Living to the Kilt...

Tuesday howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

For Talbot's Peak fair week, I had an entirely different flash scene in mind. However, that was before Scottish, sexy, kilt-wearing shapeshifters got the best of me.

Well, no surprise there ~grinz~

This scene follows last week's post, Wearin' Their Kilts at the Talbot's Peak Fair. Hope you enjoy...
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Living to the Kilt...

Tripping to a halt, Patrice slowly lowered her camera. Lusty Scotsmen in Talbot's Peak? Who knew?

'Course, she'd just moved to Mystic Falls, Montana. Upon his passing, her beloved uncle had kindly willed his small retirement house to her.

Hearing about the 'first annual' fair, Patrice had decided to unpack her camera, and give it a whirl. Check out the lay of the land, so to speak.

At the sight of several manly men in kilts, Patrice couldn't help it. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared like an infatuated teenager. To her credit she didn't drop her older, but expensive camera.

Gah, those kilts looked real, even if they weren't. Obviously the hunky Highlanders 'manned' the 'Scots Best of Breed Tavern' booth that was behind them.

Instead of serving customers, two of the out-of-time-appearing Scotsmen played a game of hopscotch with a group of younger children -- excited, giggling kids with flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Patrice ogled, while giving them brownie points for the tender, playful way they  interacted with the youngsters. Almost in the manner of a family dog, she thought.

How odd...that thought followed on the heels of the first... then was lost as she watched the brawnier Scotsman, the one with the gorgeous sable and tan locks, swing one of the children onto the first square.

When it was his turn, Patrice murmured before she could stop herself, "Everybody pray for a good stiff wind."

But what holy, unholy inspiration! Already, she was damp in her so-called nether region.

With each hop on the squares, the brawny, but noble Scotsman's kilt flipped upward, revealing rock-hard, fine-fine thighs. Patrice clutched her camera hard. Was she actually drooling over the flex of  his thigh muscles?

"Lassie," a voice boomed toward her. "Why don't ya come join in the game?"

Patrice tore her gaze away long enough to locate the baritone gruff voice.

"Lassie, come on over." The giant Highlander sporting a wild black mane of hair, waved her closer. "Have a pint of ale. Plenty of Scottish shortbread 'n fixin's."

Patrice followed her feet. She had no choice. They moved her toward the booth, closer...closer to him, her kilt-wearing dream come true -- who now mock wrestled with one of the boys.

"Duff's the name." The Scottish giant pulled out a heavy wooden chair. "Give your feet a rest, lass. I'll have me boys serve ya, once the parent's come for the wee ones. Won't be much longer."

Patrice knew she sat, knew she nodded. "Ale sounds good. My throat's gone dry," she semi-croaked.

"Comin' up, lass. Good timin' must be on your side, showin' up now," Duff continued, as he poured golden ale into a tall glass. "Plenty o' lassies lining up for Donnie and Dristan. Tonight is a dancin' party."

"I bet," Patrice mumbled, taking hold of the ale Duff placed before her. "How much?" she remembered to ask.

"On the house. All you have to do is answer one question, lass."

Wary, about to take a sip, Patrice asked, "What's that?"

"Have a fondness for dogs?"

Thrown, but seeing no harm in the question -- after several moments of thought -- Patrice answered. "Sure, I like dogs. Why not? Why do you ask?"

"Go ahead. Take a sip, lass. If the ale's not to your taste, I have several other brews on hand."

What met her lips, then her mouth...well, delicious was hardly an apt description for the unusual ale. Patrice downed several more swallows.

"It's an old recipe." Duff spoke as if he read her thoughts. "Been in the family for several generations."

"You ought to bottle this stuff...oh, you did." Patrice grimaced at her words. What a way to make a good impression. To cover herself, she made a show of placing her camera inside her carry-all bag.

"Any particular dog breeds catch your fancy, lass?"

Duff's unexpected question caught Patrice mid-sip, and she nearly choked. "Have a litter of pups?" she managed to ask.

Even as she spoke, her gaze had been captured by Donnie and Dristan as they said their 'goodbyes' to the children. Although, which one was which, she didn't know. Not yet. She damn well intended to find out.

"No litter, lass. Are ya lookin' for a pup?" Duff set a plate of what looked like biscotti, but was likely something Scottish, in front of her.

"I want to settle in before I think about getting a pup...just moved to Mystic Falls," Patrice added, while wondering why she felt compelled to answer.

"Only been in this fair land of Montana for about nine months, meself. The tavern's between town and the Pleasure Club. A lovely forest glade, if yer so inclined."

Pleasure Club? Patrice felt her brows shoot upward. What the hell? What had she gotten herself into? Better question, what did she 'want' to get herself into?

Anything! that had to do with the two Highlander hunks striding toward her, both of them with the sexiest pair legs she'd ever had the 'pleasure' of seeing.

However, if she had her choice...

"Dristan," her choice introduced himself in a brogue that did terrible-wonderful things to her womanly parts. He extended his hand American-style, but Patrice got the distinct feeling he'd just learned this social expectation.

"Patrice." Willing her hand to quit its sudden shaking, she reached out.

Dristan enfolded her hand as if he'd been given a gift. Patrice quivered inside, then flushed hot -- yeah, as if she'd turned the shower up to its highest heat level and stepped inside.

"A pleasure to meet ya, lass." 

"Looks like you have a fondness for collies, Patrice lass." Duff barked a laugh that sounded like he enjoyed an inside joke.

"Pay him no mind." The one who had to be Donnie gave her an exaggerated wink. "You'll excuse me. Customers are arrivin'."

"So they are, Donnie bonnie lad."

From the corner of her eye, Patrice watched Duff whip around fast, surprisingly fast given his enormous size. And, an even greater surprise to her, Dristan still held her hand. More like he caressed her hand with his.

"Now you just stay seated, me beautiful lass," he intimately crooned, "while I help serve. I'm Duff's partner. You'll understand my responsibility in the matter."

Patrice could only nod as Dristan let go of her hand. Feeling dumbfounded, but like she floated on a whole sky full of clouds, she watched him pivot toward the bar.

Whatever...she knew one thing. Her butt wouldn't be moving from this chair. Her gaze wouldn't be straying from Dristan, or his kilt-covered assets.

"Living to the kilt," she murmured to herself, as she lifted the glass of ale to her lips. "Why not live to the kilt?"

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Wishing you shapeshifting love on the wild side… 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance