Priti had to remind herself why she had chosen Craemuir Cottage for her Christmas writing retreat. The cottage would have been ideal in summer, or at least, what passed for summer in Morayshire. Priti had never visited the Scottish Highlands in the warmer months, but from what the woman in the local shop had told her, summer there was weather Priti could expect in London during May. That would have been perfect; neither too hot nor too cold to live and write in comfort.
However, late December was another matter.
As she looked out of the window at the snowscape extending across the Cairngorm mountains, Priti realised she had made an enormous error of judgment. Snowfall in the Highlands wasn’t unusual in winter, but the week-long blizzard had surprised even the Met Office. With the A9 to Inverness blocked, there was no prospect of Priti flying home soon after Christmas as planned, and if the snowfall continued, she wouldn’t be able to catch a flight until early in the New Year.
At least she had the comfort of knowing the cottage wouldn’t be let again until spring, so it was hers as long as she needed it. Mr Munro, its owner, had even said that any enforced extension to her stay wouldn’t incur any additional charges, for which Priti was grateful. There were other positives, too. The road to Grantown-on-Spey remained passable, and the store was well-stocked, so even if Priti had to sit the next month out at the cottage, she wouldn’t run out of the essentials.
Priti had chosen the cottage because northern Scotland was as far as she could get from her cheating ex-fiancé. She hadn’t wanted to be in the flat when he came to collect his possessions, and being at home for Christmas would have brought back too many bitter memories. Priti had hoped that two weeks in the Highlands would help put space between her and her ex, and fire her faltering literary imagination. As a writer of erotica, the emotional turmoil of her break-up had dried Priti’s creative juices, and scenes of love, romance, and desire no longer flowed easily from her fingertips. If she were to meet her editor’s submission deadline, Priti would need to overcome her writers’ block soon.
But as she looked out of the small leaded window, her laptop lying redundant on the coffee table, Priti realised she needed time, not distance, to get over her doomed engagement. She reluctantly decided to forget about her writing and treat the retreat as nothing more than a chance for reflection and an opportunity to plan for the lonely months ahead.
Priti’s introspection was interrupted when Mr Munro’s Land Rover pulled up outside the cottage, and she went to let him in.
“Well, it disnae look like the snow is goin’ tae let up this side o’ Christmas,” Mr Munro said as he entered, carrying an enormous bag of logs on his shoulder. “I cannae see ye gettin’ back tae England afore the New Year, I’m afraid, Priti.”
“I think you might be right, Mr Munro. Please, sit down. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
“Aye, I’ll hae a cup wi’ ye.” Mr Munro put the logs beside the blazing open fire and removed his gloves, flat cap, and waxed coat. “This cold gets right intae ma bones.” He took one of the two leather armchairs on either side of the fireplace and groaned as he sat down.
Priti brought the tea and handed a mug to Mr Munro, who nodded his thanks. Mr Munro was a huge, thick-set man, and his heavy sweater and bushy grey beard made him look even more enormous as he filled the armchair opposite Priti. She thought he must be in his late fifties, although his weatherbeaten complexion made him look older. But although she had only known him for a little over a week, she had already grown fond of his dour wit and protectiveness.
“I wis passin’, so I brought ye mair logs fur the fire,” Mr Munro said. “I dinnae want ye goin’ wi’oot heat fur the sake o’ a bit o’ wood. The main reason I called, though, wis tae invite ye tae our house fur Christmas dinner on Wednesday. Mrs Munro won’t hear o’ ye bein’ here on yer own, away fae yer family. It’ll no’ be anything special, mind; Hogmanay is the big celebration in the Highlands.”
“Thank you, I’d love to come! I wasn’t looking forward to a microwave Christmas dinner for one, and after the past few weeks on my own, I’ll enjoy some company.”
“Ach, away wi’ ye,” Mr Munro replied with a dismissive brush of his hand. “It’s nae bother. I’ll pick ye up at midday, and I’ll drap ye hame later. It’ll gie ye a chance tae meet Mrs Munro, and our boy, Cameron.”
“I didn’t know you had a son.” Priti was intrigued.
“Oh, aye, just the one. He’s about your age and works in Estate Management, like his father. It’ll be good for him to hae another youngster in the house for dinner.”
Mr Munro stayed another fifteen minutes, cheering Priti up with tales of previous snowy winters, most of which seemed to have resulted in some comical disaster or another. But soon, he looked at his watch and told Priti he had to return to work.
“Well, thank you so much again for your kind invitation, and for the logs,” Priti said as Mr Munro finished his tea and stood to leave. “Enjoy Christmas Eve, and I’ll see you Wednesday lunchtime.”
“Aye, I’ll see ye then. In the meantime, if there’s anythin’ ye need, just gie me a call.”
.•° ✿ °•.
