squinted into the dark. What was that? He’d never felt this before, but it was draining and more miserable than he ever felt. And he was quite accustomed to melancholy.

  Something was there. Something that puffed cold air and had a raspy voice.

  Joachim stepped closer, but Ainsley’s arm flung out to stop him. “Step back now, Cockburn,” he said under his breath, not glancing his way.

  “What is it...?” He scanned the trees and the hedge and the flowering laburnum. The deadened bits of hedge where life didn’t take root. There was an outline of a long-armed creature hanging over the hedge, reaching toward the two of them.

  “Step back, you numpty,” said Ainsley with force. “Take the dog and go. Run.”

  Joachim hesitated. But the hairs all over his body stood up, like all of the joy in the world was gone. Like he was back in a damned no-man’s land waiting for hours and hours—listening to George die—and his determination to stop it wasn’t enough.

  “Run,” howled Ainsley.

  So he ran. Not well, and with a good amount of pain, but he raced to the car, which was thankfully unlocked. Violet clambered in behind him and Ainsley wasn’t twenty seconds after. He switched the key and threw it into reverse without a word, backed onto the road and raced toward Pitlochry as fast as the automobile could go.

  “What was that?” Joachim still shivered as though he’d never warm up.

  Ainsley’s eyes glittered with excitement or the rush or lunacy. Perhaps all three.

  “It’s not a spirit, because I told you; I can’t speak to it. But it’s horrible.” He winked at Joachim, his hand dropping to his thigh and squeezing. “And that’s one down for me. A few more to go and you’ll know I’m not insane. Let’s celebrate.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ainsley

  In the rush of terror and adrenaline, Ainsley was still pleased that Joachim had also experienced the thing. He regulated his breathing with deep inhalations and equally deep exhalations, until the road in front of him came back into focus and he was no longer driving blind.

  Just as he pulled in front of the only inn in Pitlochry that took guests without a letter of introduction, so it no longer mattered.

  “Where are we?” Cockburn’s teeth chattered, and he covered Ainsley’s hand on his thigh with his own as if hanging on for dear life.

  By tomorrow he’d have convinced himself he saw nothing, but for this moment, Ainsley knew better.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on sleeping back in that blasted tent tonight.” He pried Joachim’s fingers off his so he could straighten the car.

  “Th-the tent? No.” Joachim forced something like a smile that came off like a grimace.

  He bent down to look into the side mirror of the Austin and mussed his hair, and then glanced at Joachim. He was disheveled all on his own. If they were to be rude enough to wake the inn past midnight, they’d need to look as though there was good reason for it.

  Ainsley led the way to the front door, which was unlocked. No surprise in a small village like Pitlochry, but he needed the innkeeper. He knocked and waited.

  After a few minutes, a man appeared and pushed back the curtain over the door’s window. Judging them to be respectable enough—which they were—look at his motorcar and the cut of his trouse
rs—he opened the door with a creak.

  “Sorry to bother you so late, but my friend and I are traveling the country and camping. We saw the most dreadful...thing—”

  The man held up his hand. “I can’t tell you how much of my custom comes from men like you hoping for a good scare and then showing up here with mess in their pants.”

  Ainsley bit back his smile. His trousers were free of any mess, of any kind.

  “You’ll not mind sharing a room? I’ve only one at the ready.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, Cockburn?” Ainsley wrinkled his forehead and let his shoulders slump. “Can we manage for one evening?”

  Joachim’s eyes flared with interest for a split second before he scowled. “Yes, but you might have to sleep on the floor.”

  A thrill of excitement burst like fireworks in Ainsley’s chest. Peculiar. He’d enjoyed his experience with Joachim, but enough to repeat it? As they made their way down the dimly lit hall to their room, his eyes dropped to the hard muscles of Cockburn’s bum. Why yes, thank you very much.

  The innkeeper wouldn’t allow Violet in the room, but she was allowed to sleep on the brick floor in the kitchen, warmed by the range. Their room was nearby, tucked in the back of the house.

