Men in Kilts

by Katie MacAlister

  “You’re worrying about nothing, love. Niall and Annie will like you well enough.”

  It was a cat, a black cat. I saw it when it shot across the road behind the car.

  Oh great, just the omen I needed.

  “Just remember what I ask, Iain. To date, everyone you’ve introduced me to has known instantly that you and I are… have been…”

  “At it?”

  “Exactly. I’d like to meet your friends without introducing the topic of our intimate relations.”

  He grinned.

  I didn’t trust that grin. That was the very same grin he wore the first morning I woke up in his house, when he informed me that it was an old country Scottish tradition for hosts to see to the bathing of their guests. Mind you I didn’t turn the offer down, but I didn’t believe for one minute that it was a real tradition.

  Especially after I had Joanna look it up in a book about country lore.

  The Walkers had a bigger farm than Iain’s, with more of it consisting of arable soil. In addition to crops and sheep, they had a herd of those adorable Scottish Highland cows— or coo, if you want to go native—with the shaggy heads, pigs, and a variety of other livestock.

  Iain walked over to shake hands with Niall Walker and his son Calum. Calum looked to be about fourteen, had one brown eye and one green eye, and a shy, sweet smile.

  “This is Kathie. She writes books,” Iain introduced me as soon as he and Niall were done exchanging friendly insults and pounding each other on the back. I reached out to shake hands with Niall. “Kathie’s my bit of all right.” I stopped with my hand in midshake and stared at Iain, my mouth hanging open.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Something the matter, love?”

  “What did you just call me?”

  “Bit of all right? That wasn’t on your list, was it? Would you have preferred crumpet? Mare?”

  If looks could kill, Iain would have been six feet under. “How about friend ?”

  “Oh, aye, she’s very friendly,” he teased, winking at Niall, who grinned back at him. I gnashed my teeth for a moment, then gave up. It was quite clear to me that I would never meet anyone in the entire blasted country who was not to be instantly apprised as to the exact nature of my relationship with Iain.

  I smiled politely and slipped my hand around the back of Iain’s arm and pinched. Hard. The beastly man didn’t even flinch, just took my hand in his and held it as we headed for the Walkers’ house. Calum jumped to my other side and gazed at me with an intensity I found a bit unsettling. I wondered if it was because I was American or Iain’s trollop?

  “Am I right in thinking you’ll be staying with Iain for a wee spell, Kathie?” Niall asked as he waved us through the door.

  “That’s debatable at this moment,” I muttered, glaring at Iain, but told Niall that I was very much enjoying the Highlands and would be staying for a while.

  Calum stuck to my side like a burr. Niall introduced me to his wife, Annie, who was in the kitchen with their two teenaged girls, Diana and Rose.

  Annie gave a little gasp when she saw Iain and me, and immediately shooed the girls out of the room. She nodded politely at the introduction, but avoided shaking my hand. I assumed it was because she was in the middle of making sausages, and didn’t want to take the time to scrub the goo off her hands.

  Calum parked himself on a tall stool and stared at me with an open mouth.

  “Come and see my new baler, Iain,” Niall said shortly after the pleasantries had been exchanged. “Close your mouth, Calum, you’ll be letting the midges in leaving it open like that. Are you coming with us?” Calum snapped his mouth closed and shook his head, never once taking his eyes off me. Niall shrugged, and the two men went off discussing the various merits of one baler doohickey over another. Annie turned her back on me and continued shoving a mass of raw meat into an old-fashioned sausage grinder.

  I waited for Annie to invite me to sit down and have a cup of tea. I waited in vain. The clock above the kitchen table ticked loudly over the smooshing sound of meat being ground together. I mentally reviewed the two or three sentences I had spoken for evidence of something offensive. Nope. Nothing. They checked out clean.

  I glanced at Calum. He was still staring at me with an avidity that made me want to throttle Iain. His larking about had just the effect I had expected it would—now everyone at the Walkers’ farm thought I was a tart, a floozy, a woman of loose morals. A bit of all right .

