by Caroline Lee
Alistair’s brows shot up. “He’s going to marry her?”
“Och, nay.” Lara shook her head, amused at the idea. “But she’s going to move into his chambers. They decided they’ll no’ be sneaking around anymore, which is why yer da claimed her so publicly tonight.” She lowered her voice in an approximation of the laird’s. “I’m too auld to be creeping through drafty corridors at night!”
Chuckling, Alistair pulled her down for a quick kiss. “Ye’re adorable, love, but dinnae do an impression of my father when we’re in bed together, aright?”
“Noted,” she agreed with a grin. “But my point is…with Mam moving in with yer father, and Brohn already settled into the barracks, I thought…” She shrugged, suddenly awkward, and dropped her gaze to his chin. “If ye wanted, we could share my chamber. The bed is much bigger, and I ken ye like it.”
It wasn’t until he placed a finger under her chin and lifted, that she was able to look him in the eyes again. He was smiling.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Lara. Kiergan and I shared a chamber when we were younger, and although he claims he never brings women to that bed, I have nae need to bring my wife there.”
A feeling of contentment shot through her at the word wife. After tomorrow, they’d belong to each other, in the eyes of God and the clan.
Finally.
She smiled softly. “I love ye, Alistair.”
“Not as much as I love ye, Lara.”
Her grin turned wicked as she pushed herself upright, then reached for his manhood. When her fingers wrapped around its hard length, he sucked in a breath. “I doubt that. I have more experience.”
“More experience…at what?” he managed.
She was already leaning down, but paused to peek up at him. “At loving ye.” She’d loved him for years, after all.
“What are ye doing?” His question ended in a moan when she licked the already-seeping tip of his cock.
“I’m returning the favor.” He’d brought her such pleasure when he’d kissed her there, so she intended to do the same. “Lie still and let me explore,” she commanded.
She knew the exact moment he gave up control and relaxed against the pillows. His hands uncurled from their fists, and he exhaled. “Aye, love,” he whispered, closing his eyes and giving himself up to her.
Smiling, she bent to her task, knowing no matter what happened with the lairdship, she would remind him how to always have fun.
Epilogue
This seemed like a fine time to get drunk, but Kiergan was failing at that too.
Just one of many things.
His entire life, he’d always been the jokester, the one who was good for only one thing: bringing women pleasure. It seemed as though anything else he tried, he failed at. Or mayhap not actually failed…but with five brothers, there was always someone who was better than him at everything.
Even getting drunk.
He peered down at the flagon in his hand and realized ‘twas empty. With a sigh, he tossed it down on the table in front of him and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He leaned back in the chair and watched the revelers dancing in the center of the great hall.
There was Rocque, holding Merewyn around the waist as he spun her. Her red hair flowed behind her as she tilted her head back and laughed happily. Duncan and Skye were less exuberant, but ‘twas clear they had eyes only for one another.
Malcolm wasn’t dancing, but he had his new son Liam perched atop his shoulders as he chatted with Father Ambrose and Aunt Agatha. Beside him, his wife Evelinde patted the younger bairn’s bottom as she swayed. And across the way, Finn stood with his arms around Fiona’s waist, his chin propped on her shoulder as they watched the dancing.
Kiergan blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand across his face. And Alistair was even now in his solar, making love to his soon-to-be wife, if Kiergan didn’t miss his guess.
He’d known for some time that his friend Lara carried a torch for Alistair—he’d learned it from Nessa, although he’d never betray that confidence. It had been hard, but he’d subtly tried to push the two of them together.
And when subtle didn’t work, he’d taken matters into his own hands and lied. He’d been the one to suggest the birthday celebration to Da, and the older man had been enthusiastic about it. The lie had come when Kiergan had claimed Da wanted Alistair and Lara to work together—‘twas the only way he could think of to force the two of them into the same space for any amount of time.
It had worked.
Slowly, a grin grew on Kiergan’s face. Not the charming smile he was known for, but something more personal.
