by Caroline Lee
By the fourth name, Brohn had already been wincing in earnest. Well, best just get it said. He took a deep breath.
“Are ye sure ye dinnae want to marry a Henry?”
She squinted at him. “What are ye saying?”
“Well, ye ken my father’s name was Brohn, aye? And I was so skinny when I was a lad that yer brothers started to call me that name as a joke? Since I wasnae brawny at all?”
Now she frowned, and there was warning in her tone when she prompted, “Brohn…?”
Slowly, his lips pulled into a grin. “Remember how ye asked me what my real name was, Nessa?”
“Brohn, what is yer real name?” The question tumbled from her lips, her voice pitched higher than usual in her franticness.
His grin grew, and he nodded at the seven fingers she still held up. “How about adding a Henry Oliphant to that list?”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “What? Yer real name is Henry?”
“Aye!” Laughing at her reaction, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her down, then rolled them both over so he covered her with his body.
When he had her just where he wanted her, when he saw her eyes begin to glaze over with passion, he asked her again,
“Can ye marry a Henry, Nessa?”
Her arms snaked around his neck, and he knew she was ready for him and would always be ready for him. “Only if ‘tis ye, Brohn.”
“I love ye.” He’d never get tired of saying that.
She smiled, then tugged. “Shut up and kiss me, Henry.”
Epilogue
When Father Ambrose gave his blessing, and Brohn leaned down to kiss her, the clan broke into cheers.
Of course, ‘twas even louder than normal, because Da was kissing Moira at the same time.
Moira had gotten the double wedding she’d wanted, and the clan had gotten the celebration they’d wanted. What better way to celebrate Hogmanay than with a newly wedded laird? And how better to enter the new year than with two new marriages?
Frankly, Nessa was a little distracted with her new marriage to worry about her father’s. Brohn’s arms were tight around her, and she was positively giddy with relief. After all these months, he was finally hers.
But after long enough, he had to release her, and she had to accept the well-wishes from the clan. To her surprise, Da swept her up in his embrace and spun her about.
When he set her down, he was beaming, and Nessa realized she couldn’t recall him ever looking so happy.
“I’m pleased for ye, Da.”
“Aye, and ‘tis all thanks to ye, lassie. Soon enough, I’ll have some more grandbairns to bounce on my knee, and Moira can coddle them all she wants. Then I’ll pass this lairdship off to one of yer brothers and can finally get around to moldering in peace.”
Nessa scoffed and elbowed him. “What happened to being virile and lusty, Da?”
Her father lowered his brows in a mock glare. “I thought we agreed to never speak of such things again?”
“I didnae. I like speaking of sex. Sex, sex, se—”
Her father clamped a hand around her mouth and dragged her around to face the priest. “Ye’re embarrassing me, lassie,” he hissed, while Nessa tried to contain her giggles.
Father Ambrose apparently saw naught wrong with the situation, and instead, offered a vague and sort of general blessing over them and the gathered clan. “ ’Tis good to see such affection between a man and his daughter. For as the Bible tells us, ‘Ye cannae tell a genius a lie, and ye cannae tell an idiot the truth.’ ”
Da glared. “Was that an insult?” and Nessa burst into laughter behind his hand.
With a curse, he pulled his hand away and she allowed her giggles to break free.
“Och, Da, I do love ye,” she said, lifting herself up on her toes to brush a kiss across his cheek.
“And I love ye too, lassie, even if ye are a little headstrong sometimes.”
“A little?” she teased. “I’ll have to work harder if ye think I’m only a little headstrong.”
“ ’Tis no’ my problem anymore!” her father shot back. “Yer husband will have to find a way to tame ye now!”
From behind them came Brohn’s soothing voice. “I would sooner cut off my right arm than try to tame yer daughter’s spirit, milord.”
They turned to see Brohn standing with his arm around his mother. Moira looked just lovely in a light blue gown, a bundle of rosemary clutched in her hand. Nessa had carried a similar one during the ceremony, but had long ago misplaced it.
Lara had suggested they both carry mistletoe, but Moira hadn’t wanted to risk the delicate leaves being ruined, so instead, a bundle was hung over the altar.
Da followed Nessa’s gaze. “By this time next year, we should have more of that mistletoe to hang up.”
Moira gasped and stepped away from Brohn to take her new husband’s hand. “Really, William?”