  “We don’t use it much,” said the innkeeper, frowning as he examined the space. “I suppose I could—”

  “It’s fine,” said Ainsley and Joachim in one breath.

  Bugger, he couldn’t giggle. But this was perfect. No one downstairs to listen and wonder what they were up to. He excused himself to run back to the boot of his car for his special emergency rucksack saved for situations like this one. Always best to be prepared for sex.

  As he knocked at the door, his mother’s voice whispered in his ear, “He is really a lovely man, Ainsley, darling—”

  “Not now, Mama.”

  The Englishman—not wearing his shirt or trousers—lifted his head, startled. A line appeared between his eyebrows. “Did you say Mama?”

  Ainsley slammed the door shut a wee bit harder than he ought, considering the time of night, but he wanted to make sure Mama didn’t follow him in. “Don’t mind me. Just nerves.”

  He surveyed Mr. Cockburn, who surveyed him right back. All the testosterone in the room made goose bumps rise across his arms and legs. They were next to the kitchen, so it was warm and smelt of steak pie.

  And men with erections poised and ready.

  Ainsley not only turned the key in the lock, he removed it and tossed it on the bureau.

  He yawned a mock yawn that turned into a real one the way yawns were wont to do. His companion yawned back and the next thing he knew, they were on the bed wearing nothing but their pants and Joachim’s tongue was halfway down his throat.

  Which was a good place for it.

  Not the best, but a reasonable starting position.

  He slung his leg over Joachim’s decadently muscular thighs and drew his hand through the thicket of hair that made his fingertips tingle with friction.

  Oh yes, there would be fucking.

  But then the older man dislodged his tongue from Ainsley’s tonsils and sat up. Raised brows and glanced at his wristwatch. “Damn, it’s later than I thought.” He gave Graham a watery smile. “Would you get the light? I’ll do my best not to snore, and ask the same of you.”

  Ainsley’s mouth dropped. And then he snapped it shut.

  Stuff and nonsense.

  His companion turned back the bedclothes and slipped inside. Studiously not looking at Ainsley, who tried to make sense of it all, Joachim pulled off his pants and let them drop to the floor. “Good night.”

  Swallowing hard, Ainsley waited for the punch line.

  Cockburn rolled over and squinted at the light as though Ainsley ought to have turned it off by now.

  Bugger.

  “I want to apologize for being such a ninny earlier. That fog covered the moon and made me think something was actually there.”

  What? No no no no. It was necessary for his plan that Joachim admitted that he also saw the thing.

  Ainsley exhaled angrily. “There was something there, Cockburn, and you were affected as much as I was.”

  Joachim frowned and opened one eye. “It reminded me of the war, and I think my mind went back to that past trauma. Made me imagine things.” Joachim made a fucking show of snuggling into his pillow, smile on his face, and released a deep sigh as though he could will himself to sleep.

  Not in the bloody cards, mate. Even if you are a priggish clod with no imagination.

  Fucking was in the cards; Barley’d promised.

  But after a few minutes of no other attention, Ainsley flicked off the light with a huff and threw back the covers—on Cockburn’s damned side as well, though the bastard clutched at his like an old lady scared of the fucking dark—and he stretched out.

  Ought he lie on the edge, or right up next to Joachim to remind him of what he could be having right this very moment? He decided teasing and tantalizing were best and pressed his body along the hulk’s. Take that.

  Ainsley never offered himself twice. What was the point? But this was a wholly different thing because they were forced to be together in this room, alone. Why not make the most of it? Many men would have seized the chance—he knew from the ridiculous amounts of beseeching letters and telephone calls he’d gotten in his life.

  He was willing to allow Joachim to bask in the warmth of his arms and mouth for a second go, and the bugger slept. Small rumbles emanated from the body next to him. Were they fake? Surely no one fell asleep that quickly, did they?

  Honestly though, Ainsley could have been standing there gawping for ten minutes. Twenty, even. But still. It was dark and he was him and what was wrong with Cockburn?

