Drop It Like It's Scot (The Hots for Scots Book 5)

by Caroline Lee

But Nessa only mumbled, “I dinnae want a Henry,” as she squinted angrily at her embroidery.

  “Aye, I ken,” Lara murmured sympathetically as she sank down to the bench next to Nessa. “I’m sorry.”

  Her best friend harrumphed, and Lara sighed. The laird had gotten it into his head he needed to marry Nessa off, despite her protests. This would be her sixth betrothal contract, if the second Henry Campbell was willing. The first five had also been Henrys…and all had died before Nessa had even gotten the chance to meet them.

  ‘Twas becoming a bit of a curse.

  “Bah, let us speak of something else!” Nessa declared, dropping her embroidery into her lap.

  “Aright.” Lara nodded to the pile of threads. “What are ye working on?”

  “This? ‘Twill be a pillow cover or some such.” Nessa gestured dismissively. “I thought mayhap ‘twould be educational.”

  Lara leaned over to peer at the embroidery. “Verra educational.” She hummed and pointed to one part of the artwork. “Is that a leg?”

  “Nay, that is his leg.” Her best friend smoothed out the linen to point to the entwined figures. “That is his penis.”

  Lara could only blink. “ ’Tis…a big penis.”

  “Aye, ‘tis allegorical.”

  Twisting her head to one side, Lara squinted. “Och, aye. An allegorical penis. Do all allegoricals have two penises?”

  “What? Nay, an allegorical is no’ an animal. ‘Tis a human penis, both of them. Both men.” Nessa was frowning down at her design.

  “Oh, that’s where the extra leg comes from. I thought it belonged to the woman.”

  “Nay, see? She’s attached to this harness with a leather strap.”

  Lara hummed. “Verra clever, if such a thing existed.”

  “I dinnae see why it wouldnae. It makes access much easier.”

  The two friends met each other’s eyes, then burst into giggles. “Verra educational,” Lara managed to gasp.

  “Allegorical!”

  The friends’ laughter slowly turned to gasps, then heaving breaths as they slouched against one another.

  “Speaking of penises,” Nessa began nonchalantly, “how’s Alistair?”

  Well, that had Lara shooting straight upright once more. “What?” it was her turn to squeak. “He’s— I mean, how should I ken?”

  “Oh, ye ken why I ken ye should ken.” Nessa smirked.

  Blushing furiously, Lara turned her gaze to her lap. “ ’Tis too many kens in one sentence.”

  “I ken.”

  Nessa might not know of the secret passages, but she knew of Lara’s obsession with her older brother. Well, mayhap obsession wasn’t the right word. What would be the correct word for thinking of a man all the time, and imagining his hands on her body when she touched herself, and occasionally sneaking along the castle’s secret passages to spy on him doing naked calisthenics?

  Obsession works, aye.

  “He’s fine,” Lara mumbled, knowing ‘twas true. Alistair was verra fine indeed. “Could we please change the subject?”

  Chuckling again, Nessa nodded, folding her embroidery. “Aright. I just had to ask, since we rarely get time alone these days.”

  Her friend was right. Today they’d met in Nessa’s room just so they could have the chance to talk uninterrupted. The laird’s aunt, Lady Agatha, was holding her usual court in the ladies’ solar down the hall. At least two of Nessa’s sisters-in-law would likely be there, mayhap more. But ‘twas nice to be able to laugh freely about penises and such with her friend.

  “And what are the ladies discussing today?” Lara asked, pretending the question actually mattered to her.

  “Likely Da’s birthday celebration,” came the reply. “Ye’ve heard of it, I presume?”

  Finally, something safe to discuss which didn’t involve her unfortunately voyeuristic one-sided love affair.

  “Have I heard of it?” Lara nodded to the now-blank slate across the room. “What do ye think I was mulling on over there? I’m to plan the menu,” she stated proudly. Her mother had told her that very morning, and Lara was excited for the chance to show the clan her culinary expertise.

  “That is wonderful news, Lara!” Beaming, Nessa leaned over and grabbed Lara’s hand to squeeze it. “I’m happy for ye, and I cannae wait to see what ye come up with. Da will surely love it.”