Priti didn’t know what to wear on Christmas Morning as she rifled through the few items of clothing she had with her which were appropriate for Christmas dinner. She would have brought one or two glamorous dresses if she had known she would have company for Christmas, but she had expected to spend the day alone.
She didn’t know why she had packed the short, crimson cocktail dress; there had been little prospect of her spending an evening in even the local pub during her stay in Scotland. But the edge-of-the-shoulder neckline showed Priti’s deep, dark cleavage to its full advantage, and she remembered the admiring comments her arse and long legs had received on the dress’s previous outings, so she was relieved she had brought it.
Priti put on some jewellery and tied her thick, dark hair in a loose bun to show off her long, graceful neck. In the circumstances, she decided flat boots were best. They weren’t very stylish, but even low heels would be crazy in the snowy weather. Besides, she could take some shoes in her bag and change once she arrived at the Munros’. She wouldn’t admit it to herself, but it was Cameron that Priti wanted to impress. She didn’t know the first thing about him, but she imagined a Sam Heughen lookalike sitting opposite her at dinner, suggestively smiling and winking at her as she ate her sprouts. In the unlikely event that Cameron was smoking hot, she wanted to look her best.
.•° ✿ °•.
Priti enjoyed the drive through the beautiful Scottish countryside to the Munros’ house. On the occasions she dared drive her hire car to the local shop, she was so focused on the treacherous roads that she couldn’t take in the scenery. But Priti felt safe inside the Land Rover, being driven by Mr Munro, who knew the roads and conditions well, and she allowed herself to relax and admire the breathtaking beauty of the snow-covered mountains.
The Munros lived at the top of a steep, winding lane, and even the Land Rover found it tough going in places. Eventually, they pulled up outside an old farmhouse, and Priti climbed down from the vehicle. “This is beautiful! Look at the view!”
“Aye, it’s a sight, right enough,” Mr Munro replied, “an’ one I never get bored o’ lookin’ at. But come on in, afore ye catch yer death o’ cold.”
Mr Munro took Priti’s coat, and after she had changed into her shoes, he ushered her into the lounge. The kitchen and dining area extended beyond, and Mrs Munro, who was busy cooking lunch, realised Priti had arrived and came to greet her guest.
“Oh, help! Look at you, dear; you look beautiful! And here’s me in ma old pinny! Happy Christmas, and welcome tae our house. It’s super tae have ye join us.”
“Happy Christmas, Mrs Munro.” Priti hugged Mrs Munro and handed her some flowers and a bottle of whisky. “It’s so kind of you to invite me. It wouldn’t have been much fun in the cottage alone.”
“Ach, away. If we cannae extend ye a warm Scottish welcome at Christmas, something’s the matter. But ye must excuse me, the tatties demand ma attention. Donald, put these lovely flowers in a vase, then show Priti the house.”
As Mr Munro walked Priti around the house, she couldn’t believe how much bigger it seemed inside. Although extensively modernised, many of the period features remained, and Priti couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting in which to spend Christmas.
“Cameron will join us shortly,” Mr Munro said as they returned to the lounge and Priti sat down. “His work disnae stop because it’s Christmas. Now, can I bring ye a wee glass o’ somethin’ afore we sit tae eat? Wine, maybe?”
“That would be lovely.”
As Mr Munro went to the kitchen to fix the drinks, Priti looked around the room. The open fireplace was burning fiercely, and the Munros had decorated the walls with beautifully rendered oil paintings depicting Highland scenes. The Christmas decorations were tasteful and homely, and Priti wondered what it must be like to live in a house like it, as opposed to her cramped London flat.
Mr Munro returned with a large glass of wine and a small whisky, and sat down next to Priti. “I’ll hae a wee nip the now, and a sma’ glass o’ wine wi’ ma meal, that’s a’,” he said, passing the wine to his guest. “I’ll be fine tae drive ye hame after dinner. Now, sláinte!” He raised his glass, then gulped the whisky down in one.
“Sláinte!” Priti hoped she had pronounced it correctly. She took a sip of wine. “Remind me, what does sláinte mean?”
“It means ‘health’, but if ye’re feelin’ brave, ye could try ‘sláinte is táinte’: health and wealth,” Mr Munro said with a wry grin.
“Slawn-che iss toin-che.”
“That’s no’ bad!” Mr Munro laughed. “We’ll mak’ a teuchter o’ ye yet!”
The conversation ended when the crunch of tyres on snow and the growl of a Land Rover engine announced Cameron’s arrival. “That’ll be the boy now,” Mr Munro called to his wife.
“Thank Heaven fur that!” Mrs Munro shouted back. “I was beginnin’ tae think he wisnae comin’. The food’s a’most ready!”
