Men in Kilts

by Katie MacAlister

  “I believe,” I said with as much dignity as I could summon, all the while wracking my brain for a subject of discussion that didn’t include references to genitalia of any form, “that it is an acquired taste. Er… like. I mean, that is it say, it’s something that grows on yo— uh… it’s something that you learn to appreciate.”

  “What is something you learn to appreciate?” the imp’s mother asked, coming into the room with a tray loaded with tea items.

  “Penishes” her demon daughter answered, and jumped up to relieve the tray of a particularly nice looking jam tart.

  “Oh, yes, certainly,” hellspawn mom replied without batting an eye, and handed me a mug. She must have seen the shocked look on my face, because she added, “We believe in answering any of the questions Miracle has with honesty and forthrightness. It’s been proven that children cope with the difficulties of life today so much better if they are in possession of facts, not silly mistruths or ignorance.”

  I smiled weakly.

  “Recently we’ve been having a discussion about reproduction, haven’t we, pumpkin?”

  Pumpkin nodded, unable to speak because her mouth was full of jam tart.

  “Miracle has asked a number of insightful and intelligent questions, proving the point once again that children are open to complex subjects such as reproduction when it is explained to them in a supportive, loving environment.”

  She beamed at her hellspawn pumpkin, then turned back to me. “Now, you’ll enjoy this. It’s not regular tea, you understand. It’s herbal. Much better for you, and of course, it’s all natural with no chemicals whatsoever in it, so it’s perfectly safe. I do hope you’re staying away from foods with preservatives in them, they just strip your body of all the nutrients you need. I had a college friend who almost died of malnutrition because she ate nothing but foods with preservatives, and it ended up destroying her immune system, and she couldn’t absorb any of the nutrients she was getting, even after she stopped eating foods loaded with chemicals, not even when they tube-fed her. She almost died from preservatives.”

  “Ah.”

  “Now you drink this up, and I’ll send some home with you. Did I tell you about Bob’s plans for our manure? He’s had a wonderful plan for fertilizing the vegetable patch.”

  I crossed my fingers that she meant the sheep manure.

  “I know where manure comes from,” a reedy little voice piped up. “My mom told me. It’s poop, but it’s called manure when it comes from animals.”

  “Yes, that’s right, Miracle.” Phil gave me a aren’t children wonderful look, and patted the demon child on her head.

  “I’ve seen the sheep poop, but I haven’t seen them make babies. Have you seen them make babies?”

  “Well… uh… as a matter of fact, I have.”

  “Mom, Mr. MacLaren has a penish . Kathie doesn’t think it looks gross. She says it’s an acquired taste.”

  The small headache residing quietly in the back of my head suddenly blossomed into a full-fledged dilly of a throbber. Phil shot a startled glance over at me and put a supportive and loving arm around the minion of hell who was standing at her knee, munching on her third jam tart. I smiled weakly at them both and tried to rally my wits into protesting my innocence, but the Evil One got in the last word.

  “I don’t think anything so gross would taste good, but Kathie says you learn to appreciate it.”

  I don’t believe we’ll be seeing Phil and Bob too much. I have a feeling they’ll be keeping Miracle away from us now that we’ve been formally crowned as the Oral Sex Fiends of the Highlands.

  If I thought Bridget was going to take Iain’s refusal to her plan for the slaughterhouse quietly, I would have been surprised by the vehemence of her objections, but even my brief acquaintance with her was enough let me understand that she wasn’t going to take the news well.

  “Iain, you don’t comprehend how important this is,” she snapped at him, her face tight with anger.

  It was a few days after Iain had told me he wasn’t going to agree to the abattoir plan that Bridget had stopped by to pressure him into signing the commitment papers. I was at the kitchen table pretending to write a letter to my mother while Iain sat on the floor and tried to fix a portable heater he used in the barn for ailing lambs and ewes. Bridget stormed around him, her hands making sharp, expressive little movements as she alternated pleading and threatening him.