Well, I’ll be fooked. Apparently I am good at something. Matchmaking.
Nay, ‘twasnae fair. He was good at three things now:
Matchmaking.
Lovemaking.
And the clan’s correspondence.
When Alistair had handed that responsibility over to him, no one had been more surprised than Kiergan himself. But as it turned out, he was good at it. ‘Twas naught more, really, than negotiations, which he’d gotten quite adept at over the years.
Negotiating a marriage contract or a trade agreement was easy compared to the time he’d talked the McNeal sisters into bed…at the same time.
His grin turned self-satisfied, which was the one more people might recognize.
“Hmm, I’d like to ken what ye’re thinking,” came a purring voice behind him, moments before a set of feminine arms slid around his neck.
Kiergan twisted in his seat to find Minnie, the serving lass he sometimes sought out, grinning suggestively.
“Naught important,” he assured her, tugging her around so she stood beside him and he could appreciate her assets easier. “What are ye doing bothering with a moping man like me on a fine evening like this?”
“I’ve missed ye, milord,”
She pretended to pout as she ran her fingers through his hair, but he noticed the position put his face—especially his mouth—level with the low neckline of her gown. Recognizing her attempts at seduction, Kiergan smiled, and was surprised to realize he didn’t feel the slightest bit of arousal.
Gently, he pulled her hands off him and patted her on the rear end. “I’m no’ fit company tonight, lass. Go find some other gentleman to scratch yer itch.”
Her pout grew. “Like whom, Kiergan? Nae other man—”
He scoffed and patted her again. “Dinnae lie, lass. I ken ye have plenty of other men ye turn to.”
“Oh, aright.” Her grin flashed, proving she’d just been trying to manipulate him. “I see Bean over there all by his lonesome. Do ye ken he has the biggest cock of any man I’ve met?”
Forcing a chuckle, Kiergan shook his head. “Ye’ll no’ make me jealous, sweet. Go drape yerself over him, and I’m sure ye’ll make Bean’s entire month.”
Giggling, the serving lass sashayed over toward the group of warriors, and Kiergan shook his head.
Why had he turned down her offer?
The cock-size comparison. I dinnae want to be told my member is smaller than Bean’s!
Nay, he’d turned her down before then.
Mayhap ‘twas seeing all his brothers happy and in love. Or mayhap ‘twas the ale. Either way, the thought of a quick fook up against the wall didn’t hold any appeal for him at that moment.
He scooped up his empty flagon and frowned down at it.
A quick fook held no appeal?
Mayhap he was ill.
Or more drunk than he’d suspected, after all.
Or no’ drunk enough.
Bah! This celebration was no fun anymore. Scowling, he slammed the empty flagon down once more and pushed himself upright.
Stumbling slightly, he managed to make his way toward the stairs and his bedchamber. He’d go over Nessa’s betrothal contract with the Campbells once more before presenting it to Da on the morrow. Aye, if that didn’t sober him up, naught would.
Then he’d take himself in hand and try to relieve some o
f this strange energy which made him itchy and uncomfortable. Imagine him—him!—turning down a quick tumble with a willing wench!
Mayhap he was ill.
One thing was for certes, with Alistair finally marrying, there was no way Kiergan was going to have to worry about finding a bride and becoming laird.
He was safe.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
On Historical Accuracy
Kilts, secret passages, dildos, blah blah blah. Let’s talk about the history that really matters: fried chicken.
Yep, fried chicken is actually traced back to Scotland! The method of cooking the meat of a young, tender chicken in fat became very popular. Scots brought the recipe to the American south when they immigrated, and the dish was adopted by enslaved Africans, who combined the cooking method with the seasonings from West African cuisine. Fried chicken became a popular dish among the African American communities to celebrate special occasions (because, as Lara points out, it’s time- and resource-consuming), and in a time when restaurants were often closed to them due to segregation, it was a dish which traveled well.
The dish we know and love today is actually a combination of Scottish cooking practices and West African flavoring. How cool is that?
