Men in Kilts

by Katie MacAlister

  “Aye, she does,” he grinned.

  “Smart aleck.” I pinched him.

  “You should see what we do when we close on something of importance.”

  “What’s that?”

  The dogs shot us disgusted looks when our clothes went flying.

  “‘Tis the season,” I murmured some time later, panting and looking up at a slightly wonky Christmas tree now bedecked with a sock and my bra.

  “I hope I live to see it through,” Iain moaned, lying prone and naked before the fire, still sucking in great quantities of air.

  Once I could rally my wits enough to entertain coherent thoughts I ran down my mental list of tasks to be accomplished: one issue down, one big one to go, and & houseful of people to prepare for, half of whom I’d never met. I was starting to wonder what I had gotten myself into when I looked over at Iain, drowsing before the fire. Even flat out on his back, stark naked except for (how had he managed that?) one sock, one hand on resting over his heart, the other under my head, he was a sight to inspire any woman.

  I could get through this. It was just family. Not, as yet, officially my family, but I’d make bloody well sure they were thinking they were by the time they left.

  “So—how do you go about getting a kilt made?” I asked Joanna, now known to one and all as “The Belly” even though she didn’t yet have much of one.

  She looked startled. “A kilt? For whom?”

  “For my brother. His wife thought that as long as I was here, I could buy him one.”

  “Your family’s not Scottish.”

  “Does that matter?”

  It turned out it did, if you wanted to do it properly. People not of Scottish descent could wear the couple of generic (non-clan specific) tartans like Black Watch, but even that is pricey to get custom made into a kilt, and my brother wasn’t the sort to wear an off-the-rack kilt.

  “Strike one,” I muttered, and peered out the car window as Joanna steered us through the holiday shopping crowds. We were out on a joint expedition of Christmas and pregnant clothes shopping. I would have preferred to avoid the latter, but Joanna had become my closest female friend in Scotland. She was a warm-hearted, loving woman who cherished her family—both her own and David’s—but she wasn’t without a streak of silliness that greatly appealed to me. David and Iain rolled their eyes many times when they caught the two of us giggling together over something inane. Much like my friendship with Cait, it didn’t take a whole heckuva lot to set Joanna and me off.

  “Oh, look, isn’t this cute, Kathie?” she asked at one of our stops. I looked. It was a Paddington bear wearing a kilt (I’d just like to know which clan claimed him).

  “Cute, but I already have the gollies for my brother’s little kids, and I don’t have any other babies to buy for.”

  She glared at me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Joanna. How could I possibly forget the next generation you’re hauling around there. Was that a subtle hint? A little something for the baby shower?”

  “No, I don’t want it, I thought you might. It’s wearing a kilt.”

  “I am not,” I said with dignity, “so enamored with kilted beings that I get my jollies from seeing them on a stuffed bear. I don’t like teddy bears.” She smiled one of those annoying madonna smiles and waggled the bear at me.

  “It wasn’t for you. I thought perhaps you and Dad might like to give David a little brother or sister.”

  My jaw hit the floor. “You’re looped!” Her smile became even more maternal.

  “Joanna, you’re got to be kidding! It must be all those pregnancy hormones in you! In case it’s escaped your attention, Iain has two adult children, one of whom is going to make him a grandfather in six months. I’ll be forty in a few years! And we’re not married !”

  She snorted and put the Paddington back. “You don’t have to be married to have a baby, Kathie!”

  I ignored her and let her browse amongst the pregnancy pants while I gathered my wits enough to look at my shopping list.

  “Let’s see… my younger brother Max is easy, he just wants whisky. His wife is also easy, she’ll love one of those cute stuffed sheep I saw in Inverness. Their kids I’ve already taken care of. Now, Mom…”

  My mother was a problem. She had everything she needed, she got most of her books from the library, and the few interests she had, like gardening, I couldn’t cater to because of agricultural import laws.

  “Any inspiration?” I asked The Belly.

  “You could get her a Grandma Book,” she leered at me.

