“What now?”
Dressed in a red kilt, Niall took a startled step back. He turned to leave, taking with him an armful of blue-and-green tartan.
Trick reached to grab his elbow. “Forgive me, Niall. I thought you were Mrs. Ross. Not that I should have been barking at her, either.” He blew out a breath before turning to face Kendra. “And I’m sorry I was so short-tempered with you.”
“I understand,” she said softly. The stomacher safely attached, she smoothed her skirts and put a hand to her disheveled hair.
Niall didn’t seem to notice it, however. “Patrick didn’t get any sleep,” he told her.
“Did you not?” She cocked her head at her husband speculatively. “Any at all?”
“Nay. Niall and I stayed up with Mam.” Kendra thought she caught a look of surprise when he heard his own use of the name. “We did some keening.”
“Did you?” She couldn’t imagine.
“Ochone!”Trick sang, the word vibrating up to the beamed ceiling, and Niall laughed, breaking the tension.
“Come in,” her husband said, closing the door behind his brother.
Niall aimed a glance at Trick’s bare legs and then held out the length of tartan. “I’ve brought you this.”
Trick made no move to take it.
“I thought you might like to wear it to the burial.”
“My father wasn’t Scottish.”
“Your mother was.” Niall pushed the woolen fabric into Trick’s arms, along with a wide leather belt. “This isn’t Munroe tartan,” he added, brushing at his own red Munroe kilt. “It’s Mam’s family’s—ourfamily’s—colors. Wear it in her honor. Just this once. She’d have been proud to see you in it.”
A long silence stretched between them while Trick shifted the cloth in his hands, a range of conflicting emotions playing across his face. “I don’t know how to wear it,” he said at last.
His brother’s smile managed to look sad, pleased, and relieved, all at the same time. “That I can help you with.” He placed the belt on the floor and crouched beside it, his own kilt skimming the wooden planks as he folded the tartan into pleats and arranged it on top of the leather. “Lie down on this,” he instructed.
Trick’s lips quirked. “You’re jesting.”
“Nay. The only way to get it on properly is to lie down.”
Kendra squelched a laugh as her husband looked askance at his brother, then sighed and lowered his big frame to the floor.
“Nay, move up,” Niall said. “The belt must be at your waist.” After Trick scooted higher, his brother went about wrapping the pleated material around him and belting it securely. “Now you can stand,” he said, offering him a hand up.
Trick flexed his knees experimentally while Niall took the large expanse of fabric above the belt and tucked it into the front, crisscrossing it to make what was essentially two big pockets. Then he drew up the extra cloth in back and draped it over Trick’s shoulders.
Trick took a few steps, watching the kilt sway around his knees.
“Feels odd,” he said. “What is worn underneath?”
Niall glanced down at his own kilt. “Nothing is worn. Everything underneath is in good working order.” He looked up with an engaging grin.
Kendra’s gaze drifted over to her husband, who looked mildly scandalized. He also looked devastatingly handsome. Better even than he had in his black highwayman garb, or maybe it was just knowing there was nothing underneath.
The very thought of that brought heat to her cheeks.
“Well?” Niall asked, and she glanced up to find both men focused on her. “How does he look?”
She felt her cheeks burn even hotter. “F-fine,” she managed.
“I cannot wait to get it off,” Trick grumbled.