Okay, there’s a few other things to address in this Author’s Note, but like always, I’m going to point out that this series is a comedy. I’m sure you didn’t really read it expecting historical accuracy, right? For instance, slates weren’t used to write on until a bit after the medieval period. But then, I couldn’t have Lara doodling penises.
Heh. Doodling penises. Sounds a bit naughty, eh?
But anyhow, yeah, we should probably talk about dildos. Because, you know…dildos. They’re fun to talk about. And they’re historical! It bugs me when people get it into their heads that sex toys—and interesting fetishes and kinky stuff—didn’t become “a thing” until like the 1970s. Um, what? Yeah, no. Your ancestors were just as kinky as you are!
Hey, we don’t kink shame around here.
Archeologists have found dildos in Paleolithic sites—even some double-headed ones, I kid you not. Forget ancient Greece, forget ancient Egypt…your Stone Age ancestors were getting freaky with one another (listen, a double-headed dildo is meant to be shared).
The term “dildo” was actually gaining popularity by the end of the 1500s (from the Italian word for “delight” of course), but since I’ve been really vague on the time period for The Hots for Scots (men wearing kilts, but rushes on the floor, equals a confusing time period. So sue me.), I figured I’d leave out the actual word.
Besides, it’s much funnier to have Lara name her dildo, eh?
Treenis. Heh.
As should become obvious by now, I’m not writing this series to be historically accurate, but to make myself laugh. Yes, sometimes I have the sense of humor of an adolescent boy, but you’ll notice I didn’t make nearly as many fart jokes as I could’ve in this book.
You’re welcome.
I hope, somewhere along the way, I made you laugh too.
Now, are you ready for Kiergan’s book? His story is called Scot to the Touch, and features a heroine as delightfully quirky as Lara. Keep reading for a sneak peek!
If you’re anything like me, you’ve been waiting to find out how this rake (cough-manwhore-cough) is going to be brought low! He’s in for a doozy of a ride! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!
You should also know that Nessa’s story, Scot Under the Mistletoe, is available already. This Christmas story was supposed to be the last book in the series, but apparently, I took my sweet time getting around to writing the rest of these books, so you get her story a little early. Ready to find out what’s going on with her? Check out Scot Under the Mistletoe!
But first, I want to offer you a personal invitation to my reader group. If you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll consider joining. It’s where I post all the best book news first, and you’ll be able to get to know me personally. My Cohort is also instrumental in helping me name characters and choose covers! So stop on by!
And now, for Kiergan…
Sneak Peek
SNEAK PEEK from Scot to the Touch
Her sister was pouting.
‘Twas not a polite thing to say about one’s beloved sibling, but that didn’t make it less true. Davina was pouting, and there was no use pretending otherwise.
With a sigh, Katlyn put aside her own thoughts and stretched her leg out to nudge her sister’s foot. They were seated across from one another in the carriage Grandda commissioned for this journey, and Davina ignored the prodding in order to continue staring out the window.
Well, Katlyn wasn’t going to be ignored. That had happened too often in her life.
“Vina” she prompted. When her sister’s lips tugged down into a frown, Katlyn tried again. “ ‘Twill no’ do to meet yer bridegroom for the first time with frown-lines marring yer forehead.”
That got a response, but not for the reason she would’ve assumed. Her sister swung her frown her way. “Bridegroom? Bah. I’ll no’ marry him!”
Ah. So she was more irritated by the thought of marrying the Oliphant’s son than she was about her complexion? Curious. Davina could usually be counted on to worry about her appearance.
She’d always known the MacKinnons’ hopes for a solid marriage contract rested with her, after all.
Swallowing down the bitterness she’d long ago grown accustomed to, Katlyn did her best to draw her sister into conversation. “Why are ye so set against this match?” she asked soothingly? “Ye ken Grandda is for it, and ye ken ‘twould make a strong alliance.”
