Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,55
in for a crushing hug.
“Ye’re—ye’re no’ upset?” Kiergan managed to gasp.
“Och, nay!” Rocque bellowed, good-naturedly. “What would I do as the Oliphant? I’m the commander, and happy to stay that way. Someone’s got to whip ye lazy bastards into a fighting force, aye?”
“And I’d be a terrible lady,” Merewyn said, with a smile at Katlyn. “I’m far too busy seeing to my patients. I’d much rather leave the curtseying and meal-planning and logistics of caring for a big clan to ye!”
Katlyn inclined her head regally over her son’s. “I’ve been running the MacKinnon keep for years, even though I always thought ‘twould be Davina’s job.”
“Aye, and now ‘twill be!” her grandfather called out triumphantly.
Graham put his arm around his new wife. “And she’ll do a wonderful job of it, I ken.”
William beamed. Only one son would be the next MacKinnon Laird, and Kiergan would take over for William when the time came, but he wouldn’t be alone.
Rocque would continue to command the Oliphant warriors, and Finn would continue to manage the clan’s trade. Alistair had been much more relaxed since Lara had convinced him to delegate some of his duties to Kiergan last summer and had already promised he’d continue the land management he’d been handling for so long.
Kiergan was not just diplomatic, he was a dab hand with a treaty and a letter. He’d been handling the clan’s correspondence since last summer, and William knew the task had trained him well.
He was the last any of them had expected to become laird but falling in love with Katlyn had changed him. William knew, with his brothers at his side helping him, Kiergan would be a wonderful laird.
Aye, he was leaving his clan—and his family—in good hands.
“Ye’re thinking of the future, my love, are ye no’?” Moira murmured beside him, wrapping her arms around his middle.
“Ye ken me well.” He dropped a kiss to her nose, thanking the saints for how comfortable the two of them were after all these years, despite being newly married. “I was thinking that, after I’m gone, my lads will keep this place going.”
“They will.” She squeezed him. “But no’ for a verra long time, aye?”
“Aye.” He chuckled, happy to agree. Who could think about dying now? Now that he had all these adorable grandbairns, and more, on the way? “Ye’re stuck with me for a while yet, love.”
As she smiled, Kiergan thrust his flagon into the air. “To Oliphant!”
“To Oliphant!” The cry was echoed around the great hall, and William was buoyed by the history and hope in the clan’s name. “To Oliphant!”
Holding his own flagon, William tightened his hold on his wife and looked around the room, meeting the eyes of each of his loved ones in turn. When he had their attention, he lifted his ale.
“A toast! A toast to long lives and happiness! A toast to love!”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
On Historical Accuracy
Eight books into this series, and I know you’re not expecting historical accuracy, right? So look, I’ll just point out that medical schools weren’t quite a thing in medieval Scotland, but universities existed, so we just fudged the details a bit.
Because, let’s be honest; this series is all about fudging details.
I had a lot of fun with the dynamic between Graham and Merewyn, and tried to be as accurate as possible when it came to the birthing scenes without getting all—you know—gooey. This wasn’t a medical textbook, after all.
(‘Tis what she said!)
Midwifery has been, for centuries, a sort of sacred women’s rite. In a world where men controlled literally everything, the birthing chamber was one of the few places where women reigned supreme. Merewyn’s power in the clan—and remember, she had a powerful place in the clan even before she married Rocque—came from that birthing chamber, and having Graham nudging his way in would be bound to piss her off.
But with all these pregnant women popping left and right, it was a good thing he was around for at least a bit, huh?
So, I’ll tell you that I didn’t start this series knowing what the ending was going to be. I got through Malcolm’s book before I knew who was going to be the next laird. I knew from the beginning that Fiona would have twin girls, like she and Skye hinted at. And I knew Duncan and Skye wouldn’t have kids (at least right away), because Skye is still adjusting to the whole not-being-a-wanted-outlaw thing. But Malcolm and Rocque would both make good lairds, I had to admit.
For a long time, I wanted Alistair to be the next laird. After all, he was practically running the place as it was. But…but if he went from practically running the place to actually running the place, he’d have no time in his life for fun. That was when I knew he needed a heroine who would show him how to relax a bit, and so Lara’s character really became fleshed out.
Kiergan started the series as a useless rake, someone not at all interested in marriage or leadership. Once I realized that it wouldn’t be fair to force Alistair to be a leader forever and ever, I realized the most satisfying character change would be for Kiergan to become laird. Hopefully, by the end of his book, you got that vibe; he was ready to be a leader, with Kat by his side.
But now…now, I’m fairly confident the Oliphants are going to be well taken care of in the next generation. Kiergan will be laird, but Alistair is still there to handle the paperwork, and Finn the trade, and Rocque the training. Together, the Oliphant brothers can tackle anything.
That, more than anything else, was the message I wanted to get across in these books.
Well, that, and I wanted an excuse to write dick jokes in mainstream historical romance. Heh.
I’ve had so many people ask if the series is truly over, or if more of William’s bastards are going to show up. Sorry, friends, but this is the last book in The Hots for Scots. Unless, you know, I come up with a really fooking awesome idea or something… But no, no. This is it. All the loose ends are all tied up. Everything’s hunky-dory.
Except…what’s up with the references to Kat seeing other ghosts?
Is it possible I have another series in mind? Maybe centered around the next generations of Oliphants in Oliphant Castle, where the walls are riddled with secret passages and everyone has the sense of humor of a teenaged boy?
Mayhap, my friend. Mayhap.
If you’re excited to find out more about that series, or other ones (I’ve got a Scottish fairytale series, did you know that?), please consider signing up for my newsletter (you’ll get a few free books!) or joining my reader group. Caroline’s Cohort is full of people who like chatting about great books, fun character names, and for some reason, food. We like our donuts, what can I say? But the Cohort also helps me name characters, plan books, and choose covers. We’d love to have you!
For now, if you’re ready to read some more sexy Scottish romance, why not pick up your free copy of The Bruce’s Angel? Is the first book in the fabulous Charlie’s Angels spoof series readers love, called The Highland Angels. There’s not as many dick jokes (okay, very few), but the plots are really exciting, and how can you pass up three badass lady secret agents who are part of a close team? Who rules the world? Lasses! #WomensHistoryRocks
Thanks so much for hanging out with me on this wild ride through medical Scotland, proving history isn’t nearly as boring as our professors would have us think!
#HistoryWithHeart
About the Author
Caroline Lee has been reading romance for so long that her fourth-grade teacher used to make her cover her books with paper jackets. But it wasn't until she (mostly) grew up that she realized she could write it too. So she did.
Caroline is living her own little Happily Ever After in NC with her husband, sons, and new daughter, Princess Wiggles. And while she doesn't so much "suffer" from Pittakionophobia as think that all you people who enjoy touching Band-Aids and stickers are the real weirdos, she does adore rodents, and never met a wine she didn't like. Caroline was named Time Magazine's Person of the Year in 2006 (along with everyone else) and is really quite funny in person. Promise.
You can find her at www.CarolineLeeRomance.com.