Mr Munro went to open the door, and Priti heard the men in the hallway having a conversation in low, secretive voices. She adjusted the shoulders of her dress, then checked the hem hadn’t ridden up too high. Sitting with her knees primly together, Priti awaited Cameron’s appearance.
Mrs Munro came through to wish her son a Happy Christmas, wiping her hands on a tea towel, and Mr Munro joined her from the hallway door, with Cameron following behind. Priti couldn’t believe her eyes! Mr Munro was a large man, but Cameron was so huge he had to duck to enter the room. But he wasn’t just tall; Cameron was the most powerful, athletic man Priti had ever seen. He must have had a fifty-inch chest, and his arms and legs were like tree trunks. He wore traditional Highland day wear: a kilt, a dark grey tweed jacket and waistcoat, and brogues. Priti thought the kilt looked incredibly sexy, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether what lay beneath matched the rest of Cameron’s massive proportions.
“Aw, ma wee man’s hame fur Christmas!” Mrs Munro cried delightedly as her son stooped to hug her.
“Happy Christmas, Maw,” Cameron replied, kissing Mrs Munro on the cheek.
“Here, come and meet our guest,” Mrs Munro added excitedly. “Priti, this is our son, Cammie. Cammie, meet Priti.” Priti thought the tone in Mrs Munro’s voice sounded like she was introducing the First Prize in a raffle rather than a guest.
“It’s grand tae meet ye at last,” Cameron said as Priti stood to greet him. His huge hands gripped Priti’s arms as he kissed her on both cheeks. “Paw hisnae stopped bletherin’ about the writer in the cottage since ye arrived. I feel like I know ye a’ready!”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Cameron,” Priti replied with a bashful smile. Cameron was exceedingly pleasing on the eye, with a thick mop of black hair, sparkly dark eyes, and a chiselled jaw. His complexion was clear and healthy, befitting of a man who spent his life in the fresh air, and he had an aura that commanded respect. Priti was glad she had made the effort to dress up.
“Anyway, the food’s ready, so come and tak’ a seat.” Mrs Munro led the group through the steamy kitchen into the dining room. There was another large fire burning there, and the room was beautifully furnished with a mahogany dinner table, already set for the meal. Mrs Munro sat Priti opposite Cameron, facing the window, which afforded breathtaking views over the snowy glen. “Cammie, tell Priti about the Highland Games,” she told him before turning to Priti. “He’s competed in front o’ the King and Queen, y’ken!”
“That sounds exciting.” Priti waited for Cameron to expand on Mrs Munro’s story. “Tell me all about it.”
But Cameron appeared reluctant to boast about himself. “Aye, I tak’ part in the Highland Gatherin’ at Braemar every summer. It’s like a wee Highland Olympics. This year, the King and Queen were watchin’, which wis an honour,” was all he could muster.
“Ach, he’s bein’ modest.” Mr Munro picked up the conversation. “Cammie’s one o’ the Heavies; the big lads who do a’ the liftin’ and throwin’ events, like Throwin’ the Hammer, Puttin’ the Stone and Tossin’ the Caber. He won the 22lb Hammer title this year, and the King presented his award. Look, here he is in action.”
Mr Munro rose and took a photograph from the mantelpiece, handing it to Priti. The picture was incredible. Cameron wore a kilt and a t-shirt. Behind him was a large net, and he was swinging what appeared to be a stone attached to a stick. Priti could see Cameron was bursting every sinew as he prepared to launch the projectile across a field. He looked very sexy, with his kilt rising around his waist to reveal long shorts around his massive thighs. “Wow, Cameron! That must take an incredible amount of strength.”
“I train hard a’ winter, but a lot o’ it is in the genes. Paw wis a champion too, back in the day.”
Priti’s subconscious analysis of Cameron’s romantic potential was returning overwhelmingly positive results. Not only was he ripped, handsome, tall, and modest, but he also wore a kilt. And despite his huge stature and strength, she sensed a more sensitive, reflective aspect to his character, despite his obvious brawn, and it was one that she wanted to discover.
Everyone murmured appreciatively when Mrs Munro brought through an enormous turkey, followed by the trimmings. The meal was perfectly cooked and plentiful, which was just as well when Priti saw how much Mr Munro and Cameron could eat. They both kept carving off more and more turkey, and although Mrs Munro had cooked a mountain of potatoes and vegetables, there was hardly anything left by the time the main course was over.
“Tell me about your work, Cameron. I hear you’re in Estate Management, but I’m not sure what that involves,” Priti said as Mr and Mrs Munro cleared the table and discreetly left the young couple alone.
“Well, although the landscape behind me looks natural, estate managers look after every hill, glen, loch and forest. We tak’ care o’ the environment to make sure a’ the crops, stock, plants and wildlife can co-exist and flourish.”
