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

by Caroline Lee

  “It certainly looked as if that’s how it happened. And ‘twasnae the first time! On another occasion, that pig—Hero—stood between John and a wolf!”

  Alistair scoffed. “A wolf? Ye expect me to believe ‘twas where the pig lost its leg, but not his life, eh?” It only had the three legs, after all.

  “Nay.” Her grin turned mischievous. “That is no’ how he lost a leg.”

  “The fire then?” Alistair lifted his brows. “But ye said the pig was outside when the house burned.”

  “Nay, Hero didnae lose his leg in the fire either.” She looked as if she were having trouble containing her laughter.

  They were almost to the tavern when, in exasperation, he tugged her to a stop. “How then? How did the damn pig lose a leg?”

  “John is a butcher, Alistair, and must make a profit.”

  Grinning, she lifted one hand and gently laid her fingertips against his cheek. ‘Twas a quick, soft touch, over before he could really enjoy it, but it made him yearn for more. He wanted this freedom, this softness, all the time.

  What had they been speaking of? Oh, aye, the pig and profits. “And?”

  “And a pig that special, even the butcher cannae eat all at once.”

  It took him a moment to process her quip, and when he did, Alistair blinked. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  And when she joined in, he couldn’t ever recall being so damnably happy.

  There was still a spring in his step late the next afternoon, when Alistair went searching for his twin brother. In the last few days, he’d been spending more and more time with Lara. Ostentatiously, ‘twas because they needed to plan Da’s celebration. But in reality, ‘twas more than that.

  When he wasn’t with her, he was wishing he were, which was an interesting revelation to come to terms with.

  For a lassie whom he’d watched grow up, Lara wasn’t the knock-kneed, gangly girl he remembered. Nay, that adventure in his solar had showed him she was all woman, and spending all this time with her—and that kiss, as brief and wonderful as it had been—had shown Alistair he liked her.

  As a woman.

  And as a friend.

  She was witty and creative when it came to cooking—and other things, I’d wager—and he found he valued her insights. While planning the celebrations or just strolling together, they’d discussed life in the castle, the future of the clan, his father’s ultimatum, the upcoming celebration, and any number of things.

  Aye, they made a good team, and Alistair was still surprised to discover that knowledge.

  But right now, he was intending to implement one of her ideas. Just where in damnation was that brother of his?

  Alistair had been glad to put away the ledgers and join Rocque and the other warriors for a sparring session earlier that afternoon. Kiergan hadn’t been there, nor at the lake when Alistair had gone to bathe. He also hadn’t found his twin anywhere on the castle grounds, and he’d been searching for hours.

  The priest was ambling across the great hall when he got back to the castle that evening, and Alistair called out to him. “Father! Have ye seen Kiergan?”

  The bearded man shook his head. “Nay, laddie, my apologies. But I’ve gotten the impression yer brother’s a man who kens more than one way around a castle, if ye catch my drift.”

  Alistair rolled his eyes. “Kiergan and I both took our first steps across this floor, Father Ambrose. He kens his way around better than anyone, I believe.”

  “Aye, but I was being metaphorical. As in, there’s more than one way to gut a fish.” The priest winked.

  Narrowing his eyes, Alistair tried to work his way through the priest’s meaning, but failed. “What?”

  But the older man just smiled and patted his belly. “ ’Tis glad I am to see ye out of that solar of yers, my son. It does ye nae good to stay locked away, even ‘tis for the betterment of the clan. For do the Scriptures no’ tell us that ale left too long in the keg either turns to vinegar or bursts the staves?”

  “I will take yer word for that, Father,” Alistair mumbled, already shifting away from the strange conversation.

  “Our holy writ merely reminds us ‘tis important to find yer ease occasionally. Ye’re too uptight, lad!”

  “Aye, so I’ve been told.” Alistair shook his head. “ ’Tis why I’m searching for Kiergan.”

  “Oh, well then.” Ambrose shrugged. “Check yer solar?”