  “This is stupid, this is so unnecessary! I’ve told you the council would be no problem, so there’s no reason that we can’t make the offer to Tannahill.”

  “It’s not just the council, Bridget, as you well know. The abattoir was just one idea for the land, and as it would require more capital than I can free up and you have available, it’s not feasible. We’d be better put to agree on some other plan that won’t require buying favors or a large outlay of cash.” I rested my brow on my palm as I bent over my letter, peeking through my hair at Iain and giving him a smile he didn’t see. Bridget wasn’t a force to take lightly, but Iain didn’t seem to be having any problem standing up to her, even when he was sitting on the floor. He let her rant and wail and addressed her barbed questions calmly and with a patience I would never have achieved.

  “Darling,” she imparted a venom to the endearment I hadn’t thought possible,

  “I never thought I would be forced to say this to you, but you’re just not thinking. You’re allowing that little bint of yours to sway you, and you’ll be sorry, Iain, you’ll be very sorry when Tannahill takes his abattoir to Kinrushtie and we’re left with nothing but an unproductive piece of ground that no one wants!”

  Iain set his tools down and got to his feet, brushing off his pants as he frowned at Bridget pacing before the Aga. He said only one word, but that word hit Bridget like a two by four.

  “Out.”

  Her head snapped around and stared at him. Even I stopped pretending I wasn’t listening and looked up. I’d seen Iain annoyed and angry, but I’ve never heard the chilling note of true fury in his voice as I did then.

  “What? What are you talking about? What do you mean, out? We’re not finished talking about this. I’m not going to let you throw away—” Iain walked over to the back door and held out Bridget’s coat. “You’re leaving now, Bridget. If you want to discuss the issue of Kin Aird later, I’ll expect you to have an apology for Kathie.”

  Bridget’s smooth face turned red with poorly concealed anger. “What?

  Apologize to her? To that—” Iain took one step toward Bridget, but the menace in his eyes was enough to shut her up. I sat with my mouth hanging open slightly, amazed that Iain would get so angry over an unkind name. It’s not like Bridget had never played her nasty little game with me before. I gave Iain a secret little smile, amazed and flattered that he would jump to my defense, my heart swelling with love for him as I slid my gaze over to watch Bridget work through a craw full of anger and frustration, seasoned by a dollop of blazing hatred. I thought for a moment she was going to blow, spewing all sort of slurs and foul accusations, but she was made of sterner stuff.

  “Darling!” She laughed a shaky little laugh, swallowing the last of her bile and turning her brittle smile on me. “You mistake me. I have only the best wishes for your sweet friend. I certainly did not intend you should get so unreasonable over an ill chosen word or two. I’m sure Kestie wasn’t offended.” Kestie thought it best not to answer that statement.

  Bridget waved away any hurt feelings I might have over being called a bint and continued on, ignoring both the coat Iain still held out to her, and his mammoth scowl. “Iain, darling, if you need reassurances that the council will do as I told you they would, I will get them for you, so you can see how silly you’re being by denying us the opportunity to make a sizable profit from an otherwise useless piece of land. As for the other issue,” her hands fluttered gracefully as she waved them away as well. “I will raise my share of the money needed, and surely now that you have another income available, you’ll h
ave no trouble with finding the funds.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her there was no way on God’s green earth I would allow my money to be used to help fund a slaughterhouse, but closed it after seeing the weary look on Iain’s face. The last thing he needed was for Bridget and me to be squabbling.

  He sighed and gave her a steady look. “No, lass. I won’t agree to it, not now, not if you have the entire council in your back pocket, so you might as well start considering the other options.”

  “Other options?” Bridget spat, stalking over to him and snatching her coat from his hands. “Other options? There are no other options that come near the profits we’d be guaranteed from Tannahill.” She shot me a glittering, razor-sharp glare, then turned back to Iain with a faint sneer on her lips. “I can see I am outnumbered. Very well, I will tell Tannahill you refuse to cooperate, but I warn you, darling. I will settle for nothing less than the profits I would have seen had you been thinking with your head instead of your cock. It’s up to you to figure out how we’re to make them.”