  I gave that comment the consideration it deserved. “Hrmph. What about jewelry?”

  We were strolling down Main Street by that time, peering in windows for ideas.

  “Oh, look, there’s a humidor. You could get that instead of a kilt for your other brother. It looks nice.”

  “It looks expensive. How about Aran jumpers for everyone?” I asked, pointing at a shop with a nice display.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Those are Irish.”

  I waved a hand dismissively. “Ireland, Scotland, close enough. They’ll never know the difference.”

  She laughed and told me my heart wasn’t in the expedition. I bought sweaters for the remaining members of my family, and was heading back for her car when suddenly my eye caught a glint in a shop window.

  “Oh my god, Joanna, look!”

  “What? Where?” She looked all around, but missed… it .

  “There. Oh my god, it’s… it’s… glorious! Come on, we have to go in to that shop. I see the most perfect gift for Iain, and you know how hard he is to buy for.”

  My breath lurched in my throat as I pushed her into the shop, greeted the owner politely, and dashed toward the display in the window. I stood before it, panting slightly, still clutching Joanna’s arm.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” I asked reverentially.

  “You’re joking with me, aren’t you?”

  “No,” I breathed, staring at it, trying to take in all of its magnificence at once.

  I’d never seen anything so marvelously wonderful before. It was perfect for Iain!

  I had already bought him one present, but it was a practical one, one he wouldn’t have any fun with, but this… this was utterly bewitching!

  “No, it’s not perfect for Dad, Kathie. I’m sorry, I can see you’ve developed some sort of strange, unaccountable desire for that, but you know how Dad is—he won’t even wear a kilt. What makes you think he’d want that?” I reached out a finger to stroke it. “Oh, god, it’s perfect. Can’t you just see him with it?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “That’s because you’re not trying hard enough. Close your eyes and just imagine Iain with this.”

  She shot me a look that indicated I was being extremely trying. “Kathie, we really ought to be looking at practical gifts if we are to have time to go to the Lady Madonna shop and buy me pregnant knickers.”

  “Let the knickers have their own babies, I want this!”

  “It’s a fine piece, isn’t it?” the shop owner said from behind us. Joanna just rolled her eyes and started for the door, but I nodded my head quickly and fervently. A fine piece, oh yes indeedy, what a very fine piece. And it was mine!

  “Oh, very fine. How much does something like this run?” She told me. I didn’t actually pass out, but things did go black for a moment. I was, however, pleased with how quickly my mind snapped back into place and started scurrying around figuring out how I could afford it.

  “You’ll notice that’s ebony just there.”

  “Ebony,” I whispered, reaching out to stroke it. “Iain would love ebony.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” came from the doorway, where Joanna was opening and closing the door to make the little door chimes chime.

  “Stop that, Joanna. You have to excuse her,” I said, leaning closer to the saleswoman. “She’s pregnant and a mite testy about it.”

  “I heard that! I am not testy! Now let us go and buy me clothes tha
t fit and bigger knickers!”

  “Shall I bring it out for you to look at it a little closer?” I almost danced I was so excited. I pulled Joanna away from the door to the counter while the saleswoman brought it out, and with one hand flipped open a bit of blue velvet, then laid it on the cloth.

  “Oooooh,” I said, staring. It got better the closer I got to it. “Pretty.”

  “Oh, lord,” Joanna said, snorting as she moved off to look at the jewelry case.

  The shop owner and I both ignored her.

  “Yes, it is lovely, isn’t it? And as I said before, all handmade.” Two ladies who were in the shop came over to look. I resisted the urge to lunge over it protectively, and instead smiled a modest smile at my obvious good taste in Christmas gifts.

  “It’s for my sweetie,” I said, running a finger down the ebony. “See? Ebony.”

  “Ebony,” the two ladies said, admiring it.

  “Burnished Macassar ebony,” the shop owner corrected me.

  “Burnished Macassar,” the ladies dutifully repeated.