The Oliphant land might be some distance from theirs, but the laird had six sons. Bastards, aye, but one of them would become the next laird. The others…well, surely he could spare one. ‘Twas Grandda’s plan; to marry Davina—the suitable MacKinnon daughter—to one of those sons. If her husband didn’t become the next Laird Oliphant, then he’d drag the lucky man back to MacKinnon land and start grooming him.
Without a male heir of his own, Grandda was relying on Davina’s marriage to bring in a suitable future laird, someone strong to ensure the MacKinnons’ continuance.
It took Katlyn a moment to realize her sister hadn’t answered. In fact, she’d gone back to staring out the window, this time directed her worried gaze on their grandfather, who rode with his men.
Worried? Aye, Davina was no longer scowling, but looking…guilty?
“Vina?”
Her sister’s head whipped around, the anger falling back into place like a mask. “What would ye have me say? There’s only one Oliphant son left, aye? Grandda waited too long to make him move, and now five of them are married!”
“Ye ken ‘tis no’ his fault,” Katlyn corrected softly. “His illness—”
Her sister waved away the rebuke. “Aye, I ken it. And I’m glad he’s healthy again, truly. But I wish all six of the Oliphant bastards had been married by now, so we wouldn’t be making the journey.”
Katlyn studied her sister. Davina was, most definitely, the beauty of the family, the pride of the MacKinnons. But the knowledge hadn’t made her arrogant; if anything, it had been a burden, knowing the future of the clan rested on her shoulders.
Since Katlyn herself was useless when it came to marriage prospects.
Still, as a dutiful granddaughter, she did what she could. Even if that was only calming her sister’s fears. “Grandda was able to communicate with the Oliphant over the winter, remember? ‘Tis when he concocted this scheme. If it werenae for his illness, mayhap a formal arrangement between ye and one of the sons could’ve been reached.”
But Davina shook her head. “Ye ken the Oliphant refused to make betrothal contracts for his sons. ‘Tis only women who can be bound by gold that way. A son could refuse to marry me.”
But not one with eyes in his head. “He wouldnae refuse to marry ye, Vina,” Katlyn said quietly.
Her sister snorted and crossed her arms. “ ‘Tis wha
t I’m afraid of,” she muttered, slouching on the padded seat.
There was that flash of guilt again. Curious, Katlyn shifted forward. “What have ye no’ told me, Vina?”
“The only son left.” Davina frowned down at her own knees. “He’s the rake. The one who has made love to countless women. The one who is rumored to be so good with his tongue. ‘Tis said he can make a woman scream with pleasure in under five minutes.”
Scream in pleasure?
Katlyn shifted, squeezing her thighs together to hide the rush of warmth those words conjured. She was no stranger to pleasure, for certes, but her curse had ensured she was most definitely still a virgin.
And would be, until her death.
Unless she did something about that.
Intrigued, she cleared her throat. “Oh, aye?” She tried for nonchalance. “And…what is so bad about that?”
Davina’s scowl shifted out the window once more. “I’ll no’ marry an insatiable whore, Kat. Imagine! He’ll likely jump from bed to bed, even after he’s married. A man like that isnae true, isnae loyal. He might be able to bring a woman unimaginable pleasure, but I’ll marry a man who will be true to me. No’ him.”
Unimaginable pleasure?
Oh my. Katlyn could imagine all sorts of pleasure, truly. Still…
She hummed in consolation. “I can see what ye mean. If there truly is only one brother left, and ‘tis the disloyal one, ye can be forgiven for no’ wanting to marry him.”
But maybe instead of marrying him…
A wicked idea was forming in Katlyn’s mind. She knew she’d not be married—she knew no man would take her, not with her curse. But that didn’t mean she’d have to die a virgin, did it?
Unimaginable pleasure.
If her sister was determined not to marry this last Oliphant bastard—and when Davina set her mind to something, not even Grandda could sway her—then there’d be no harm in Katlyn meeting him, would there? Especially if he was so good with his tongue.