Men in Kilts

by Katie MacAlister

Joanna popped a toffee in her mouth, and surveyed the barn. “Have you never thought of having children, Kathie?”

  Just the once, I thought, a few months ago and it scared the hell out of me . “No, it never seemed to be a right moment. Either I was in a temporary relationship, or life was too unsettled. And I didn’t want to raise a child by myself, which limited me to serious, ongoing relationships, and I haven’t had too many of those.”

  She rubbed her belly and sucked her toffee. “It’s not too late, you know. Lots of women have children into their early forties. You and Dad could have a baby if you got started soon.”

  I almost choked on the toffee she had handed me. “Uh… no, I think Iain’s happy with the two children he has, and it’s rather late for me to be thinking of that.”

  She did a pretty good impression of Iain’s tch and wiggled her eyebrows at me, a trick she had also picked up from him. “If it’s David you’re worried about, you needn’t be. He’d love to have a little brother or sister.” I thought desperately of a topic interesting enough to allow me to change the subject. “Well, that’s very sweet of David, but honestly, children aren’t in our plan. I’m looking forward to just being a grandmother.” She giggled. “Just imagine, you’ll be a granny but not a mum.” We laughed over that bit of irony, and after musing on the oddness of life, went in to watch the shearing.

  * * *

  That evening Iain told me that Archie would be making his third visit to us.

  “What do you mean he’s coming up to help with the shearing? Archie ? Your least farm-oriented son?”

  Iain grinned, and stretched his legs out before him. We were sitting out on a blanket near what had once been a vegetable garden, watching the stars twinkle down at us.

  “You wouldn’t think it, now would you, but Archie’s a better hand at shearing than David is.”

  “I thought he didn’t like sheep.”

  “He doesn’t. But he likes shearing them.”

  Yes, well, that made a lot of sense. Archie seemed to take particular enjoyment out of being contrary. “Well, I know you’ll be glad to have him here, and maybe he’s resigned himself to our marriage. It’s been four months; he certainly ought to have by now. Is Susan coming as well?”

  “He didn’t say.” Iain pulled me over next to him and started sliding a hand under my skirt and up my calf. It was a very distracting action, but I wanted to take advantage of our time together, so I did my best to ignore the hand creeping up my leg, and the nibbling that was going on around my nape and ear region.

  “Um, Iain, about Bathsheepa…”

  “Not now, love.”

  “This won’t take but a min… min… um… minute. You know, that’s very distracting when you do that with your tongue.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “As I was saying, about Baaaaaaaaa … oh, my. Yes. Um. Bathsheepa, Iain. I really want to… hooooo ! Just a hair lower, sweetie. Oh, yes! Ah, as I was telling you, Bathsheepa really means quite… a… bit… it’s awfully warm out tonight, isn’t it?”

  “Warm. Aye. Verra warm.”

  “No, that’s not what I was talking… aaaaaaaa-AAAAAH !” Clearly dungs were getting out of hand. My hands, not Iain’s; his were in complete control as they quickly stripped us both of our clothing. I knew that if I wanted to make a pitch for keeping Bathsheepa, steps were going to have to be taken and quickly, before I lost myself to the glory of a dishy Scot in full seduction mode. I decided to turn the tables on said dishy Scot. If he could turn my mind to mush with just a few nibbles on my neck and assorted wanderings of his hands, then I could do the same to him. I’d have him promising me not only Bathsheepa, but also the moon that smiled down on us as well.

  “You’re in my power now, you lusty Scot, you,” I crowed as I pushed him onto his back, straddling his belly and pressing his hands against the blanket next to his ears.

  “You’re thinking that, are you?” he asked with a smile playing around those manly, adorable lips.

  I decided he needed punishing before I pleaded my case for Bathsheepa. Lots of punishing. “I’m certain of it,” I replied, and released his hands so I could slide my own over the wonderful muscled planes of his chest.

  “Nipples!” I said in mock surprise, and bit his chin as I slid down a little, lowering my head to his chest to get a better look at the unexpected find.

  “Imagine that, right here where anyone could do wicked, torturous things to them.”