  Since that’s where he’d been heading anyway, Alistair thanked the old man with a nod and hurried away as fast as politeness dictated. But as he approached the room, his steps slowed when he saw his door stood ajar and candlelight seeped out to dance on the castle’s walls.

  He crept forward, remembering the welcome he’d received the last time he’d approached thusly, and sure enough, there was something balanced above the door, though not a pail this time, but what looked like…a plate?

  With a silent sigh, Alistair rocked back on his heels. “Kiergan?” he called.

  From inside his solar, he heard his twin brother hum nonchalantly.

  “Could ye come here?” Alistair called.

  Kiergan’s steps were slow, but eventually his face appeared through the crack between the door and the jamb. “Aye?” he drawled innocently.

  Alistair frowned at his brother. His twin’s hair was a different shade than his own, but they had the same build and the same eyes, enough so they had been mistaken for one another when they were younger, though not as identical as Finn and Duncan.

  “What are ye doing in my solar?”

  Kiergan started, as if surprised to find himself inside the room. Then he shrugged. “Why dinnae ye come inside, and we can discuss it?”

  “I cannae,” Alistair said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  His twin’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “Because some utter twit has balanced something atop the door.” Alistair kept his tone bland.

  “Really?” Kiergan craned his neck to peer up at the door. “ ’Tis odd.”

  So he was still going to maintain his innocent act, was he? Alistair shook his head. “ ’Tis stupid, after the last time dinnae work.”

  Through the crack in the door, his brother blinked innocuously. “The last time, Ali?”

  The childhood nickname never failed to irritate Alistair. He dropped his fists to his side and stepped forward until he stood at the edge of the jamb. How ridiculous to be having this conversation through such a small opening.

  “The last time, when some arsehole tried to douse me with a bucket of—well, let us just say, ‘twas liquid,” he growled.

  Kiergan slapped his hand against his chest and gasped theatrically. “Ye dinnae think that was me, do ye?”

  Aye, Kiergan definitely needed another way to occupy himself.

  As if sensing the joke was over, his twin offered, “Would ye like me to get it down, whatever ‘tis?”

  “Please,” Alistair said blandly, then listened to the sound of his brother dragging a stool—which must’ve been right out of view—closer.

  As Kiergan climbed up, Alistair rested his hip against the jamb. “Ye ken what’s interesting? Whatever is up there must’ve been placed atop the door after ye arrived.”

  “Really?” grunted his twin, while lifting down the plate. “How strange.”

  When Kiergan hopped down from the stool, Alistair nudged the door open with his toe and sauntered into the room. “Ye ken what else is strange? The way that stool was so handily close, when I’d left it over there next to my desk.” That had been the stool where Lara had sat as he’d spent himself on her command. He would never forget that.

  But Kiergan didn’t know that, and his brother’s eyes were twinkling with something like merriment. “Aye, that is strange.” He lifted the plate. “Berry tart? They’re my favorite.” When Alistair just glared, his twin waggled the platter. “Lara makes them.”

  With a sigh, Alistair gave in and reached for a tart. ‘Twas delicious of course
.

  “Why are ye here, Kier?” he asked around a mouthful of pastry.

  His twin brother looked at the tarts, then glanced at the door and grinned. “I cannae recall,” he lied.

  Alistair chuckled.

  It surprised him, and surprised his brother as well, judging from the way Kiergan cocked his head and stared at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Alistair shrugged and moved toward his desk. “Naught’s wrong.”

  “Ye’re usually glued to yer business, and ye laughed, Ali. Are ye ill?”

  His brother’s words quickly quashed his good humor. “Dinnae call me that. And sometimes, I do laugh.”

  “No’ lately,” Kiergan said simply.

  His brother was right.

  Alistair shrugged. “I’ve been reminded that I need to relax. Apparently, I’ve been a little…”

  “Stiff?” his brother supplied, as he placed the plate of tarts on the desk and appeared…excited?

  Alistair peered at him. “Why are ye so pleased about this?”

  Shrugging, Kiergan held his gaze. “I’ve missed ye, Alistair. The way ye used to be.”