Priti’s heart skipped a beat. Cameron’s concern for wildlife and the environment was as big a turn-on as his ripped physique and handsome features. It was also turning Priti on to see that, while he was trying not to, Cameron kept looking at her cleavage before guiltily averting his eyes. She felt pleased that the peaks outside the window weren’t the only ones that interested him, and she allowed the straps of her dress to slip down slightly.
Cameron collected his thoughts and tried to keep his eyes fixed on Priti’s. “A large team runs each estate. Paw does forestry, but ma responsibility is fur the grouse moors.”
“You have grouse here?” Priti said excitedly. “I’ve never seen one.”
“Aye, red grouse. We mak’ a lot o’ money fae the shoots. Mostly English, like yersel’, but also Americans, Japanese, and Arabs.”
“What? People come here just to shoot the birds?” Priti found it difficult to contain her disgust and quickly pulled up her shoulder straps.
“Oh, aye,” Cameron said, aware of the displeasure in Priti’s voice but remaining calm and assured, “but it’s the money fae the shoots that helps pay for our year-round conservation work. The grouse live naturally, their eggs protected fae foxes and crows by gamekeepers. Our work doesnae just protect the grouse; it protects a’ the other ground-nestin’ birds like Merlin and Curlew and gies them an environment where they can a’ thrive.
“There’ll be nae shoots for a while, though. The grouse population fluctuates - no’ through over-shootin’, might I add - an’ at the moment, we’re buildin’ up the breedin’ pairs. Only when the population becomes unsustainably high will we allow a small number o’ shoots, tae keep it manageable.”
Priti relaxed slightly at Cameron’s explanation. The idea of wealthy foreigners coming to kill the wildlife for sport didn’t sit well with her, but she understood the need for sustainability and financial viability in the rural economy. Besides, Priti could see that Cameron was knowledgeable about the wildlife and genuinely cared about its welfare, so when one of his knees accidentally met hers under the table, she didn’t withdraw it. Instead, she sipped some wine, and her eyes met his from under dark, luxurious lashes.
“Enough about ma work.” Cameron pretended to ignore the lingering meeting of naked skin under the table. “Tell me about the book you’re writin’. Whit sort o’ a book is it?”
Priti wasn’t ready for Cameron to learn quite how racy her writing was. “I write modern romantic fiction,” she began, “although whether anyone will ever read it is in the lap of the gods. If my writing finds a readership, it will be a niche one. Its success hinges on how it is marketed.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow. “So, we’re talkin’ more E.L. James than Henry James, wid I be right?”
Priti felt a hot flush in her face. She hadn’t expected Cameron to join the dots from her deliberately misleading description of her genre.
“Well, I wouldn’t quite say it’s the next Fifty Shades of Grey, but it explores some adult themes alongside a traditional romantic narrative.” Priti was mortified that her demure, respectable front had so quickly dissolved. Inadvertently self-outed as a writer of erotica, she awaited Cameron’s judgement with dread.
“Good on ye,” he replied, much to Priti’s surprise. “It’s great that we artists aren’t bound by convention the way we used tae be. Although the only naked things in ma work are the stags.” He smiled as he nodded towards one of the oil paintings on the wall.
Priti noticed the name at the bottom of the painting. “Oh, my God, Cameron! You painted these?” She shot out of her chair and began perusing the various oils adorning the walls, forgetting her earlier embarrassment. “Cameron, these are exquisite!”
“Aye, he has a talent,” Mr Munro said, returning from the kitchen with an enormous trifle, “but that one he doesnae get fae his father.”
Cameron’s art so enthralled Priti that she didn’t notice that the painter’s gaze remained fixed on her arse as she strolled around the room, delighting in his work.
.•° ✿ °•.
“You and Cammie seemed tae get on,” Mr Munro said as he drove Priti home after dinner.
“Yes, he’s a very talented man. You must be very proud.”
Mr Munro laughed. “Dinnae tell him that - he’ll get a big heid. Aye, he’s a gifted boy, but a’ the trainin’ an’ paintin’ alongside a demandin’ job disnae leave him wi’ much time for anythin’ else.”
“I can imagine, but I was most impressed by his passion for nature.”
Mr Munro smiled knowingly. “Ach, that boy has loved the countryside, and the wildlife in it since he wis wee. You’ll no’ find a man mair in love wi’ nature than our Cammie.”
Mr Munro returned Priti to the cottage, and she was disappointed that her time with the Munros had ended. After Mr Munro had carried another colossal bag of logs into her lounge, “tae keep the cold out,” she hugged him and thanked him for a lovely dinner.
But Mr Munro had a further surprise.
“Here, I want ye tae hae this.” He pulled a ticket from his pocket. “Ca’ it a wee Christmas present. It’s fur the Laird’s Ball on Hogmanay. It’s the highlight o’ the year in the district, and Mrs Munro and I wid love it if ye’d accompany us tae the Manor… although, we’d love it even mair if ye would go wi’ Cammie instead. Between the two o’ us, I think he’d like tae get a call fae ye.”