  “Aye, I keep them there for emergencies,” he replied with a definite hitch in his breathing. “I’ve found it to be very convenient. What sort of wicked, tortuous… oh, god, love!”

  First Bathsheepa, I told myself, fully engaged in dishing out punishment that would keep a smile on Iain’s face for the next week. First Bathsheepa, then the moon. ‘Twould be a piece of cake.

  That was my thinking before his hands got into the action. Once he discovered where I kept my nipples (“Nipples!” he said in the same surprised tone I had used), it was all over for me. I couldn’t hold a thought longer than a flea on a rock. I worried about that for all of a nanosecond, then gave it up and focused on my plans for Iain’s punishment.

  “As you’re in my complete and total power,” I managed to squeak out, my breath coming in little bursts as Iain’s hands and mouth were busy mapping out the exact dimensions of my breasts, “I’m going to have to insist that you follow standard operating procedure.”

  “Aye? And what’s that?” Iain razed his tongue over a nipple that was crying out for just that touch. A moan started deep in my throat as I pulled away from the hot lure of his mouth. I located his belt in the pile of our discarded clothing and hooked it around the base of the standing water pipe a few feet away.

  “Hold this,” I instructed him, leaning over to place the ends near his ears.

  “What?”

  “I want you to hold on to your belt while I’m having my way with you.” He thought about my demand for all of two seconds, then reached up and took an end of the belt in either hand. “You’re in one of those moods, aren’t you love?”

  “One of the moods where I make you take a passive role and let me frolick upon your feeble man’s body? Yes. Yes, Iain, I am in one of those moods.” I wrapped my hand around the long, hot length of him and leaned forward to kiss that smug smile off the corners of his lips. “And you are going to hold onto that belt and not let go of it until I say you can,” I whispered against his mouth.

  His smug smile got smugger. Until I gently drew my nails down the soft dangly parts of him. Then he lost his smile in the groan of pleasure that rumbled deep in his chest.

  “You smell like heather and wind and that lovely spicy soap you use,” I said as I flicked my tongue across his nipple. His stomach contracted as I grazed my teeth along the adorable little brown nipple nub. “But best of all,” I repeated the action against the nipple’s twin, then swirled my tongue around his belly button. His muscles contracted even more. “Best of all, you smell like an aroused Iain, my aroused Iain. Your pheromone factory must be working overtime, sweetie, because the scent of you makes me want you deep inside me, filling me, making me burn bright with your fire.”

  Iain groaned and jerked his arms toward me, the belt prohibiting his movement. “Oh, aye, love, that sounds like heaven to me.” I bit his hip then kissed away the sting. “Hands on the belt, mister! Don’t let go of it!”

  He groaned again, then lifted his hips as I slid down and ran both hands up his thighs, letting my hair slither down his belly. His whole body jerked again as I nuzzled my way up one thigh, spreading his legs and rubbing my breasts against him as I headed for ground zero. A creaking noise made me pause. I glanced up to make sure his hands were on the belt. They were, but the water pipe was listing at a thirty degree angle from the strain of Iain pulling on the belt. I licked and nibbled my way up his thighs until I was flush up against the object of my desire.

  “Mmm, yes, I can see you’re holding tight to the belt. I believe such good behavi
or is deserving of reward, don’t you?”

  A hopeful moan was my answer. I let my fingers go wild on the soft, tender flesh before me as I rubbed my cheek along his velvety hardness. He bucked.

  “Did I tell you I’m thinking of learning to play the bagpipes, Iain?” He didn’t say anything, just lifted his head and looked at me with big, pleading eyes. I smiled. “It’s true, I am. What other instrument will allow me to squeeze, blow, and finger all at the same time?”

  His body went taut as he read the intent in my eyes. I fingered. I squeezed.

