Men in Kilts

by Katie MacAlister

  He stood for a few minutes, puffing ever so slightly, damn his fit self, and held me up as I gasped and wheezed for air. “It’s a good land, this.” Oh, yes, good if you were a man and you didn’t care what anyone thought as you sat safe and secure on your good land.

  “I’ve lived here since I was twenty-two. I knew I wanted to live here the first summer I spent on the farm.”

  I had heard all of this before—how Iain’s father had purchased the farm as an investment, but Iain had fallen in love with it at the ripe old age of seven when he spent six weeks there during the summer. He had told me how he had begged his father to let him run the farm, how his father insisted he go to college instead, and how he finally talked his dad into letting him attend a prestigious Scottish agricultural college. Oh yes, I had heard all of this, but what did it have to do with me? I was just the leman, the mistress, the woman who warmed his bed at night but was unworthy of acknowledgment or commitment before his family.

  Iain started talking about how much he loved being a sheep farmer, but I was too miserable to listen. I wallowed deeper and deeper into my pit of self-pity until something he said penetrated the dark thoughts. “What? What did you say?”

  He looked vaguely annoyed. “I asked you if you thought you’d be happy here.” I gaped at him, my mouth hanging open. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t have missed it. No, not something as important as this! Oh, god, I had! I had missed it! The most important moment in my life and I had missed it! Think, Kathie, think quickly. How was I to salvage this? Oh, god, my brain had stopped! I couldn’t think! I had finally done it, I had burned out my brain!

  “What… Iain, what exactly are you asking me?”

  “You ought to know, love, you’ve been hinting at it for the past fortnight.” He was smiling now, a dear, sweet, wonderful smile. An Iain smile. An Iain smile full of goodness and promise and heart wrenchingly fabulous joy.

  Oh, god.

  “I’m asking you to marry me, Kathie.”

  It’s amazing I didn’t just slide off of the side of that hill, great big puddle of goo that I was.

  On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…

  … who needs gifts when you have a true love?

  Iain did actually give me gifts on the top of that windblown hill. He gave me himself, which was the biggest and best gift of all. He gave me a life in a country I had always loved, but never known. He gave me the freedom to be exactly what I wanted to be. He gave me countless other things, starting with the sweetest kiss imaginable, and ending with the patience and kindness to put up with my self-centered pity party.

  There are always people who want to know about the more tangible gifts, however, about the hardware . Well, Iain gave me a gift that fit that description, too. He gave me a luckenbooth brooch. He pinned it on the sweater under my coat, and told me it was a traditional Scottish gift given to women on their engagement.

  A luckenbooth brooch has two hearts entwined with a crown on top—a leftover from the time when Queen Mary gave one to the less than admirable Lord Darnley. The one Iain gave me had a lovely garnet in it, and just looking at it pinned on my sweater over my heart made me puddle up. But those of you who expect that I wept at such a tender moment will be surprised to find out I didn’t.

  Instead, I sobbed.

  I flung myself on Iain and cried all over his coat. I bawled, I wailed, I laughed.

  I jumped up and down and kissed him and did a little jig and got the hiccups.

  And then I tripped over a rock and fell down the side of the blasted hill again.

  This time I did more than just muddy myself and wrench my ankle, however.

  This time I broke my wrist.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m sure there are other people who’ve spent their Christmas Eve in the Accidents and Emergency section of a hospital. I doubt, however, that anyone had the lovely time I had. There was just something about pain medicine and a proposal of marriage to make everything seem not quite so bad, even if your wrist had swollen up to the size of a grapefruit.

  I didn’t know my wrist was broken right away; I just thought I’d bent it backwards and wrenched the muscles. But as Iain helped me back to the house, and the pain blossomed in relation to the swelling, we began to suspect it was a bit more serious than a mild strain.

  So I spent the day in the A&E ward, Iain by my side, trying to get through to my insurance company to see if they would authorize the post emergency treatment. A half-dozen X rays, a lovely, lovely purple pill, and one piaster cast later, and I was on my way back to Iain’s house.