Mr Munro winked at Priti, tapped his nose, and disappeared into the darkness. Turning the ticket over, Priti discovered Cameron’s number written on the back.
.•° ✿ °•.
As Priti lay in bed that night, she smiled at Mr Munro’s gift. It was crystal clear that the Munros’ invitation to dinner had been little more than a ruse to get Priti and Cameron together. From what Mr Munro had said, Cameron’s work and interests had left him with little time for romance. Perhaps, now that he was in his mid-twenties, his parents had decided to intervene in his love life. Scottish and Indian families weren’t too dissimilar, Priti figured.
She decided to call Cameron the following day, ostensibly to apologise for any offence she may have caused by her reaction to the grouse shooting. However, she wouldn’t invite Cameron to the Ball. If he wanted Priti to accompany him, he would have to invite her.
Priti put three logs on the bedroom fire, switched off the lamp, and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. Her mind was full of snow-swept glens, Scottish manor houses, and men in kilts. Scotland was the most magical place she had ever spent Christmas, and the thought that Cameron was keen for her to accompany him to the Laird’s Ball made the romance seem even more visceral.
She decided an orgasm was the only thing that would still her thoughts and enable her to sleep. Her hand reached between her legs, and she pulled up the t-shirt, which served as a nightdress. Her damp panties revealed that Priti’s thoughts had made her aroused for the first time in weeks.
Although there was little chance of anyone looking through the window as she masturbated, habit made Priti close the curtains. As she did so, she noticed a long, thick icicle hanging outside the window. The constant freeze, thaw, and re-freeze of the past ten days had meant many icicles had formed, but the size and shape of this one stirred Priti’s reawakening sexual appetite. She opened the sash and broke it off before closing the window and shutting the curtains to keep out the icy wind.
The icicle was about eighteen inches long and tapered from a thick base to a dull, bulbous tip. The temperature outside was so cold that it stuck to Priti’s fingers, but it soon became slick as it melted in her hands.
Priti rested the icicle on a chest of drawers as she took off her t-shirt and panties. Then she walked naked across the cold stone floor to the hearthrug, the icicle in her hands, craving the warmth of the burning hearth. After lying in front of the fireplace with her knees bent, Priti ran a finger along the length of the icy stick, the sensual juxtaposition of fire and ice further quickening her arousal.
Priti gripped the icicle’s thick base and placed the tip at her navel. She gasped and shivered as the cold caused her abdominal muscles to contract, then she drew the ice upwards towards her breasts, leaving a thin, wet line glistening on her tawny skin.
Priti traced the inside of each thigh, delighting in the melted water dribbling into the folds at the top of her legs before running over her buttocks and hips onto the rug. She was surprised how aroused she was becoming, and when she spread her wetness over her vulva with icy fingers, the sensations on her clitoris were searingly intense.
Priti moved the frozen shaft to her nipples, rubbing the tip over each dark peak and watching as they contracted and stiffened in response. A trickle of melted water flowed through her cleavage and collected in her navel before dripping over her abdomen. Priti felt her breathing become erratic and her heart race as the melted water surprised her, running freely and unpredictably over her warm, sensitive skin.
Sometimes, Priti just used the icicle’s tip to stimulate a small area, other times, she used its entire length to induce a more intense experience. When she drew back her knees and rubbed the icicle along the cleft of her bum, the numbing cold on her anus caused her eyes to widen, and she expelled a series of short, urgent breaths through pursed lips as her knot twitched in response to the icicle’s frosty touch.
For a while, Priti resisted the temptation to use the icicle on her pussy, worried it might be overwhelming. But curiosity eventually overcame her, and she slowly dragged the tip over her swollen labia and dark, neatly trimmed bush towards her navel.
Priti closed her eyes and opened her mouth wide, gasping as the icicle left a trail of melted ice between her pussy lips. Once the incredible sensations abated, she dragged it upwards again, this time pushing it deeper into her folds when the tip met her hot, aching sex.
With the icicle now melting quickly, Priti gripped the base, pulled back her knees as far as they would go, and slowly inserted the tip. She whimpered as she eased it deeper, the cold sending a chill the length of her spine when her muscles gripped the icicle tightly, as if in shock. Then, tentatively at first, she started fucking herself with the icy pole.
Ten, maybe twenty seconds was all Priti could stand, and she pulled the icicle out, gasping for breath. As the tip withdrew, a stream of melted water dribbled from her opening and down her cleft.
The ice had left Priti’s pussy numb and unresponsive to her touch, so she changed position to warm up in front of the fire, now burning intensely. After placing the remaining icicle in the grate, she sat up, swivelled, and laid back with her feet near the fire. Then, drawing back her knees, Priti opened her legs, shuffling forward to get as close as she comfortably could to the blazing logs.