  One of them leaned closer to admire the ebony. “My Joe would like one of those, don’t you think, Claire?”

  Claire pursed her lips. “He’d kill himself with it.”

  “Mmm. P’raps you’re right. He did break his thumb two years ago hanging up the new curtains.”

  The ladies laughed. I smiled a superior my man could quite easily handle this fine gift smile.

  “You’ll notice the drooping quillions,” the shop owner pointed out. “Those are quite distinctive.”

  “Oh, mercy, yes, very distinctive quillions,” I said, looking it over and wondering what the quillions were. Drooping quillions, yet. The ladies looked impressed at the thought of distinctive quillions.

  “And the quatrefoils are picked out in brass,” she continued, waving toward what I assumed were the quatrefoils. They looked brassy.

  “I just think it’s fabulous, and I know my Iain would be thrilled with it.” Claire looked a bit skeptical at that, but I could see her friend would have been on Iain’s lovely gift in a flash if I didn’t have my claim staked out quite clearly.

  I rested a possessive hand on a drooping quillion.

  “He’s Scottish, is he? You wouldn’t be taking this out of the country?” the owner asked. I reassured her that Iain was Scottish, and explained that we lived nearby.

  “These pieces combine grace and power, and it takes a very special man to handle it,” she warned.

  “Oh, Iain is very special,” I nodded, a bit of a wheedling tone entering my voice. I had a horrible fear that if she didn’t think Iain could handle it, she’d refuse to sell it to me. “He’s very strong and very graceful. It’s just perfect for him, really it is.”

  Claire’s friend looked a bit hopeful.

  “Well,” the shop owner, playing the three of us like we were prized trout, “I hate to let these pieces go, they are just that special, but you seem to be quite sure that your friend would like it, so I believe it will have a good home with you.”

  “Oh, an excellent home,” I said, fingering the quatrefoil. “The very best.

  Um… you do take credit cards?”

  She assured me they did, and under the watchful gaze of Claire and her covetous friend, I purchased the best gift I would ever find. Minutes later I was floating out beside Joanna with it clutched to my chest. I couldn’t wait until Christmas. I couldn’t wait until Iain saw the perfect gift. I couldn’t wait until I saw the look on his handsome face when he opened the package and saw it in all its glory.

  A 55-inch-long burnished Macassar ebony-gripped, quatrefoiled, pommeled, and drooping quillioned two-handed claymore. With scabbard!

  Chapter Twelve

  We decided on the second week of January for our trip back to the States. The day after we decided this, it struck me that Iain might not have a passport. If so, he didn’t have much time to apply and receive it before we left. If we delayed the trip, I’d have to leave the country for a day before I could return since I’d almost run through my allotted three months without a visa time.

  I waited impatiently for Iain to come in for lunch, then pounced on him and asked if he had a passport.

  “I had one, but it expired.”

  “Oh, Iain! What are we going to do?” I wailed, wringing my hands yet again (you’d think I would have permanent wring marks on them I had taken to doing it so often). “Even if you ran out and applied today, you’ll never have it by the tenth!”

  “Aye, love, I will. I’ve already applied for it.” He went to the sink to wash his hands.

  I stopped in mid-wring and stared at him. “You did? When did you apply for it?”

  “Oh, must be a fortnight ago.”

  I did a swift mental calculation. “You what? But that was before Clara died!

  That was before I was sure you really loved me. Why didn’t you tell me you were getting a passport?”

  He adopted that injured look men everywhere get when unjustly accused.

  “You never asked.”

  I blinked at him for a few moments, the fury building slowly like a bubble rising in a pot of porridge. “You mean that you knew at the beginning of the month that you were going to the States with me, but you never mentioned it?

  Do you mean,” I took a deep breath, “to say that you let me wallow in my own tormented nightmarish hell while I tried to figure out if you loved me, and all the while you had plans to come home with me? And you didn’t mention it? Not one little word?”

  I’m afraid my voice rose a wee tad bit by the end of question. Iain put down the towel he was drying his hands on and pulled me into an embrace. “You never told me you had these doubts, love. I thought you know me well enough to know I’d not hurt you like that.”