  There was a rueful smile playing around his lips. I mused on it in a muddled, painkiller induced hazy sort of state. “What handsome lips you have. They are especially nice when they are kissing, but when they part to speak, as they are doing now, they are still awfully nice to look at.”

  “That’s what I like about you, love.”

  “What’s that? My charm? My innate sense of grace? My appreciation for your lips? The wonderful way my eyes cross if I don’t concentrate on keeping them focused?”

  “Your sense of drama. Any other woman would have simply accepted me and left it at that. You had to break your arm for good measure.” At least that’s what I think he said. I was dropping off when he spoke, but he told me later that’s what he said. He also told me he carried me into the house and upstairs to bed. I don’t remember any of that.

  I do remember waking up in the middle of the night with a terrible thirst and a hot, heavy arm. I was also confused because I was sleeping on Iain’s side of the bed to keep my arm from being bumped during the night. The first thing that came to mind, after the pain and discomfort and the clumsiness of using the facilities with my left hand, was Christmas dinner.

  That is what I got for planning such a feast! A turkey dinner for ten (Mark was joining us) and me with an arm that I had to keep elevated above my heart. Iain helped me back to bed, gave me a glass of water, and reassured me that he put my luckenbooth brooch away in a safe spot.

  “Don’t be worrying about dinner, love. You’ve family here now,” he said as he brought out another pillow and tucked it under my arm. “We’ll take care of everything.”

  Family. What a nice thought. I snuggled back down clinging to that thought. I had family now, and they would take care of everything. It was Christmas and I had the thing I wanted most—Iain. How could the day be anything but perfect?

  Those of you who’ve had to prepare a holiday meal for family are probably ticking off the disasters on your fingers: the time Aunt Amber set fire to the kitchen with her Flaming Volcano drink; the time the dogs got to the turkey before anyone else; the time the power went off halfway through the cooking.

  The disaster potential of a holiday dinner is limitless, but I have to admit that this particular Christmas dinner turned out nigh on perfect.

  And I owe it all to Joanna’s mum, Bev. Bev wasn’t comfortable unless she was in charge of a kitchen, with lots of people to cook for. She took one look at my menu, my scattered notes that scarcely resembled recipes, and marshaled her forces. Joanna and Susan were immediately pressed into action. Breakfast was the first order of the day, and it was accomplished with a minimum of muss and fuss.

  “Mmmmm,” I said, wiping strawberry juice off my chin awkwardly with my left hand. I had planned a breakfast that included Belgian waffles, but Bev changed them into the most delicious crepes stuffed with clotted cream and strawberries. I decided right then and there that we’d spend all future Christmases at her house. “Bev, you are a genius.”

  The others agreed, in various stages of coherence, everyone’s mouth being busy at the time scarfing down the delicacies. Once breakfast was over, the men hied out en masse to do the chores quickly so we could open presents.

  There is no irony in the fact that one of the presents was opened while the men were off doing chores. I planned it that way. As soon as the door closed behind them, I called Joanna into the sitting room, where
I was installed in Iain’s favorite chair, and pointed out a package to her.

  “That’s Bridget’s gift to Iain. I’m a bit worried about it.”

  “Why?” she asked, turning the package over in her hands.

  I reached out for it with my good arm. “You know Bridget! It would be just like her to give him a Kama Sutra doll or something embarrassing like that.”

  “Good point,” said she.

  “What do you suppose it is?” I carefully shook the package. It thumped mysteriously.

  Joanna looked around to make sure we couldn’t be overheard. She took the package back and gave it a speculative shake. “Would you like me to find out?” I blinked at her. “How can you do that?”

  She smiled. “I’m very good at wrapping gifts.” She gave me a reassuring pat, and making sure no one was watching, slipped out to the bathroom with the package in hand.

  Four minutes later she returned, her lips pressed tightly together. “It’s one of those… you know… those things ,” she said in a hushed voice, a faint blush pinkening her cheeks.