  “Do ye think so?” ‘Twas the one thing worrying Lara most at that point. “Ye dinnae think he’d prefer something more traditional? Something, like Mam would plan?”

  Nessa winked. “I think Da would like anything yer mother came up with, if ye ken my meaning. But aye, since Moira vouched for ye, I’m sure he’d be happy.”

  Lara’s eyes widened as she realized her friend’s meaning. “Ye think…my mother and yer father…?”

  The look her friend gave her was entirely too skeptical. “Ye dinnae?”

  Actually, Lara had long suspected that her widowed mother had found love. The two women shared a room after all, and there have been many nights when Mam wouldn’t join her in the bed at all, but would appear refreshed and invigorated in the kitchens in the morning.

  Lara had assumed she was sleeping—or not sleeping—in some mysterious man’s bed and didn’t begrudge her mother the happiness one bit. ‘Twas impossible to ignore the spring in the older woman’s step after an evening away from their shared room, and Lara benefitted from the absence as well, because it had allowed her the chance to explore her own body.

  Aye, Mam had definitely taken a lover, but was the mystery lover the laird?

  Lara shook her head in disbelief. “

  This would bear some study.

  But Nessa had apparently moved on to a different thought. “I’m excited to see what ye and Alistair come up with for the celebration.”

  Lara’s head whipped around. “What?”

  When her friend blinked innocently, ‘twas obvious to Lara that Nessa had made the seemingly casual announcement just to see the effect it had on her. “Oh, did ye no’ ken? Da has put ye in charge of the menu and Alistair in charge of planning.”

  Frowning, Lara pushed herself to her feet. “Yer brother is already overworked as is!”

  Nessa shrugged. “ ’Tis the laird’s will, and ye ken Alistair will be able to handle it.”

  “Aye, of course he can!” There was naught the poor man couldn’t do, which is why he was always being asked to do it! “But he already shoulders too much responsibility.”

  Her friend shrugged again, still too nonchalant. “What can be done? At least ye’re there to help shoulder this burden this time.”

  Huffing, Lara slammed her hands against her hips and whirled around. Alistair Oliphant practically ran the clan’s business as ‘twas; he didn’t need one more thing added to his list! He had to be the most uptight and stressed man she knew, and now he’d been given an additional burden to deal with.

  As she paced, she fumed. The man was under so much pressure, with so little time, he rarely had time to train with the other warriors. She knew for a fact he’d had to give up his regular morning rides a few years ago when his father had turned the clan business over to him.

  He didn’t have any chance to just relax, which is why he’d taken to doing those naked pushy-clapping calisthenics she liked so much.

  “ ’Tis intolerable!” she muttered. “One more thing for him to worry about! Just let the poor man rest, by the Virgin! He does far more than anyone else!”

  Nessa was watching Lara, her hands folded in her lap and a secret smile on her face. “So help him.”

  “With the planning?” Lara swung around. “Aye, I will.”

  “Nay—I mean, aye, with the planning.” Nessa’s grin grew. “But I also meant help him relax.”

  Lara narrowed her eyes. “What do ye mean?”

  “I mean, go talk to him. Ye could use the celebration as an excuse, but ye could also see how he’s feeling. Talk to him, Lara. Make him laugh. Teach him how to relax.”

  Part of
her wondered if her friend had set this all up, but that part was quickly being drowned out by a bigger part of her—a screaming, whooping voice—which was hollering, Talk to him! Talk to him!

  She’d grown up with the man, and despite her secret spying on him, he likely didn’t even know who she was any longer. She’d said so little to him over the last few years, since she understood the feelings she had for him, and she wasn’t certain he even knew she existed.

  “Go,” Nessa whispered. Then, louder, with a little shooing motion, “Go. He’s likely in his solar, as I’m sure ye ken. I’ll go join the ladies and keep them distracted while ye speak to him of planning the celebration and cocks and whatnot.”

  In a near daze, Lara nodded. She could do this. “I think…we’ll stick with the celebration and whatnot and leave out the cocks.”