  She stomped out in a whirl of nasty looks and muttered imprecations. I set down my pen and watched as Iain ran a hand through his hair.

  “Sweetie, you know if there’s anything I can do to help you with the farm, I’ll do it. I don’t have a lot of money, but what I have is—” He stopped my offer with a swift, hard kiss that did much to warm my heart.

  He loved me, he’d turned down certain profits by refusing to allow the slaughterhouse, and he made Bridget leave when she called me names.

  “I’ve no need of your money, love, but I thank you for the offer. There’s other options available to us with Kin Aird; Bridget just needs a bit of time to see the value in them.”

  I kissed him on the tip of his nose and smiled to myself as he sat down to finish repairing the heater. Everything was looking up. Things were going to work out just fine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Deck the halls with boughs of holly, falalalalalalalala.

  “Mrs. Harris, please, I’ve told you three times, I’d like that mistletoe left above the door. It forms an integral part of the decorations for the sitting room. If you move it from here… oh, blast, now the sag is swagging.”

  “What?”

  “The swag is sagging. That one, right there, the one you’re pushing aside.”

  “Teh. Are you telling me you need this in every room in the house?”

  “Mistletoe is very important. People might want to kiss in every room in the house.”

  “You’ve got it in the loo!”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Teh. All this folderol! All this work putting everything up—it’ll just have to come down in a few weeks, and who’ll be taking it down I’d like to know? And clean up the mess? If you think I’ll be climbing ladders to take down those rubbishy bits of branches you’ve put up on the walls, you’re daft.”

  “Happy Christmas to you too, Mrs. Harris.”

  “ ‘T is the season to be jolly, falalalalalalalala.

  “What the hell is that smell?”

  “Oh, there you are. I’m mulling wine—I thought I would try it out before everyone arrives, but I think maybe I got the recipe wrong. It doesn’t look right. Here, taste this and see what you think.”

  “Gark. Erm… love, you might want to throw this out and start again.”

  “Blast! Mrs. Harris has done it to me again! That’s the last time I ask her for a recipe. Is it really that bad?”

  “You try it.”

  “Aaaaaaagh!”

  Don we now our gay apparel, falalalalalalalala.

  “I don’t know what it is you’re thinking to do with this, love, but I brought you the tree you wanted. I took it off the top of Clachaun.” Clachaun was one of the hills surrounding the farm.

  “Oh, Iain, my Christmas tree, thank you! It’s going to be perfect! I’ll put it in the sitting room and decorate it and put presents underneath it. Let me see it! Is it outside? How big is it? Will it fit through the door? I hope I bought enough lights.”

  “That’s it, there, on the table.”

  “Oh, it’s… why, it’s… it’s simply… Iain, have you ever seen A Charlie Brown Christmas !”

  Troll the ancient Yuletide carol, falalalalalalalala.

  “Well, hell. I don’t know where we’re going to put everyone, Joanna.”

  “Oh, Kathie, I’m so sorry. I’ll just tell Mum and Dad that you can’t put them up after all. They won’t mind staying at the Stag’s Head. It’s better than sleeping on our couch. They’ll understand that with Ewen and Archie and Susan you will have a houseful. I feel terrible about asking you to put them up to begin with.”

  “No, no, I didn’t really mean that, I want to have them. We’ll get everyone tucked in, it’s just going to take a little finessing. Um. Didn’t Iain say there was an old box room in the attic that had a cot or something?”

  “I think so, but I’m sure it’s not heated up there, and I doubt if anyone’s cleaned there in years and years. If it’s in the old part of the house, it’s probably damp, too.”

  “Heh heh heh—we’ll put Archie up there. Your mom and Susan can have the boy’s old room, and Ewen and your dad can share the spare room.”

  “I’m not sure that attic room is a good idea, Kathie. Even with airing, it’s bound to be musty and uncomfortable, and Archie… oh. Hee hee hee.”