After the icy cold, the warmth made her skin tingle, and as she rubbed her clitoris hard with her fingertips, Priti felt the sensation returning to her fingers and still-dripping sex. Her skin burned with a thousand pins and needles, and when she thrust two fingers inside to stimulate her G-spot, she knew it wouldn’t be long until she came.
With her fingers fucking her pussy, Priti brought her other hand around to stimulate her anus. As she gently scratched her tight opening with a long fingernail, the thrilling sensations became too much, and her trembling legs closed around her hands as she surrendered to an intense and highly gratifying climax.
.•° ✿ °•.
On Boxing Day, Priti rose early, and after showering, sweeping the fireplaces, and setting another fire in the lounge, she sat on the sofa to write for the first time in days. She would call Cameron at lunchtime, but first, she had to jot down all the erotic ideas that had unexpectedly come to her in her sleep.
After carefully re-reading her latest chapter, she began pecking at the laptop, tentatively at first, but soon, more quickly. Before long, her fingers were flying over the keyboard, as if her inspiration and drive to write had never left her.
When she looked at her watch, Priti suddenly realised it was twelve o’clock. She had lost track of time and had been writing solidly for three hours. It was the first time she had become immersed in her writing in weeks, and it was exciting that she might now make some headway on her stalled chapter. Priti figured she had earned a quick break, so she put down her laptop and picked up her phone to call Cameron.
He seemed pleased when he realised it was Priti on the phone. “Oh, hello, Priti. I hope ye had a nice evenin’ after puttin’ up wi’ us fur dinner yesterday.”
Priti thought of the icicle. “Yes, I did, thank you. And dinner was lovely, but I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I shouldn’t have been so judgemental and ignorant about the shooting. It was unforgivable.”
“No offence wis taken. If the weather wis better, I’d take you to the hills to show you whit I do. I’d love ye tae see our conservation work. I’m sure ye’d find it reassurin’.”
“I’m sure I would,” Priti replied. “Who knows? At this rate, I may still be here in April, so maybe we can go then?”
Cameron laughed. “Aye, I hope so! But it’s me who owes you an apology. Subtlety isnae one o’ Paw’s strengths; ye must ha’ realised he wis tryin’ tae set us both up. And Maw’s as bad; they’re both quite taken wi’ ye. It wis a’ a bit embarrassin’, so I apologise.”
“I did wonder.” Priti welcomed Cameron’s candour.
“They’re desperate fur me tae get married and gie them grandchildren. That might be nice in the future, but, fur now, my trainin’s ma wife, and ma paintin’s ma mistress.”
Priti laughed, but she worried that despite his outward good humour, loneliness was the price Cameron was paying for pursuing his career and talents in the barren Highlands. Spending all day alone on the moors, and each evening in his studio and gym, must be an isolating existence, she figured, and she wondered if it was the reason a handsome man like Cameron was still single in his mid-twenties.
“Anyway, I hear Paw gave ye a ticket fur the Laird’s Ball. Ye’ll no’ be surprised tae learn that I’m under strict instruction tae invite ye tae accompany me. But aside fae ma parents’ matchmakin’ nonsense, I wid be genuinely honoured if ye wid consider goin’ wi’ me.”
Priti smiled. “As long as you don’t feel pressured, I would love to go with you, Cameron. But I have absolutely nothing to wear; all my gowns are in London.”
“Ach, Maw will sort ye out wi’ a gown. She’s no’ as tall as ye, or as slim, but one o’ the younger ladies in the village will be able tae find ye somethin’ nice. Maw has a’ready put the word out on Facebook.”
.•° ✿ °•.
Sure enough, by the time Hogmanay came around, Priti had five gowns to choose from. She decided on a beautiful sleeveless blue satin gown on Mrs Munro’s recommendation. “Ye’ll be glad o’ the freedom o’ movement, and that it’s no’ too warm,” Mrs Munro had said. “Ye’ll be dancin’ a’ night, so ye don’t want a big, heavy gown, mark ma words.”
When Priti took Cameron’s arm to accompany him into the ballroom that evening, she saw that Mrs Munro had been right. The enormous oak-panelled room, decorated with antlers, spears, and oil paintings of men in kilts, had two vast fireplaces at its centre, both full of huge blazing logs, and the room was extremely warm. At one end, a ceilidh band entertained from a minstrels’ gallery, while the dance floor pulsed with people enjoying traditional Scottish dances. Priti thought the men looked dashing in their kilts and smart black jackets, and the women were stunning in their colourful, glamourous gowns and tartan sashes.
The couple drew a great deal of attention as they walked in, with Cameron standing head and shoulders above most of the revellers, and Priti the only person of colour in the room. Cameron wore his kilt with a formal black jacket and bow tie, which Priti thought looked incredibly sexy.