  St. Elzear’s big toe!

  Alistair swallowed and turned his attention to the neat piles on the desk. He hadn’t realized his brothers might’ve noticed—or cared—about his transformation over the last few years.

  Clearing his throat, he found the scrolls he’d been looking for. “It’s recently been pointed out to me that I do too much.”

  “And are too uptight,” Kiergan pointed out, unhelpfully.

  Glad to be able to ignore their earlier sentimentality, Alistair glared. “So I’m delegating.”

  “Good!”

  “I’m glad ye’re here, Kiergan.”

  The way his brother surged back was almost comical. “Me?”

  “Here’s today’s correspondence.” Alistair held out the scrolls. “Ye have a good hand and a glib tongue— Dinnae make a cunnilingus joke.”

  Kiergan’s eyes were wide, staring at the scrolls. “I dinnae even ken what that means.”

  “Aye, ye do— Och, never mind.” Alistair shook his head. “Just take it.” He waggled the scrolls.

  Hesitantly, his twin reached for the letter. “Ye want me to…what? Respond to this?”

  “Nay. I want ye to read it all, then respond. And if there’s something Da or I need to ken, tell us.”

  Kiergan was looking stunned. “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why are ye giving me this responsibility?” his twin all-but-whispered, staring down at the scrolls.

  And since he wasn’t watching, Alistair felt safe grinning, sure he was making the right decision. “Because ye’re rotting without it, brother. Because ye can do it and should.” He shrugged. “And because I need ye.”

  Apparently, that had been the right thing to say, as he watched Kiergan’s gaze jerk upward again, and Alistair could nearly see the thoughts running behind his brother’s blue eyes: Alistair never admits he needs help.

  Och, well, aye.

  Aye, now I need help, brother.

  Alistair sighed. “Ye’re smart and charming, and far more diplomatic than I am, Kier, although ye use that skill verra differently than Finn.”

  Proving his brother hadn’t suddenly changed too much, Kiergan winked. “The ladies dinnae mind my diplomatic tongue, aye?”

  “See? ‘Tis what I mean!” Alistair shook his head and reached for another berry tart. “Ye are worth more than just fooking a different woman each sennight, brother. Ye ken it.”

  Kiergan’s expression clouded, and he dropped his gaze back to the correspondence in his hands. “Ye really want me to be in charge of this?” He sounded hesitant.

  “I do. I need ye, Kier.”

  His brother nodded, but didn’t quite hide the strange look in his eyes when he lifted his head once more and took a deep breath. “I willnae let ye down, brother.”

  Alistair nodded once. “Ye can use this desk and any materials ye need.”

  “I’ll use the one in our room. Ye ken…the room we used to share, but now I never see ye?”

  Scoffing, Alistair brushed the crumbs from his chest. “If ye think I want to share a room with a man who brings a different woman to bed—”

  “I dinnae.”

  “What?”

  “I dinnae bring women to that bed, Alistair.”

  It seemed important to his brother that he believe him, so Alistair slowly nodded.

  And Kiergan’s serious expression cleared as a grin formed. “I like this new side of ye, Ali. ‘Twould be nice to have my twin back.”

  “Ye’ll have yer twin’s fist in yer mouth if ye continue to use that ridiculous nickname.”

  “Who is it? Who convinced ye to finally relax? Someone else had to have done it.”

  Alistair’s gaze dropped to the berry tarts. He considered lying or changing the subject, but finally, he confessed, “ ’Twas Lara.”

  His brother made a little hum of revelation, then said, “She’s a good lass.”

  “Aye, she is.”

  Alistair had only just come to realize that. He glanced up and caught his brother’s knowing grin, as if Kiergan had known it all along.

  And a horrible suspicion slammed into Alistair.

  His brother had known all along!

  The way Lara had acted here in this room, the way she’d known things he hadn’t expected her, or any virgin, to know about her body—about his body—about how bodies were supposed to—

  By St. Elzear’s tits!