  I struggled against succumbing to his warmth. “Do you or do you not mean to tell me that you knew all the way back those two long weeks ago that you were coming to the States with me?”

  “Aye, I knew.”

  I felt like my head was going to explode. He knew and he didn’t tell me? He let me go through that horrible period of doubt without bothering to mention it to me? After everything we’d been through, after all the time we’d spent together—two whole months!—he still couldn’t bring himself to share his thoughts and plans with me? I fisted my hands to keep them from wrapping themselves around his throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Iain shrugged and pulled me back to his chest. “It didn’t occur to me to, love.” I took a long, deep breath. Luckily Iain had clamped me firmly to his chest, so my breath was Iain-scented, which went a long way to soothing the anger. It’s hard to stay mad at someone when half your mind is too busy being girlish and giggly and tingly to work up to a proper hissy fit.

  It was also fortunate that I didn’t have time to mull over the injustices created by miscommunication between the one open American and one quiet alpha Scot because Ewen was due to arrive the following day. Despite having spoken with him on the phone, I was still a wee bit nervous about meeting him.

  I spent the day running around making sure the million and one things that needed to be done before guests came were accomplished, and closed myself up for long hours with cookery books planning meals that would not shame me or Iain. Mrs. Harris, in a spirit of one-upsmanship (the source of which I ignored), offered to prepare a couple of multicourse dinners, only one of which involved lamb. I humbly and gratefully accepted her offer, and breathed a little easier.

  I have learned well from my mother’s knee. If you kept people fed and warm, she said, you were more than halfway there, but to be honest, I didn’t feel halfway to anywhere but the madhouse when I contemplated Ewen’s arrival.

  Although he sounded friendly enough the one time I spoke on the phone with him, I wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t turn on me in the presence of family. I worried myself into quite a stew by the day he arrived.

  Iain was out finishing his chores when a sleek gray-blue Daimler pulled up alongside the house. I pee
red out the kitchen window with a frown on my face since I was in the middle of making a Buck Rarebit, and wondered aloud if Iain’s brother had arrived early.

  “Oh my god!” I exclaimed once I got a good look at the man exiting the car.

  “That can’t be Iain’s brother! This guy has to be an actor who’s lost his way.

  Will you get a load of that hair! And that suit! Hooo baby!” The Adonis in the front yard turned to the house, noticed me with my nose plastered up against the window, and smiled and waved. I waved the hunk of cheese in my hand back at him.

  “Jeezumcrow! Did you see that? He’s got dimples ! Good Lord, who is he? And what’s he doing here? Do you think I should go out and ask if he’s lost? That can’t possibly be Iain’s brother, he doesn’t look anything like Iain! That man’s gorgeous!”

  “ ‘Tis MacLaren’s brother all right.” Mrs. Harris sniffed, peering over my shoulder. “Always was one for wearing those fancy waistcoats.” I couldn’t tell how fancy his vest was, but his suit screamed custom tailoring.

  Expensive custom tailoring. And his shoes. And his hair. I stayed glued to the window until he walked around to the seldom-used front door.

  “Aaaaargh!” I shrieked and tossed the round of cheese at Mrs. Harris, who caught it nimbly while chopping celery. “I wasn’t expecting him for another three hours! I haven’t even put on a clean dress!”

  Muttering dire curses upon men who were inconsiderate enough to arrive early, I dashed to the front door and let Iain’s brother in.

  “You must be Kathie,” he said, holding both of my cheesy hands in his and blinding me with a smile that could knock the knickers off of a woman at thirty paces. “I’m delighted to meet you at last. Iain’s spoken so much of you that I feel as if I know you.”

  I extracted a hand and clutched at the wall. This was Iain’s brother ? His elder brother?

  “Um.” I was sure I had a silly, vapid smile on my face, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of what to say to the vision standing in the hall. “Um.

  Welcome. How nice to meet you.”