They crossed the room to join Mr and Mrs Munro, who were conversing with a middle-aged man and his wife, both splendidly dressed.
“That’s the Laird and his wife,” Cameron said as they approached. “Come on, let me introduce ye.”
“Ah, and here’s young Cameron!” The Laird smiled when Priti and Cameron made it through the crowd.
“Good evening, sir. Madam.” Cameron shook the Laird’s hand and bowed to his wife. “May I introduce ye tae our guest, Miss Acharya.”
Priti shook their hands and smiled.
“Delighted to meet you! Welcome, and I hope you have a wonderful evening,” the Laird said.
“Thank you, sir,” Priti replied. “The Ball is magnificent!”
“Each year, we organise this as a token of our appreciation for our workers and tenants. The serious dancers will give way shortly, then the band leader will call the dances, explaining what everyone has to do. That’s when the chaos begins!”
Just as the Laird said, after two more dances, the floor cleared, and the band took a short break. When they returned, Priti and Cameron joined other couples on the dancefloor to be taught the Eightsome Reel, Dashing White Sergeant, and Strip the Willow.
It was enormous fun, and Priti was relieved that she wasn’t the only one unfamiliar with the dances. Although Cameron knew them all well, his height and bulk meant he wasn’t the most graceful dancer. Still, he kept Priti right, reminding her what she had to do next, and by the time midnight approached and the band paused for the chimes, Priti didn’t want the dancing to stop.
At midnight, the bells of Westminster came over the speakers. The crowd counted down the seconds, and everyone cheered and hugged one another when Big Ben struck the hour.
“Happy New Year,” Cameron said. “Or as we say up here, ‘Bliadhna Mhath Ùr’.”
“Blayanna ma oor,” Priti repeated. Cameron stooped to kiss her on both cheeks, but didn’t attempt a proper snog. Priti was a little disappointed but resolved that if Cameron hadn’t made a move by the end of the evening, she would take matters into her own hands. Besides, everyone was linking arms as the band played Auld Lang Syne, so seducing Cameron could wait until later.
Mr and Mrs Munro left after midnight, but Priti and Cameron continued dancing until the band stopped playing and the Ball drew to a close.
“That was the most incredible night,” Priti said as Cameron drove them up the lane towards the cottage. “I think I’m falling in love with the Highlands. I might just stay here forever.”
“Well, I hope ye don’t feel ye have tae rush back south. Ye said yersel’, your writing is benefittin’ fae yer bein’ awa’ fae London’s distractions. Why no’ stay a wee bit longer than ye planned? Paw will gie ye a good deal on the cottage; he might even let ye stay fur nothin’.”
Priti had already been having the same thoughts. It wasn’t just Cameron’s interest that tempted her to stay, although she was intrigued to see where their emergent relationship led. The entire experience of a Highland winter had been enchanting, and Priti’s newfound productivity meant it would be crazy to go home now.
“It’s very tempting,” Priti replied as the Land Rover drew up outside her cottage. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Priti climbed down from the Land Rover, and Cameron walked her to the front door. There was an awkward pause as they prepared to bid one another goodnight.
“Here, let me gie ye another reason tae stay.” Cameron grasped Priti’s waist in his enormous hands, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he leaned in to kiss her.
“Thank you fur a lovely evenin’,” he said as their lips eventually parted.
“Thank you for inviting me.” Priti gave him a coy smile before kissing him again. “It has been wonderful, and I wish tonight would never end. But it’s late, so we’d better say goodnight. You drive safely, Cameron.”
When Priti closed the door, her heart was beating fast. She wished she had asked Cameron inside; having gone without sex for almost two months, a good hard fuck from Cameron would have been perfect. So, as she hung her coat and leaned back against the sturdy oak front door, Priti hoped she hadn’t put Cameron off.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck!” Priti vented her vexation.
Immediately, there was a loud knock behind her back, and Priti realised she hadn’t heard the Land Rover pull away. When she opened the door, Cameron was standing under the storm porch holding a bottle of whisky and a tin of shortbread.
“Are ye okay?” he asked.
“Er… yes… I just banged my knee on the sideboard.”
“Oh,” Cameron replied, “only I couldnae go wi’out First Footin’ ye.”
“Whatting me?”
“It’s a tradition. Yer first guest o’ the New Year should be a tall, dark man carryin’ gifts - he’s yer First Foot.”
“Oh,” Priti replied, disappointed ‘footing’ wasn’t Scots dialect for something entirely different.
“And it’s rude if ye don’t invite yer First Foot in,” Cameron added with a wink.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Come in, Cameron.”
Cameron put the whisky and shortbread down and rummaged in his jacket pocket, placing two further items on the coffee table.