  And I licked a serpentine trail up his claymore o‘ love, blowing a soft breath along the path. There was a loud cracking noise as his hands jerked down to grab me and pull me up above him. He held me over his hips, positioning himself to impale me, his hips rising to meet me even as I plunged down onto him. Drops of water hit my chest and shoulders as I arched back on him, taking him in deeper, mindless of the fact that he broke the water pipe, mindless of the hard grip of his hands on my hips urging me into a rhythm that drove him deeper and deeper into me with each thrust, mindless of everything but the love that swelled and grew within me until it spilled out into the night. I tightened around him and started a circular motion that I knew would drive him to the brink of euphoria, reveling in my power to make him insane with desire, but reveling also in the power he had to make me feel one with him.

  A plume of water arced over us, bathing us both with tiny little bites of cold as the water splashed onto our skin, but the cold stood no chance against the fires Iain had started in both of us. I would have sworn the water evaporated off me as soon as it touched my heated flesh, but Iain’s hands were slick over my skin as he followed the curve of my hips up to my ribs, spreading the water along the heaviness of my breasts, up over my shoulders, sweeping down my back to curve around my behind. I leaned forward, trailing the wet ends of my hair along his chest as I licked the water from his mouth.

  “I love you, my sweet Iain.”

  His mouth opened beneath mine, one hand sliding back up my spine to cup my head, holding me firmly as I teased his tongue until he growled into my throat. Grabbing my hips, he rolled us over until he had me pinned on the soggy blanket.

  “And I’m lovin‘ you as well,” he rumbled just before he plunged back into the raging inferno he’d started deep within me. His hips flexed in short, fast thrusts as I opened my body and soul to him, taking his love, taking his heart, and giving him back my own. There was moisture on my cheeks as he spun us into a climax that rocked the world, but I couldn’t tell if it was from tears or the water. I cried out my love for him as he rose over me, braced on his hands, his back arched as he roared his love to the night. The image of his powerful body silhouetted against the silver light of the moon, caught in that beautiful, brilliant moment of ecstasy, would stay with me forever.

  Oh, he certainly was loving me. He loved me beyond anything I’d ever known.

  Archie arrived the following day. He dropped his bags in the spare bedroom, greeted me civilly, if coolly, and went off to the barn to help with the shearing.

  I took cold drinks down about an hour later and watched him shear. Iain was right—he was pretty good.

  I had the chance to talk with him privately a few nights later. Iain was taking a shower in preparation for a guy’s night out at the pub. It was a conversation I was to remember for a long time, not because of Archie being rude to me, but because of what it revealed.

  “I understand you’re trying to learn Gaelic,” he said in a supercilious tone. I was curled up on the couch with two books, trying to decide which I wanted to read. Archie leaned against the frame of the door to the sitting room and watched me.

  “Yes, I am. Don’t tell me you have objections to that?” He smirked. “None at all, although Dad might when he learns what’s really going on.”

  God, he was a pill.

  “Your father knows I’m interested in Gaelic, Archie. He just doesn’t have the time to teach me himself.”

  I could hear Iain starting down the stairs. “Oh really? And what would Dad have to say about what else you’re interested in?” He’d lost me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be found. “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you are doing more with your tutor than learning Gaelic .”

  “Are you ready, lad?” Iain called out from the kitchen, then popped in to kiss me before they left.

  I was thankful I had only one lamp on, so he didn’t see the blush that had swept over me at his son’s charge. That little rotter Archie! He was insinuating that I was having a fling with Graeham, and I was willing to bet my next book’s royalties that I knew just who had started that bit of nastiness!

  Chapter Twenty-two

  September rolled in on the back of the brisk, clean air that was a trademark of the Highlands. One bright day late in the month Iain came in shortly before tea time, bringing with him the smell of the wind and hay and the horses.

  “How are you feeling, love? Better?”

  I blinked, pushed aside the books, magazines, and my laptop, and sat up in bed, yawning. “Oh, Iain. Yes, I feel much better. I had a bit of a nap. I think I’ve finally got this flu whooped.”

  Iain sat down on the bed next to me and looked over at a collection of juice glasses, water glasses, mugs with leftover flu medicine, and a soup bowl. My mother always told me to push fluids for both colds and flus.

  “Ah, looks like you’re keeping something down at least.”