  Although, now that she considered it, there was one foolproof way to get him to relax.

  Nessa shrugged happily. “Cocks might actually be a fine topic of conversation. They’re far more interesting than food, I believe, and just as much fun to put in yer mouth.” She shooed Lara again. “Just go!”

  So Lara went. She slipped out of Nessa’s chambers and hurried down the hall to the laird’s solar, pleased no one else saw her on the way. It allowed her the time to smooth back the hair at her temples, pinch some color into her cheeks, and take a deep breath.

  Then she knocked.

  “Come in,” came his growl from the other side of the door, and Lara’s knees went weak.

  She pushed open the door to discover—thank the Virgin—Alistair was alone. He sat frowning down at a scroll in his hands, but when he glanced up and saw her, he slowly stood.

  “Lara?” There was a hint in his tone which made her think he was nervous. Around her?

  That, more than anything, gave her the courage to push the door closed behind her and step into the room. “I…I came to talk to ye about the celebration.”

  There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

  With a sigh, Alistair sank back down into his chair and dropped the scroll onto the table. “Aye, the celebration. Da wants something special.”

  “ ’Tis no’ every day a man reaches fifty years,” she offered, her steps cautious as she crossed toward his desk.

  She’d been in this room before of course. And she’d also spent an abundance of hours in the secret passageway hidden behind the blue-and-green tapestry, spying on Alistair. But this was her first time alone with him…when he knew she was there at least.

  Surreptitiously, she glanced around the room. His cot was spartan, his belongings neat. But there was naught of the man here, and she ached for him to know how fully he’d given of himself, and all he’d given up, for the clan.

  As if agreeing with her, Alistair hummed, then planted his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands. The heels of his palms dug into his eye sockets as he sighed. “I finally got ahead of my duties, and now this.”

  “Let me help.”

  His smile flashed as he began to massage his own temples. “Gladly. I’ll be glad for anything ye can offer.”

  Anything?

  A wicked thought came to her.

  An absolutely wicked, yet absolutely wonderful, thought.

  Touch him.

  “Nay,” she began quietly, slipping around the desk to stand beside him. “I meant, let me help now.”

  She wasn’t certain who was more surprised, him or her, when she reached up to cover his fingers with her own.

  But the way he groaned and dropped his head back to allow her easier access told her everything she needed to know.

  So she didn’t bother hiding the desperate little noise of need her body had unintentionally made and moved closer. Her breath ruffled his lovely dark hair, and she focused on the strands as she rubbed his temples, then stroked her fingers toward his forehead. His father—as well as Nessa and Malcolm and Rocque—had auburn hair, and his twin brother Kiergan’s hair was tinged red as well. But Alistair’s hair must’ve come from his mother, because it was a brown shade streaked with lighter strands.

  “St. Elzear’s sacred beard, lass, but that feels good,” he rasped, his eyes closed.

  She shifted her stance and tugged at him until he’d turned enough to get what she wanted: his head, pillowed against her chest. She stroked and rubbed and listened to him groan, and beneath the wool of her kirtle, her nipples hardened.

  “Ye’re under so much pressure, Alistair,” she murmured, the position making her bold. Here, he wasn’t her best friend’s big brother. Here, he wasn’t the laird’s son. Here, he was just a man who needed her help, help she was happy to give. “Ye need to learn to relax.”

  He snorted softly but didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he tilted his head forward so she could reach the muscles at the base of his skull.

  “ ’Tis true. Ye’ll work yerself into an early grave. And for what?”

  “For my father,” he murmured. “For the clan.”

  “Is it worth it?’

  ‘Twas the wrong question to ask, because he frowned and opened one lovely blue eye to peer up at her. “Of course. I would give up my life for the clan.”

  “But would ye give up yer happiness?”

  The other eye joined the first, and she felt his muscles tighten under her hands, all her work instantly gone. “What do ye mean, lass?”

  With a slight smile, she pulled him back against her breasts and brushed a hand across his brow, forcing his eyes closed once more. When she took a deep breath, he did as well, and she felt him relax slightly.