  I debated my choices: I could either slink off as if I was ashamed of being madly in love with Iain, or act like a mature adult and hope they would respond likewise. I cleared my throat. “Well, Calum, how old are you?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Ah.” Thirteen. What were thirteen-year-old boys interested in? Girls? Cars?

  Pokemon? I was about to ask him, when he shot a quick look at his mother and suddenly fired off a rapid-fire stream of questions at me.

  “Where in America are you from? Is it anywhere near Houston, Texas?”

  “I… uh… no, I’m from Seattle—”

  “Have you ever met Hakeem Olajuwon? Is he nice? He seems nice, not like some of his teammates.”

  His odd eyes were earnestly pleading. I looked nervously at his mother. She had her back to us, still stuffing sausage meat into the grinder. “Oh, well, as to that, I’m afraid I don’t follow… er… basketball?”

  “Do you know how I can get his autograph?”

  “Um…”

  “Calum, go and do your schoolwork,” Annie said in a tight voice, never turning around.

  “I’ve done it, Mum,” he replied, his mismatched eyes locking me in their fervent gaze, waiting impatiently for me to answer his questions.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know any basketball players, or how they give out autographs, but I suppose if you were to write to the team they might be able to tell you. Or this Wakim person might have a fan club if he’s well known.” Calum nodded his head quickly and watched me closely for any other stray tidbits of information I might have about my person. I wracked my brain to think of something. Judging by the stiffness of his mother’s back, that was all the conversation I was likely to have there.

  “There’s… um… well, you could always try looking to see if this guy has a website. Do you have Internet at your school?”

  He thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Well, perhaps your library does.” I looked longingly at a cushion-bedecked chair, but I didn’t want to offend Mrs. Walker any more than I apparently already had by plumping down uninvited. I leaned against the wall, and crossed one leg over the other. “Other than basketball, what are your—”

  “Calum, go and do your chores now and stop pestering Miss Williams.” Annie turned around long enough to send her son a steely look. “Now, lad.” There was no mistaking that tone of voice, it was a mother’s best weapon.

  Calum closed his mouth over the protest he was about to make, and with one final reluctant stare at me, he dragged himself off.

  I let the second hand sweep around a few times before I tried again. I still had no idea what I had done to annoy Annie—perhaps she had something against Americans, or was very religious and objected to Iain and me living together, or maybe she just took an instant dislike to me right off the bat. Whatever it was, the smoosh-tick smoosh-tick silence was getting on my nerves. I just wished she’d tell me what I’d done, so I could apologize and we could go on from there.

  I looked around the kitchen, seeking inspiration for conversational gambits.

  “What a lovely kitchen,” I said cheerfully, wincing at the inanity. “That’s charming wallpaper you have there. It’s a lovely shade of blue, and I like the apples. Apples are always so kitchenish.” Kitchenish? No wonder the woman wouldn’t speak to me, I was gibbering like an idiot.

  Annie mumbled something and continued to grind meat. Strike one.

  I wandered over to stand nearer her. “Making sausages?” Brilliant observation, that
. “I imagine that’s quite a bit of work, but fairly satisfying, yes?”

  “Aye.” If she’d snapped her lips closed any faster, the word would have been severed in half.

  Strike two.

  I searched the kitchen again for inspiration. There was none. “So, how many children do you have? I met Calum and your two girls—do you have any others?”

  “Two daughters at university.”

  Steeeeerike three, you’re out! Smoosh, smoosh, smoosh went the meat grinder. Ticka-ticka-ticka went the clock. Tap, tap, tap went my finger on the table.

  I stood for a minute, watching her hands feed the chunks of meat into the grinder, which then spiralled out into a bowl on the other side. I was at a loss—

  she clearly didn’t want to talk to me, but I couldn’t imagine what I’d done to offend her. I wished she’d just tell me what was on her mind.

