Gaila is sitting on the bed surrounded by tartan fabric when Montgomery enters his quarters. She looks up and smiles brightly. “Good evening, Montgomery.”
“Gaila! Did we have plans?” He looks at the bed suspiciously before focusing on her. “What are ye doing, lass?”
“I am fixing your skirts,” she informs him. “Yeomand Harris is fond of old-fashioned sewing, and she has taught me the skill. Your skirts are much too long, so I am shortening them.”
“Skirts? Those aren’t skirts!” Montgomery swells up and his cheeks turn the particular shade of pink that she finds beautiful. “Those are my kilts, woman. They don’t need shortening.”
“I do not approve of you using that term in such a way.” She tilts her head slightly and studies him. “They are skirts. I have several myself, though none in these fabrics. Those two are very itchy, so I think you should get rid of them or you’ll get a rash. I like the others, though.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. Bloody hell, I’m the one who should be angry! Stop making me apologize,” he protests, scowling as he walks to the bed and takes the skirt from her hands. He blinks and stares when he sees that she is not wearing a shirt.
Gaila stands up, letting him see the shortened skirt that she is wearing. “This one, in particular, looks wonderful with my skin, doesn’t it?”
“Beautiful.” He gulps and looks at the fabric on the bed before looking at her again. “They’re supposed to be long when I wear them, lass. If I wore them that short, me arse and bits would be hanging out.”
“You have a very nice bottom, Montgomery. Why would you not wish to show it off?” She steps closer to him and takes the skirt from his hands. After she puts it on the bed, she brings his hands over to touch the hem that she has sewn by all herself. “I did good work, didn’t I?”
“You’re bare underneath that!” He actually squeaks, and she watches the lovely pink shade return.
“My research told me that it is traditional to be bare beneath your native skirts. Was my information inaccurate?” She moves his hand closer to her, pressing it against her bare thigh while smiling at him. She has practiced this smile with Jim in order to make sure that it is convincing when she requires the need to be innocent. Montgomery either believes it or chooses to humor her, though she is never entirely sure which.
“How many of my kilts did you hem?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over her skin until she is breathless.
“Just two,” she admits. “I wanted a new skirt, and I knew you would share if you saw how nice it looks.”
“Don’t touch the others, and it’s yours,” he tells her, slowly moving his hand higher. “And you did an excellent job with that hem, lass. Bloody good sewing.”
She smiles and leans up to kiss him before she pulls him down onto the pile of tartan. “I will not shorten them. I think I prefer to be the only one who sees what is hidden beneath them. Now, show me how good you are with your hands, Montgomery.”
End
Sewing Project
Story Notes:
January 1, 2010