Off Kilter. Donna Kauffman

      

       Off Kilter

      DONNA

      KAUFFMAN

      

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

      BRAVA BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2011 Donna Kauffman

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      Brava and the B logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6802-0

      eISBN-10: 0-7582-6802-5

      First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: January 2011

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      Printed in the United States of America

       For Joanne … Your Grasshopper appreciates everything you’ve taught her.

      I would also like to acknowledge, once again, the talent, generosity, and support of all the wonderful weavers I have met while researching this series. Joanne and Linda, you have introduced me to such an amazing world! I can’t thank you enough. Please excuse the artistic liberties I’ve taken, and know that any mistakes made were surely my own.

      CONTENTS

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Epilogue

       Chapter 1

      Roan McAuley had never been opposed to getting naked.

      He wasn’t even averse to the idea of cameras being involved. Or being outside all the while. He drew the line, however, at having an audience and being the only one going full monty.

      Shee sighed deeply.

      He’d only known her a few hours, yet he was already intimately familiar with the deep sigh.

      “Drop the kilt, hot stuff, and let’s get on with this, okay?”

      Because he wasn’t having enough fun getting naked in front of his fellow clansmen—and women—he also had the distinct pleasure of going full commando in front of never-so-pleasant Tessa Vandergriff. What had he done to deserve that? And, more to the point, her?

      “Aye, drop the plaid, mon! What are ye afraid of?”

      That hearty exhortation brought cheers from the assembled crowd.

      Roan scowled in the general direction of his soon to be exbest friend, Graham MacLeod. “Careful, there, mate, or I’ll run off with your lovely fiancée and leave you eligible for this particular disgrace.”

      “Disgrace? I dinnae think so, lad. ‘Tis an honor.”

      “Donning the plaid is an honor.” Aiming to maintain some semblance of being in charge of the insanity, he sent a cheeky wink in the general direction of the ladies assembled in the crowd. Some of them were old enough to be his grandmother. What had the world come to, he wanted to know? “Doffing the plaid,” he went on, “while often a prelude to fun is something I prefer to do in a more intimate gathering.”

      Graham chuckled, but Tessa merely rolled her eyes, so Roan played straight to his strength, and called out to the crowd directly. “The lot of you surely have better things to do with yerselves, now,” he admonished with a twinkle in his eye and the flash of a dimple, “than stand about, hopin’ as ye are, to ogle the naughty bits of the mon who’s made it his duty and honor to do right by ye no matter the circumstance—including putting his integrity and pride aside to save our puir, wee island home. So, go on now with yer husbands and loved ones and ogle each other’s bits and pieces. I’m guaranteeing we’ll all hae a more enjoyable end to our day.”

      There was a pause, which continued on long enough for hope to build in his heart that perhaps his good humor, not to mention being a good sport about taking part in that cockamamie scheme, had shamed them into leaving him be. Then auld Eliza MacLeod—his very own secretary, no less—who’d celebrated her seventy-third year of tyranny on this good, green earth a mere week ago Tuesday, stepped forward … and began clapping her hands. Along with that, she let loose a whistle that likely set half the dogs on Kinloch to howling.

      “Och, young Roan McAuley, charmin’ scamp that ye are, dinnae ye be tellin’ us how to spend our Saturday eve. I daresay we know how to amuse ourselves. If that includes ogling yer Godly gifted bits, then we’ll do what pleases us.” She looked to the other women gathered around her and winked. “What say you, ladies? Is watching this bonny lad make a spectacle of himself what pleases us?”

      The grins grew wider, and others picked up the clapping, which turned quickly to cheering. The men that peppered the crowd, initially abashed by the openly assertive stance of their women, quickly picked up the chant, perhaps sensing the benefits to be had later that evening if they supported their partners. Hoots and hollers followed, along with repeated taunts of “Drop the plaid!” and “Are yer bits truly so Godly gifted? Proof! Proof!”

      Roan turned a scowl toward Graham. “You know, there is surely some law about this on the books somewhere. If Shay were here—”

      “He’d be standing right here, betting me money on this,” his friend cut in with a chuckle. “In fact, I have a few pounds riding on this myself.”

      “We’re burning daylight, gentleman.” Tessa straightened, her long red curls catching in the warm breeze and lifting out from