He beamed. “Aye, my love. I’ve sent to England—blasted place—to have some fresh mistletoe cut and preserved for ye. As much as a horse can carry!”
She was laughing when Da pulled her into his embrace, and when Nessa glanced at her own new husband, Brohn was grinning.
“I’m happy for them,” he said simply, offering her his hand. When she took it, he pulled her closer.
“I’m happy for us,” she added. “We didnae have to wait as long as they did to declare our love before our clan and God, but it felt like forever.”
“Nay, lass,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers. “Our forever starts now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to learn my duty.”
His duty.
Once the snowstorm had ended, and the rest of the clan had dug themselves out and returned to the castle, her brothers had all been happy for her and Brohn, whom they considered one of their own. Rocque had teased ‘twas a good thing he’d moved into Merewyn’s cottage, so Brohn could have the commander’s apartment, and Nessa was looking forward to having more space to love her husband in.
He was a good man, a quiet man, and she loved him. He knew his duty to his clan, and she knew her duty to him.
In the spring, when all the bairns began coming, the Oliphants would know who the next laird would be.
And whichever of her brothers God chose to lead the clan next, Brohn would be there, supporting him. And she would support her husband. And occasionally, vice versa.
Aye, he knew his duty, and so did she.
“Yer duty to yer clan, husband?” she whispered back, her lips inches from his. “Or to me?”
“My duty to my heart, Nessa.”
As if by instinct, both of them lifted their faces, their gazes drawn to the bundle of dried leaves and wax berries hanging above their heads.
Then, smiling, he lowered his lips to hers, and the clan erupted into cheers once more.
A note from Caroline
On Historical Accuracy
Okay, if you’ve been following along with the Hots for Scots series, you know these books are not about historical accuracy. There’s dudes in kilts (a 16th century fashion) wandering around rush-covered floors. But hopefully you’ll forgive me that because, well…dudes in kilts.
If you’re new to the series, you’ve probably picked up on the super-cerebral plotline: Laird Oliphant declared whichever of his six bastard sons (three sets of twins, all born the same year) presents him with a legitimate son first, gets to be the next laird. Stoic Duncan and rakish Kiergan want nothing to do with the offer, but charming Finn, brawny Rocque, scholarly Malcolm and somber Alistair decide to give it the ol’ college try. This, of course, results in a half dozen romances where the hero and heroine get down to business verra quickly.
If you haven’t picked up the rest of the series, you’ll definitely want to start with A Scot Mess, which does a delightfully hilarious job of introducing you to this ridiculous concept. Be warned: there’s more anachronistic jokes, mistaken identity gags, and penis puns than you can shake a stick at!
…if you’r
e the type to shake sticks, I mean.
As far as Scot Under the Mistletoe goes, I fell in love with the title before I discovered mistletoe doesn’t grow in Scotland.
#SorryNotSorry
Deciding I couldn’t possibly scrap the idea, I came up with a way for Nessa to learn all about the adorable traditions revolving around this little parasitic plant. The legend Moira describes is, in fact, true…well, I mean, as far as legends go. I didn’t make it up, is my point. However, the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe didn’t become common until only a few hundred years ago.
So we’re just going to claim the Oliphants are ahead of their time, okay?
Now that William is finally married to Moira, and Nessa has found her Happily Ever After with Brohn (who knew what those two were getting up to behind the scenes during the previous books, eh?) all that’s left is to wait and see who becomes the next laird, eh?
Which Oliphant bastard will present the current laird with a son first? Of course, it’s their wives doing all the hard work, but we all know they’re going to strut around and act as though they birthed the bairns themselves.
If you’re as anxious to find out who the new laird will be as I am, keep an eye on the Hots for Scots series, to find out!
In the meantime, I want to offer you a personal invitation to my reader group, and also sign up for my mailing list, so you’ll never miss a thing, and you’ll get a free book to boot! If you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll consider joining Caroline’s Cohort Facebook Group, where I post all the best book news first, and you’ll be able to get to know me personally. These are my biggest fans, and are instrumental in helping me name characters and choose covers, so stop on by!
About Caroline Lee
USA Today Bestseller Caroline Lee writes #HistoryWithHeart
If you’re into sexy Highlanders or sensual cowboys, she’d love to introduce you to characters you’ll never forget!
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