  An uncomfortable chill settled on his chest. He hadn’t been...unworthy of a second fuck, had he? Ghastly thought. But no. Ainsley was fun in bed. Wasn’t he?

  This bed was soft enough. If one cared about things like that. Poor Violet was asleep in the kitchen. He ought to go and get her and sneak her in, but he’d never wake in time to sneak her back out, and the hostelry might charge double.

  What was that hedge thing? He was rather pleased that Joachim saw it too because he did worry, every once in a while, that he was as mad as they all said and the Englishman was dull enough to be perfectly sane, and so if he also saw what Ainsley saw, it went to prove that Ainsley was sane.

  Ergo.

  He ought to have said ergo Ainsley was sane.

  Only sane people didn’t refer to themselves in the third person, did they?

  Bugger, perhaps he was as barmy as Trixie always said he was.

  And Cockburn was asleep for real. The rumbles were steady and deepening with each breath he took.

  Ainsley had been very interested to see if Joachim wanted to play that game again. The one where they pretended Joachim was in charge and Ainsley had to follow directions.

  As if that could ever really happen in real life.

  But it appeared that wasn’t enough of an enticement for Cockburn.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Joachim

  Joachim shook awake as though from a bad dream or a loud noise.

  Or a lover using his body as a mattress. Ainsley’s leg was thrown across Joachim’s thigh, his slender arm and cheek over Joachim’s chest. With a small puddle of drool.

  He kissed the top of Ainsley’s head once, then twice, unable to hold back. He traced the side of his hand down the planes of Ainsley’s handsome face, and his lips lifted into a smile while he slept.

  The only man he’d ever shared a bed with—not an army bedroll or down in the trenches, an actual bed—was that one weekend with George. And that hadn’t made Joachim’s heart thump in his chest the way waking up tangled up with Ainsley did.

  T
he Scotsman had been so annoyed when Joachim rolled over, hadn’t he? How often had Ainsley Graham been thwarted in his entire life?

  Not often enough.

  It was good for him.

  Hazy light filtered through the gingham curtains, casting a washed-out glow that still couldn’t subdue the flame of Ainsley’s hair. Memories of the day before, in the tent, inspired Joachim’s cock to wake up.

  Please. Tell me what to do.

  Dear Lord, Graham wished to give up control. He’d done it so beautifully too, it was a wonder Joachim was able to last as long as he had, those pretty gray eyes pleading with him to come and be done with it.

  And yet, he held back enough that Joachim didn’t.

  He rubbed Ainsley’s arms in the same soft stroke he’d watched him do to himself over and over, but he wouldn’t go any further while the man slept and had no say. Lucky for him, Ainsley blinked and his prick pressed to Joachim’s thigh.

  “Good morning,” he said, and tilted Ainsley’s mouth up for a kiss before he was awake enough to take on his arrogant tone and demand Joachim kneel down at his feet. He was game for that. Very game.

  Ainsley’s arms wrapped around his neck and pulled his mouth tighter, his tongue pressing past his lips. Ainsley pushed him down and explored his mouth. God damn, he was ready to be yanked asunder when a light flashed behind his eyes.

  That near-snarl on Ainsley’s face when he’d kissed him yesterday in that haze of post-orgasmic tenderness. Joachim didn’t wish to see that again. The Scotsman had also enjoyed being told what to do in bed, and Joachim was eager to try that again.

  Barreling Ainsley over with his substantial self, Joachim pinned a thigh between his own, the heels of his palms holding the younger man’s shoulders to the bed. Heavy-lashed eyes widened and then caught fire as Ainsley’s body stiffened and then melted under his weight, a slight nod to give his approval.

  He nosed the soft spot between Ainsley’s neck and shoulder and pressed his teeth—not enough to break skin but hard enough to leave a mark. Just to wake Graham all the way up. It worked and he ran his hands down Joachim’s chest, lower to his abdomen. Lower.