  “I knew I liked you, Joanna.”

  Yes, Christmas was coming. I had taken a stand and demanded the right to hold Christmas at Iain’s house. Joanna’s parents were coming up to spend the holiday with the newlyweds to celebrate their first Christmas together, and the joyous news that Joanna was pregnant. Archie was coming for three days, and Ewen, Iain’s elder brother, had rung up to find out what his plans for the holiday were. Ewen gladly accepted an invitation to stay with us for a few days.

  I spoke with him briefly on the phone, and was reassured by his nice voice and lack of obvious hostility.

  I had promised everyone that I would prepare a good old-fashioned American-style Christmas dinner, which meant I had to do some frantic e-mailing to my sister in an attempt to find out just what makes up a good old-fashioned American-style Christmas dinner, and how you go about preparing it. My family, not in the least bit Italian, always had spaghetti for Christmas gatherings.

  Armed with recipes for various stuffings, green bean dishes, my mother’s creamed onion recipe, and a charge card whose company would love me for the next three years, I ran out and bought enough food for the entire Kingussie Shinty Club. They weren’t expected, but I wasn’t going to take any chances on being caught short. ,

  I had my plate full, and then some. There was a house to be decorated. There was food to be cooked, including some traditional British dishes that Joanna insisted I must include (she paid for that—I dumped those dishes on her. Never cook a Christmas pudding if you can help it was my new motto). There was Mrs.

  Harris to be mollified and persuaded into doing some extra cleaning. There were presents for family and friends in the States and in Scotland to be bought and wrapped, and in some cases, shipped home.

  There was a Scot to be persuaded into marriage.

  I managed to keep up my hint dropping to Iain despite a continued lack of response. His attitude was beginning to worry me, though. After the first few hints, I was sure he was on to my plan, but as Christmas drew closer he seemed preoccupied and less inclined to play the game.

  A few days before Ewen was due to arrive, I decided it was time to tackle something that had been worrying me.

  “Iain, I’m going to have to go home.”

  Iain was flat on his belly trying to force an ancient Christmas tree stand into holding my little tree. The tree was so tiny we had to fill out its trunk area with wood blocks so the tree stand screws had something to bite into.

  He worked out a few Gaelic curses, then sat up. “That’s as good as it’ll get.”

  “It’s tilted.”

&n
bsp; He cursed again and went back under the tree, muttered, and made adjustments.

  “How’s that, then?”

  “Perfect. Did you hear what I said?”

  “Aye, you’re going home.”

  “For a man who professes his love for me with his every action, you certainly are taking that bit of news well.”

  Iain wrapped his arm around me, and hauling me up to his side, considered the now righted tree. “I haven’t had to muck with this foolishness since the boys were young.”

  I elbowed him.

  He grunted and tightened his arm. “I had assumed, love, that you mean to go back to the States to pack up your things, not that you intend on leaving me.

  Am I wrong, then?”

  “You big toad. Of course you’re not wrong. I was thinking that you might want to come with me. You know, as sort of a vacation. Together. Just the two of us. As in a trip. Romantic, hmmm?” Did I have to spell it out for him?

  “I’m thinking that this damn tree is more trouble than it’s worth.” I elbowed him again. He sighed. “I’d have to have someone watch the farm, but Mark might be willing to postpone his holiday to do it. I wouldn’t be able to be gone long, though, love. It would have to be a short holiday.”

  “How short is short?”

  He thought a moment. “A week?”

  A week. Seven days. Five if you counted two travel days. Could I pack up my entire apartment, disburse what I didn’t want or couldn’t take, box up the remaining belongings for shipping to Scotland, and yet still have time to introduce Iain to my family and friends? Damn straight I could.

  “Done,” I said, and offered him my hand. He shook it gravely then proceeded to show me how they seal a bargain in the Highlands.

  “Well,” I said breathlessly once I had made sure he didn’t have any cavities, “if that’s the way you seal a deal, I bet your bank manager loves it when you come in for a loan!”