  “Yup. Like I said, I think I have this bug squashed.” Iain looked slightly worried. “You said that four days ago, love.”

  “Flus do that sometimes. Come back on you. Just when you think you’re getting better, they wallop you again.” I heaved myself up, and propped a pillow up behind me, still drowsy and warm in the pool of autumn sun that lay across the bed. “Boy, that was a long nap. I must have really needed the sleep.”

  “Hmmm.” He held something in his hand. Something paper. Something familiar. Something that belonged in the kitchen.

  “What are you doing with the calendar?” I asked.

  He looked down at it, frowned, and setting it on the bed, leaned back against the carved headboard and pulled me over to his side. He kissed my forehead, checking for signs of a fever.

  “I don’t have a fever, Iain.”

  “I know you don’t, love.”

  “But thank you for checking. Did you have your tea? I’m famished. I know we’re going out later with David and Jo and the baby, but I don’t think I can last that long without a little something to tide me over.”

  “We’ll do tea in a minute.” He eyed me with an unusual intensity. “How long have we been married?”

  What a stupid question. He knew how long we’d been married! “Almost eight months. Why? Are you going to give me a present?”

  “I think I already have.”

  “Huh? Where is it?”

  “Erm… well… ah… Joanna—”

  “Joanna has my present? Well, she can just give it back! That’s taking step-daughter-in-law-ism too far! I don’t care if she is the mother of our granddaughter, you know how I love presents!”

  “No, love, she doesn’t have your present—”

  “Well then, where is it?”

  “Eh… you’re not making this easy, Kathie.”

  Now he was beginning to tick me off. Here he dangled a present in front of me, and then when I asked politely for it, he got all obtuse on me and refused to give it to me.

  “Well if you don’t want to give it to me, that’s just fine. You can take it back to wherever it is you got it. I just hope you can get your money back for it.” Iain started to chuckle. Really, the man was being quite, quite exasperating. I pinched him to let him know I didn’t appreciate being made fun of in my poor, pitiful flu riddled state.

  “Love, I think we’re needing to have a little discussion if you’re feeling up to it.”

  “A discussion about men who promise gifts only to snatch them away bef
ore their beloved wives receive them?” I asked darkly.

  “No, a little discussion about… ah… let’s start with Joanna and David.”

  “Why? Is something wrong with Baby Amy?”

  Joanna had given birth to a lovely blue-eyed girl two months before, named Amy after her maternal great-grandmother. Iain adored the baby, taking much pleasure in her even when she spat up all over him. The first time I held her, I fixed her with a stern look and informed her she was to forgo ralphing on me.

  Thus far she had honored my request.

  “No, she’s fine, love, but as you mention the baby…” I smiled at him and snuggled into his shoulder. Iain was so cute. I had been very careful to keep my granddad teasing to a minimum, but obviously he was feeling his age a bit, what with his first grandchild wrapping everyone around her pudgy little fingers.

  “It’s all right, Iain, you don’t have to pussyfoot around me.” He looked startled. “I don’t?”

  “No, you’re just feeling your age now that you’ve spawned a dynasty. It’s natural! You’ll be fifty soon, so you shouldn’t fret if you’re feeling a bit ancient.”

  He flinched. Clearly ancient wasn’t a good word choice. I tried to make amends. “You’re really quite young, you know. I’m sure you’ll be around to see this grandchild grow up, and any other grandchildren you have. I mean, you’ll only be sixty-eight when the baby is twenty.”

  “Oh, lord.”

  I patted his hand sympathetically. “I know, it sounds awfully old, doesn’t it, but really, you have to face facts. Time is passing, sweetie, and we’re not getting any younger, but that’s not a bad thing! We’re on the threshold of our twilight years—”

  “Kathie, stop.”

  I looked at him. His lovely peaty brown eyes were closed, his mouth was twitching, and his manly chest was shaking.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Iain made an effort to compose himself, and waved a hand at the calendar.

  “Love, when’s the last time you had a look at the calendar?” I glanced over to where it was sitting on the edge of the bed. Had I forgotten his birthday? No, that was the following month. David’s birthday? Joanna’s?