  “I mean,” she continued in a soft voice, “that ye sacrifice so much and dinnae take time for yerself. I will be happy to help ye plan the laird’s celebration and ‘twould be my honor. But I would help ye find happiness too if I can.”

  He was silent for a long moment, and she thought mayhap he was enjoying her ministrations. But then he shifted in the chair, and for the first time, she looked down.

  Looked down, straight down, past his face and chest…straight to his lap.

  His kilt was tented.

  And she smiled.

  “How—how could ye help me find happiness, lass?” He’d imbued the word with some scorn, but she could hear something else underneath. Need? Longing?

  Mayhap he was as lonely as she was.

  Well, she could help him there.

  “Ye need to relax, Alistair. Release this tension.”

  Her hand skimmed across the back of his neck when she’d deliberately used the word “release.” From the way he shuddered, he liked her touch. Or mayhap, he’d liked the implications.

  To test the theory, she dragged her hands down either side of his neck, massaging the tightness she found there. “Ye are so stiff all the time.”

  “Ye have nae idea,” he muttered, shifting again.

  Knowing he couldn’t see her smile, she dug her thumbs into the knots in his shoulders, allowing the rest of her fingers to slide under his shirt and brush against his skin.

  “That’s the kind of happiness I mean, Alistair. Ye need to release this stiffness somehow.”

  And I’d be happy to help.

  With a groan, he let his head drop forward. Was it release, or surrender?

  “How, lass?” he rasped.

  This was the moment she’d been hoping for for years.

  “Give up control.”

  Chapter 3

  Give up control?

  The suggestion was ludicrous. Preposterous.

  Strangely appealing.

  What? Nay! Nay, he couldn’t just give up control…could he?

  For the last few years, since Da had turned the running of the clan over to Alistair, he’d always been in control—had to be in control, because ‘twas the only way to get anything done around the castle. But he had to admit, it could be exhausting at times.

  Give up control.

  And the advice—the command?—had come from Lara.

  Lara, his little sister’s best friend. L
ara, the housekeeper’s daughter, who’d always just been underfoot. Lara, whose hands were currently making him moan with pleasure.

  And need.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes, not sure how he felt about her advice, but also not wanting her to stop touching him yet. So his tone was hesitant when he asked, “What do ye mean?”

  She hummed, then repeated, “Give up control. ‘Twill help with this stiffness, Alistair.”

  When she said his name like that, when her lovely tongue formed the syllables so important to him, his cock twitched. Which was impressive, considering how stiff in that particular area he was already.

  So he cleared his throat and shifted on the wooden seat. “How exactly would that help?”

  He was staring straight ahead, but all of his attention was on the lass standing behind him, and the way her hands had turned gentle against his skin, stroking instead of rubbing.

  St. Elzear’s ankles, she had talented hands!

  Which led to other thoughts…

  To his surprise, her hands left his neck and shoulders and moved down his right arm. She massaged his upper arm, then lifted his forearm and dug her fingers into the muscles above his wrists. Until she did that, he hadn’t realized how sore they were—from holding a stylus? Or a sword?

  He groaned and slouched against the chair back.

  “See?” she murmured, a smile on her lovely face. “It might be a conscious decision, but if ye just allow yerself to relax every once in a while, ye’ll be much happier.”

  Humming in agreement, he just studied her, his head propped against the back of the chair, and the rest of his body—with one notable exception—was limp in her hands.

  By St. Elzear’s sacred armpit, she was beautiful, was she not? The blonde hair she shared with her mother and her brother, Brohn, was accented by her eyes, a fascinating color which swirled between light brown and gray, depending on the way the light hit them. Right now, they twinkled with something like mischievousness, but also something more. Desire mayhap?

  Hmm.

  “I confess, lass, that I like the idea of relaxing a bit. But…” He sighed, not really caring to lift his head now that the muscles of his neck were so loose.

  “But ye dinnae think ye can. Ye dinnae ken how,” she finished for him, a slight smile on her lips, as she moved her thumbs to his palm and began to rub in circles. “But in yer case, ‘tis easy.”