  I’d give it one last shot, then go out and admire Niall’s baler, whatever that was. “Have you lived here—”

  Annie spun around, her hands clenched and covered in raw pork. “I’ll not ask you to leave since you are here with Iain, but I’ll be telling you right now that you’re not welcome in my home.”

  Well, that was getting it out in the open.

  I have to admit that I was acquiring a bit of an inferiority complex by that point. With the exception of David and Joanna, no one Iain introduced me to seemed to like me. I didn’t understand this instant animosity. I knew a lot of people had strong feelings about Americans, I just didn’t know it extended to all Americans.

  I swallowed back the Yeah? And so’s your mother ! retort and tried to be reasonable. Maybe I appeared threatening in some way?

  “I apologize if I’ve offended you somehow, but I assure you it was unintentional, and I—”

  “Unintentional, was it? Is it unintentional to steal a woman’s intended?” Huh? She couldn’t be talking about… no, that was too far-fetched. “I beg your pardon? You think I’ve stolen Iain from someone?”

  She compressed her lips into a thin line for a moment, and then nodded. “I do.

  It’s well known in these parts that Iain has an understanding with a local woman, and that you’ve sidled your way into his house with some scheme to many him. I’ll be telling you now that we don’t approve of that sort of behavior here. If you had any morals, you’d be on your way and leave him to the woman who’s waited for him all these years.”

  Well, I guess it wasn’t as far-fetched as I first thought. I heaved a depressed little sigh. “You wouldn’t happen to be talking about Bridget Stewart, would you?”

  “Aye, I am. She told me you two had met and that she’d explained her situation to you. I’m sorry to see you haven’t had the decency to leave Iain be.”

  “No, I haven’t,” I agreed pleasantly. “But that’s primarily because Iain doesn’t want me to leave.”

  She started to puff up, but I wouldn’t let her speak. “As far as Bridget goes, you’d do best to ask Iain about his relationship with her. I did, and it was very enlightening. Since you’re so busy, I’ll let myself out.” I gathered what dignity I had and walked out of the house. The men were nowhere to be seen. I stood for a minute in the yard, alone, isolated, friendless, a stranger in a country filled with people who didn’t like me. My lower lip quivered as I debated going down to one of the barns to look at the animals, or over to Iain’s car for a long cry.

  The car won. I started off toward it when Annie appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Wait! Kathie, I’d… please come back into the house. I’d like a moment to talk with you, if you would.” To yell at me on Bridget’s behalf? I didn’t think so. “Will you give me a cup of tea?”

  “Aye, if you like.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I don’t care for tea, but I’d be happy to talk with you.”

  We returned to the kitchen, and she waved me over to a chair, then went back to her bowl of ground meat and started adding seasonings. I was the injured party, so I just sat quietly and waited for her to muster her thoughts.

  “Would you be caring for a glass of cider?” She brushed off the last of the sausage and washed her hands.

  “Thank you, I’d like that.” I loved cider, both hard and soft. Annie fetched two glasses, poured out the cider, then came and sat across the table from me.

  “Slainte,” I toasted her.

  “Slainte mhath,” she responded, and watched me closely as I took a sip. Ah, it was hard cider. Just what I needed to survive the killing frost of Annie’s kitchen.

  “What you said a few minutes ago…” she looked down at her glass briefly, then back up at me with a wary gaze. “I’ll ask Iain, you know.”

  “I hope you do. It’s not for me to tell you Iain’s history with Bridget, but I can assure you that I wouldn’t be here now if he was involved in a relationship with another woman.”

  “That’s not what Bridget says.”

  “Bridget is—” A liar. A scheming woman who would do anything to get Iain. Desperate . “Mistaken. I asked Iain point-blank, and he assured me his involvement with Bridget was over quite some time ago.” Annie stared hard at me for a few moments, then made a disgusted sound and slammed her glass onto the table. She muttered in what I assumed was Gaelic. I braced myself for more slurs on my character.

  “I’ll throttle the little… playing me like a fool. Of course you’ve moved in with Iain, and why shouldn’t you? Hasn’t he been sniffing around Fiona MacLeod this past year? And Bridget’s telling the tale… well, I shan’t be so foolish the next time.”