  Alistair’s hands suddenly clenched into fists, and he took a threatening step toward his brother. “How well do ye ken Lara?”

  Kiergan didn’t seem to understand the question. He shrugged. “She’s a good friend to me and Nessa.”

  He’d have to be blunt. “Have ye taken her to bed, Kier?”

  His brother’s expression turned to shock in a blink. “What? Nay! I told ye I dinnae—”

  Och, aye, he didn’t bring women to his bed. Well then… “Have ye fooked her?”

  Was Kiergan the one who’d taught Lara about the pleasures to be found? The knowledge she’d used on Alistair…had she gotten it from his twin brother?

  But that brother was shaking his head, a slow grin returning back to his lips. “Nay,” he drawled, as if amused by the accusation. “I havenae fooked Lara, any more than I would our sister. She’s no’ that kind of lass.”

  Except…mayhap she was. Alistair was just realizing how incredibly strange their encounter in this solar must’ve been for a lass who’d been raised by Nessa’s—a true lady’s—side. She’d touched herself, and she’d had no qualms about him touching himself in front of her.

  Who had taught her that?

  “So she’s a virgin?”

  Kiergan shrugged. “How would I be kenning that?”

  “Because ye’re her friend. If ye havenae fooked her—”

  “Men and women can be friends without fooking, Alistair.” Kiergan shook his head. “Och, ye are uptight, are ye no’? What makes ye think Lara isnae a virgin?” He paused. “And why does it matter to ye?”

  It doesn’t.

  It does.

  When he didn’t answer, his twin shook his head again and picked up a berry tart in the hand not currently holding the scrolls. “Why no’ go and ask her? I imagine she’d be thrilled to discuss the intimacies of her bedding habits with ye.”

  Alistair was just as certain she wouldn’t, and his growl said so.

  But his brother just shrugged. “Lara is…inquisitive, Alistair.”

  “Inquisitive? Like our sister?” Nessa had been known to embroider full battle scenes, complete with decapitated heads and realistic blood.

  And Kiergan, knowing how Alistair’s mind worked, grinned. “Aye, exactly,” he quipped, before waving the scrolls dismissively and ducking out the door.

  Alistair was left alone in the solar—his solar, damnation!—staring down at the plate of tarts.
/>   Why did Lara’s virginity—or lack thereof—bother him so much?

  He frowned. It didn’t. Nay, her virginity wasn’t the issue. But the question of who’d taught her about carnal knowledge…now that mattered to him.

  She’d said she’d given her heart to someone else.

  Somewhere out there was a man who’d touched her, who’d taught her to touch herself, yet hadn’t done the honorable thing and offered marriage. That knowledge sent Alistair’s blood pounding.

  He had to know.

  With a muttered curse, he stomped out of the room to search for her.

  Chapter 6

  Cook had already taken herself off to bed in the little nook behind the large hearth, so supper was officially over. One of Cook’s helpers had given birth recently, and since they were short-handed, Lara happily stepped in to help when necessary.

  Now she was alone in the kitchens with two scullery lasses, who were cleaning pots and serving platters, and an older woman who was preparing porridge to break their fasts the next morning. Lara herself was finishing up the last of tomorrow’s bread loaves and was grateful for the peace.

  After spending all yesterday morning with Alistair, she’d gotten a little behind on her duties, but it had been completely worth it. Even though it meant she’d missed supper in the great hall two evenings in a row while she helped in the kitchens, she couldn’t regret what they’d shared.

  Nay, not the chicken nor the smiles, the laughter, and especially, not the little touches.

  Any time Alistair touched her, even if ‘twas just his fingertips across the back of her hand, Lara shivered at the warmth between them.

  She pursed her lips and studied the bread dough, deciding it seemed to be the right texture. She hurried to tip it out, divide it, and slap the chunks onto the board. With floured hands, she shaped the mounds, then stood back to check them.

  Excellent. They just needed to rise overnight, and Cook could slide them into the special slot in the hearth tomorrow morning. There was a baker in town with a larger oven, but the castle provided enough for its denizens’ usual consumption.