Negotiating a marriage contract or a trade agreement was easy compared to the time he’d talked the McNeal sisters into bed…at the same time.
His grin turned self-satisfied, which was the one more people might recognize.
“Hmm, I’d like to ken what ye’re thinking,” came a purring voice behind him, moments before a set of feminine arms slid around his neck.
Kiergan twisted in his seat to find Minnie, the serving lass he sometimes sought out, grinning suggestively.
“Naught important,” he assured her, tugging her around so she stood beside him and he could appreciate her assets easier. “What are ye doing bothering with a moping man like me on a fine evening like this?”
“I’ve missed ye, milord,”
She pretended to pout as she ran her fingers through his hair, but he noticed the position put his face—especially his mouth—level with the low neckline of her gown. Recognizing her attempts at seduction, Kiergan smiled, and was surprised to realize he didn’t feel the slightest bit of arousal.
Gently, he pulled her hands off him and patted her on the rear end. “I’m no’ fit company tonight, lass. Go find some other gentleman to scratch yer itch.”
Her pout grew. “Like whom, Kiergan? Nae other man—”
He scoffed and patted her again. “Dinnae lie, lass. I ken ye have plenty of other men ye turn to.”
“Oh, aright.” Her grin flashed, proving she’d just been trying to manipulate him. “I see Bean over there all by his lonesome. Do ye ken he has the biggest cock of any man I’ve met?”
Forcing a chuckle, Kiergan shook his head. “Ye’ll no’ make me jealous, sweet. Go drape yerself over him, and I’m sure ye’ll make Bean’s entire month.”
Giggling, the serving lass sashayed over toward the group of warriors, and Kiergan shook his head.
Why had he turned down her offer?
The cock-size comparison. I dinnae want to be told my member is smaller than Bean’s!
Nay, he’d turned her down before then.
Mayhap ‘twas seeing all his brothers happy and in love. Or mayhap ‘twas the ale. Either way, the thought of a quick fook up against the wall didn’t hold any appeal for him at that moment.
He scooped up his empty flagon and frowned down at it.
A quick fook held no appeal?
Mayhap he was ill.
Or more drunk than he’d suspected, after all.
Or no’ drunk enough.
Bah! This celebration was no fun anymore. Scowling, he slammed the empty flagon down once more and pushed himself upright.
Stumbling slightly, he managed to make his way toward the stairs and his bedchamber. He’d go over Nessa’s betrothal contract with the Campbells once more before presenting it to Da on the morrow. Aye, if that didn’t sober him up, naught would.
Then he’d take himself in hand and try to relieve some of this strange energy which made him itchy and uncomfortable. Imagine him—him!—turning down a quick tumble with a willing wench!
Mayhap he was ill.
One thing was for certes, with Alistair finally marrying, there was no way Kiergan was going to have to worry about finding a bride and becoming laird.
He was safe.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
On Historical Accuracy
Kilts, secret passages, dildos, blah blah blah. Let’s talk about the history that really matters: fried chicken.
Yep, fried chicken is actually traced back to Scotland! The method of cooking the meat of a young, tender chicken in fat became very popular. Scots brought the recipe to the American south when they immigrated, and the dish was adopted by enslaved Africans, who combined the cooking method with the seasonings from West African cuisine. Fried chicken became a popular dish among the African American communities to celebrate special occasions (because, as Lara points out, it’s time- and resource-consuming), and in a time when restaurants were often closed to them due to segregation, it was a dish which traveled well.
The dish we know and love today is actually a combination of Scottish cooking practices and West African flavoring. How cool is that?
Okay, there’s a few other things to address in this Author’s Note, but like always, I’m going to point out that this series is a comedy. I’m sure you didn’t really read it expecting historical accuracy, right? For instance, slates weren’t used to write on until a bit after the medieval period. But then, I couldn’t have Lara doodling penises.
Heh. Doodling penises. Sounds a bit naughty, eh?
But anyhow, yeah, we should probably talk about dildos. Because, you know…dildos. They’re fun to talk about. And they’re historical! It bugs me when people get it into their heads that sex toys—and interesting fetishes and kinky stuff—didn’t become “a thing” until like the 1970s. Um, what? Yeah, no. Your ancestors were just as kinky as you are!
Hey, we don’t kink shame around here.
Archeologists have found dildos in Paleolithic sites—even some double-headed ones, I kid you not. Forget ancient Greece, forget ancient Egypt…your Stone Age ancestors were getting freaky with one another (listen, a double-headed dildo is meant to be shared).
The term “dildo” was actually gaining popularity by the end of the 1500s (from the Italian word for “delight” of course), but since I’ve been really vague on the time period for The Hots for Scots (men wearing kilts, but rushes on the floor, equals a confusing time period. So sue me.), I figured I’d leave out the actual word.
Besides, it’s much funnier to have Lara name her dildo, eh?
Treenis. Heh.
As should become obvious by now, I’m not writing this series to be historically accurate, but to make myself laugh. Yes, sometimes I have the sense of humor of an adolescent boy, but you’ll notice I didn’t make nearly as many fart jokes as I could’ve in this book.
You’re welcome.
I hope, somewhere along the way, I made you laugh too.
Now, are you ready for Kiergan’s book? His story is called Scot to the Touch, and features a heroine as delightfully quirky as Lara. Keep reading for a sneak peek!
If you’re anything like