  I stared at her. “No, I don’t know. What things?”

  She quickly handed the package back to me. “One of those man things. You know.”

  Her eyes implored me to understand. I did my best, but I wasn’t catching her drift. “Man things? You mean it’s an athletic supporter?” She stared at me in confusion. “A what?”

  “An athletic supporter. A cup. You know, the things guys wear when they do sports and don’t want their dangly bits to get squashed.”

  “Oh, a box.” She blushed a little harder. “No, it’s not that. I’m talking about one of those… things. The…” She peered over her shoulder, then leaned in close to me. “The things women use when they don’t have a man. To satisfy themselves.”

  I blinked at her. “A vibrator? Bridget gave Iain a vibrator ?”

  “Shhhhhh!” she smacked me on my good arm and took another peek toward the open door to the dining room, where her mother was in conversation with Susan. “No, not that. The other kind. You know.”

  I thought for a moment. My experience with man things was somewhat limited. “A dildo?”

  “Shhhhh!” She whapped me again and turned bright red.

  I was beginning to feel a bit flushed myself, but the conversation held such a bizarre fascination, I just couldn’t help but asking, “Joanna, you must be mistaken. Why on earth would Bridget want to give Iain a dil—” She clapped her hand over my mouth and smiled over my shoulder. Susan walked in and settled herself with a book on the couch across the room. I leaned toward Joanna and whispered, “Whyever do you think Bridget would give Iain that ? What possible use could he have with it?” She stared at me, her mouth hanging ajar.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like I’m a ninny, Joanna, of course I know what he could do with it, but he wouldn’t, and Bridget surely must know that. So why would she?”

  “It’s not for him, it’s for you,” she said in a vehement whisper. “Don’t you see, it’s the ultimate slap in the face for you. For both of you!” I pursed my lips and considered the matter. “I suppose anything’s possible with Bridget.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, what do you think we should do?”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Joanna’s mother asked, leaning between us and whispering herself.

  We both jumped. I looked at Joanna. She blushed even deeper and rolled her eyes.

  “It’s the present Bridget brought Iain,” I whispered back. “Do you know about Bridget?”

  She made a face. She had heard of Bridget.

  “Well, she brought this present over for Iain earlier, and Joanna peeked—” Joanna kicked me on the ankle. “She suggested we look at it, so she did, and Bridget has given Iain a dildo.”

  Bev’s eyes bugged out. “Are you sure that’s what it is?” We both looked at Joanna. She turned even more shades of red under her mother’s knowing eye. “I am a married woman, Mum. I’m pregnant. I know what one looks like.”

  I nodded my agreement. “I wouldn’t put it past Bridget. She’s out to make trouble for Iain and me.”

  “What will you do about it?”

  “I don’t know, we hadn’t reached that point yet.”

  Susan suddenly squatted in front of me and leaned into the conversation.

  “What is it? Is it Archie? Has he said anything to you—” Joanna, Bev, and I looked at each other, then back to Susan. “No, it’s not Archie,” I reassured her, speaking for the group. We were all still whispering.

  “It’s Bridget.”

  “Who’s Bridget?”

  I gave her the basics in succinct terms. “And so, you see, Joanna thought it was best—ow! Oh, all right, we thought it was best if she looked in the package.” I handed it to Susan. She looked down at it, then up at us. “What’s in it?” I looked at Joanna. She looked at her mother. Bev answered. “A phallus.” Susan looked interested. “Really? Is it one of those glass sculptures by that American artist that are all the rage? I’ve heard of them, but never had the opportunity to see one.”

  “No, Susan,” I said gently. “It’s not a piece of erotic artwork. It’s a dildo. A working model, from what I gather.”

  She dropped the package as if it contained poison.

  We all stared at like it was about to explode.

  “What are you going to do?” Joanna asked again.

  “Well I’m not going to let Iain open that in front of his brother and son, that’s for sure.”

  “We can throw it away,” Susan suggested.

