Scot to the Touch (The Hots for Scots #7) - Caroline Lee Page 0,3

arriving!” And the laughter in his voice was evident.

Scowling now, Kiergan nodded briefly to his father, then took the steps up the wall two at a time. When he reached the top, he rammed his shoulder into Rocque’s in way of greeting, but since his brother was basically a small mountain, all it did was make his own shoulder ache.

Alistair was chuckling when he reached the top. “That eager to lay eyes on yer bride, are ye, Kier?”

Kiergan shot him a rude gesture. “I’m no’ marrying the lass, nae matter how beautiful she is.” Imagine having sex with only one woman for the rest of his life! Shudder. “I just wanted to get away from Da.”

Nodding, his twin stepped up beside Rocque and Malcolm behind the crenellations. “Apparently, our father made arrangements with Laird MacKinnon for one of us to marry his granddaughter. Since the man was ailing and couldnae get her here earlier, he’s missed out on all the prime catches.”

Malcolm snorted. “I’ll never rejoice for another’s illness, but I cannae help feeling pleased the poor man took his time so I was able to find my Evie.”

“And I wouldnae have looked twice at the lass,” Rocque rumbled, “no’ with Merewyn prancing around, giving me merry hell.”

Alistair shot Kiergan another glance. “Looks like ‘tis really up to ye, brother.”

“Bah! I’m no’ marrying the lass!” Kiergan would repeat it until they—and he himself—believed it.

Da said nae promises were made. I dinnae have to marry her.

Then why was he peering so intently at the distant entourage, his heart pounding as he waited to catch a glimpse of her?

Stupid heart.

“Dinnae fash,” Malcolm said soothingly. “Ye might change yer mind when ye see her. St. Thomas kens I took one look at Evelinde, and all my plans for doing things logically went right out the window.”

“Which window?” Rocque, while having muscles the size of a house, had a brain—Kiergan sometimes suspected—the size of a walnut, peered at the castle. “That window there should be yer room, aye?”

Malcolm, despite his intellect, was always careful to value his twin’s insights and hid his sigh and nodded in agreement with Rocque. “Aye, brother, that window right there.”

Alistair was hiding his smile, but Kiergan didn’t bother. “Lord love ye, Rocque. Ye have a unique way of looking at life.”

Dumb as a box of mud.

“Aye,” their large brother rumbled. “My Merewyn says the same thing. Luckily, she says, she didnae fall in love with me for my brains.”

“She loves yer brawn?” Malcolm asked politely.

“Nay,” his twin answered matter-of-factly, “ ’tis my huge cock.”

Kiergan burst into laughter, and even Malcolm rolled his eyes at his twin’s joke. Alistair, on the other hand, was still watching the approaching visitors. There was a wagon—nay, a covered carriage—and a dozen men on horseback.

If I were going to marry the lass—which I’m no’—I’d be pleased by the amount of protection her grandda provided, I suppose.

Alistair hummed thoughtfully. “Da said she’s verra beautiful, but I’m no’ surprised. Kier always was a lucky fooker.”

Feeling silly, Kiergan grinned. “Fook ‘er? I dinnae even ken her.”

Rocque burst into laughter, Alistair merely shook his head, and Malcolm turned wide eyes Kiergan’s way. “By St. Thomas’s left nostril, that was brilliant. Ye’ve invented more humor, Kier! ‘Tis right up there with yer, ‘ ‘Tis what she said!’ ”

Since everyone in the castle, from Minnie the serving wench to Kiergan’s great aunt Agatha, was now tacking, “ ’Tis what she said!” onto the end of every other sentence, he shrugged modestly. “There’s such a thing as too much of a good thing.”

“Nay, nay, this could work,” Malcolm mused, then cleared his throat. “Something-something sucker! Suck ‘er? I barely ken her! See?” He was grinning. “An entirely new kind of humor. This will go down in the annals of humor as a new joke, which are few and far between, this being the Dark Ages.”

“Dark Ages?” Alistair repeated. “What the fook are the Dark Ages?”

“The opposite of the Light Ages?” Malcolm shrugged, glancing up at the sun. “All I’m saying is, we need more humor. Fooker! Sucker! Poker!”

“Wait!” Kiergan shook his head. “What the hell’s poker?”

“I ken,” Rocque rumbled. “ ’Tis when ye take yer cock and poke her—”

“Nay, I mean, what is poker— Och, never mind!” Kiergan scowled.

Malcolm was too excited to stop. “I dinnae think it’ll work with every -er word though.”

“Aye,” his twin said seriously. “Like Finger. Fing ‘er? I hardly even ken her. See? Even I ken that makes nae sense.”

“Indeed. Finger doesnae work.” Malcolm frowned. “The