  Fiona MacLeod? Iain’s been sniffing around a Fiona MacLeod? Why hadn’t her name come up in the little discussion of a few weeks past, the discussion we had before jumping into bed? I did a little mental rearranging on my list of things I wanted to discuss with Iain, and topped it with Just who the devil is Fiona MacLeod ?

  Annie took a deep breath followed by a healthy slug of the cider, then placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, her curls bobbing emphatically as she spoke. “I’d like to apologize for the things I said earlier, Kathie. I ought to know by now how Bridget exaggerates when she’s upset. I’m heartily ashamed of myself for being so rude to you.”

  Oh, lord, I was going to cry if she kept that up.

  “It’s not your fault, really, you were just standing up for a friend. Bridget and I have a little difference of opinion— she thinks she’d entitled to Iain, and I think she’s off her rocker. I’m just sorry she’s dragged you into this.”

  “I’m thinking she’s a greater fool than me.”

  “I’m thinking you’re correct,” I laughed, and downed my cider.

  We settled down quite well after that. Annie told me a bit about her life, how she enjoyed her crafts and cooking, and asked several questions about my life in the States. We didn’t mention Bridget again—neither one of us wanted to reopen that topic. We had a lovely hour together, sipping cider and swapping life stories, and I was truly sad our time ended when the men came back from baler-watching.

  I debated to myself whether or not to mention the episode to Iain. He’d be annoyed at Bridget, which was always a good thing, but I hated to have him think poorly of Annie. I decided not to mention anything.

  On our way home he asked if I had a pleasant visit. “Marvelous,” I gushed.

  “Annie is a lovely, lovely, lovely woman, Iain, and I’ll not have you thinking unkindly of her. It’s not her fault if she’s so protective of her friends. That’s a good trait in a friend, really, don’t you think? I think so. I like her. She’s lovely, just a lovely, lovely woman.”

  Iain shot me a glance out of the corner of his eye. “It sounds as if you got along well, then. Enough to take a nip or two together?”

  Was he implying I was snockered? I bristled at the implication. “We had a little cider, if that’s what you are inshinuating. Not enough to get ripped on, though.”

  “Ripped?”

  “To the tits,” I answered, and nodded for goo
d measure. “Takes more than a little cider to get me squiggled.”

  I was pleased that he was in such a good mood, actually laughing so hard he had to wipe back tears, and would have asked him what he and Niall had done to put him in such a lovely, lovely mood, but I was too sleepy. The rest of the ride home was a bit of a blur, but I do remember waking up drooling on the car door at one point.

  It occurred to me that maybe Scottish cider had a bit more of a kick to it than the stuff back home.

  A few days after my meeting with Annie, I got a phone call from my mother.

  She’d received the letter I’d sent saying that I had no plans to return home for at least a month or two. I didn’t tell her I was going to become a permanent fixture in Iain’s life, but she must have sensed something, because she ignored the cost of an international call and rang up one evening.

  Iain climbed out from where I was lying across his lap reading a book and toddled off to answer the phone. I dipped back into my book and paid no mind until he came back into the room.

  “Your mum’s on the phone, love.”

  My mother? “Huh?”

  “She’s waiting to talk to you. She sounds like a nice woman. I can see where you get your sense of humor.” He picked his book up and commenced reading.

  Iain talked to my mother? My mother called here and Iain talked to her? They joked? My mother joked with Iain? I sat on the couch for a minute trying to digest this strange news until Iain gave me a little shove. “She’s waiting, love.” I ran for the phone in the hallway. My mother made the stereotyped frugal Scots look like immoderate spendthrifts. If she had invested in an overseas call, it must be something serious.

  “Mom? Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere? Who’s dead? Are Rob and Laura Petrie OK?”

  “I’m fine, Kathie, and your birds are fine, although I think Laura laid more eggs.”

  “You called to tell me my bird is laying eggs? She always lays eggs. No one is hurt?”