  I thought about it for a minute. “No, Bridget’s sure to ask Iain what he thought of her present, and then he’ll suspect I tossed it into the rubbish out of spite.”

  “What you want,” Bev said slowly, prodding at the package with the toe of her shoe, “is some way to nobble this Bridget.”

  “Mum!” Joanna said indignantly.

  Bev gave her daughter a weary look. “I don’t say a thing about you recognizing a sexual aid and you raise a fuss over a bit of nobbling!”

  “Your mother’s right,” I said after a moment of thought. “What I want is a way I can fix Bridget and the horse she rode in on.”

  “A substitution,” Susan said.

  We all smiled at her. “Bright girl. Joanna, take that package in the corner wrapped in the gold paper with the blue stars. That’s a jumper I bought for Iain. Do you think you can transfer Bridget’s tag onto it?”

  “Oh, yes, certainly. What a good idea. But what will you do with… er… it ?” She motioned toward the package.

  “Take it upstairs and put it in under Iain’s bed. I’ll show it to him later.” And settle Bridget’s hash at the same time.

  Bev nodded, satisfied. We all exchanged conspiratorial smiles. There’s just nothing like a marital aid crisis to bring on a bout of female bonding.

  Once the men came back in, everyone filed into the sitting room. I was given a seat of honor, propped up on the couch with several pillows, and tucked in with a woolly plaid throw. I had solicited Joanna’s help in dressing after The Dildo Incident—Iain had helped me into a corduroy jumper (that’s an American jumper, or British pinafore) before breakfast, but I wasn’t about to sit through the festivities in that. I hadn’t gone out and specially purchased a lovely rustley taffeta skirt and silk blouse just to sit around in corduroy, no sir!

  Once garbed thusly, I sent Joanna off and spent a half hour trying to find where Iain had tucked away my brooch. We hadn’t told anyone yet about the engagement—what with me wailing over my arm, there hadn’t been time—but Iain mentioned earlier that he would share the news later in the day.

  I have to admit that it would take a better person than me to not look forward to telling Bridget the news. Archie was a different matter. He’d be right pissed about it, and I feared he’d ruin Christmas for Iain when he expressed his opinion. So it was with a bit of worry that I pinned, crookedly, the brooch to my b
louse, grabbed a cardigan, and walked carefully downstairs.

  “Ah, there she is. And what a picture of holiday festive-ness in that lovely ensemble. Stop right here, my dear, and let mine eyes behold your glory.” Archie made a rude noise.

  “Why, Ewen,” I said as I stopped beneath the mistletoe and struck a pose,

  “how perceptive you are! Flattery will get you anywhere!” He smiled, paused a minute as he spied the luckenbooth brooch peeking out from beneath the sweater, then leaned forward and kissed me. “I couldn’t be happier,” he whispered in my ear, then with an arm around my shoulders, marched me past a scowling Archie and helped me get settled on the couch.

  The flurry of wrapping paper was almost blinding as presents were opened, admired, and passed around for general approval. I hadn’t expected much since I was not a member of the family, but was touched when Joanna and David gave me a lovely soft wool sweater with little pink rosebuds on it. Iain gave me a set of four first edition Dorothy L. Sayers early mysteries. I sniffled over those, since he knows those four books were my favorites, and they couldn’t have been easy for him to find.

  When Iain unwrapped Bridget’s replacement present, the eye of every woman present was upon him.

  “Er… it’s a jumper,” he said, holding it up. We women all smiled our approval. Iain didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Should I wear it, do you think?” he asked me in a worried whisper. “Or would it be making you happier if I were to put it in the kist?” Like hell he would. I spent a fortune on that jumper, picking out one in lovely shades of red that would set off his dark coloring well. “No, it’s quite a nice jumper. I don’t think it would be at all polite to just tuck it away. I’m sure she meant you to enjoy it,” I lied, knowing full well she meant to embarrass him and humiliate me. Two could play that game, I decided, and set my plans for revenge aside for later. I had more important things to focus on. I had a gift to give Iain!