“Here: a coin symbolises prosperity, shortbread symbolises food, a lump o’ coal symbolises warmth, and whisky symbolises good cheer. May ye hae an abundance o’ all four in the year ahead.”
“Aw, that’s lovely! Thank you, Cameron.” Priti asked what she should do in return.
“Well, you’re supposed tae offer yer guest a drink and somethin’ tae eat, but why no’ just bring some glasses, and we can hae a wee whisky nightcap, then I’ll be on ma way.”
Cameron sat on the long leather sofa as Priti brought some whisky glasses. She told him to pour them both a small measure as she went to close the bedroom curtains and light the fire, to warm the bedroom before she retired.
Once in the bedroom, Priti also lit the candles Mr Munro had left in case the snow brought down the power lines. Having allowed Cameron to leave once, she wouldn’t make the same mistake again, and she wanted the bedroom to be romantic when she lured him inside. Soon, the evocative smell and crackle of burning logs filled the room, and shadows from the candles danced on the stone walls and oak-beamed ceiling.
When Priti returned to the lounge, she removed her shoes and sat down next to Cameron. “So, mister, where did you learn to paint like that?” she asked with a coquettish smile, leaning towards him and drawing her feet under her bum as her arm extended along the back of the sofa.
“I’ve painted oils since I wis in ma teens, but I read Fine Art at the Glasgow School o’ Art. I’d like tae think they knocked some rough edges off there, but I couldnae wait tae get back tae the Highlands. The city’s no’ for me. I’m at ma happiest here in the mountains.”
Priti understood. She couldn’t imagine Cameron living anywhere other than the rugged Highland countryside. He seemed to encapsulate everything wonderful about the area: its beauty, friendliness, and fascinating way of life. It was little wonder he loved the area as he did, and Priti realised she had no such fondness for her home in London, with its dirty streets, overpriced housing, and fractious, transient community.
“I can see why you love it here; it’s so still and peaceful. So, why don’t you have another whisky and convince me to stay a little longer?” Priti asked. “And since you’re not working tomorrow, I might try to convince you to stay a little longer, too.”
Priti took the glass from Cameron and placed it on the table before leaning in to kiss him once more.
.•° ✿ °•.
The bedroom door had no sooner closed behind her than Priti dragged Cameron towards her and wrapped her arms around his neck, urgently kissing him. She had wrestled his bow tie, jacket, and waistcoat from him in the lounge, and soon, Cameron’s shirt was under attack as Priti frantically unfastened the buttons, her lips still clamped to his. Meanwhile, Cameron fumbled behind his back, trying to release the chain straps holding up his sporran.
“I want you to fuck me,” Priti hissed as she pulled the shirt down over his powerful shoulders. “I want you to fuck me right here, right now, up against this fucking wall.”
Weeks of disappointment, heartbreak, and frustration dissipated with each garment she removed, and as the candlelight illuminated the firm ridges of Cameron’s thick, muscular physique, Priti’s already-heightened libido hit another gear.
Eventually, with the shirt discarded and the sporran clattering to the floor, Priti pulled Cameron towards her and kissed him again. With the sporran gone, there could be no mistaking the firm bulge protruding from Cameron’s kilt, and Priti couldn’t wait to have it inside her.
Cameron reached behind Priti and tried to unzip her gown, but it was soon apparent that Priti wouldn’t waste time undressing. Instead, she gathered her skirt around her waist, wrapped one arm around Cameron’s neck and launched herself into the air, gripping his waist with her thighs and his neck with her arms.
Cameron took her weight comfortably, even with only one hand under her bum, and he pinned her to the wall with his body as he struggled to free his cock from under the heavy fabric of his kilt. When Priti felt his tip pressing on her soaking silk panties, she pulled the gusset to one side and placed him at her wet slit.
Priti’s eyes and mouth opened wide as Cameron lowered her onto his shaft. Her breathing became short and shallow as the broadest part of his tool cleaved her, and she wondered how much more she could take. Eventually, as she felt the dull throb of Cameron’s tip on her cervix, Priti tightened her grip around his neck and stared into his eyes. “Oh, God, yes,” she whispered. “Now, fuck me, Cammie. Fuck me hard.”
Taking a wide stance, Cameron thrust into Priti, his powerful arms keeping her at the optimal height for maximum power and depth. Priti figured Cameron must have sensed the evening’s sexual tension, and felt the chemistry between them, as much as she had. She watched as he closed his eyes, savouring her tightness as her pussy gripped his shaft, and Priti wondered how long he had gone without sex.
Priti moaned as he quickened his strokes, imagining his firm buttocks clenching under his kilt as his hips crashed into hers. “Oh, that feels so good, so fucking good!”
Soon, Cameron varied his technique, using his upper-body strength to bounce Priti up and down on his upright shaft. She groaned each time he impaled her, and after a while, her cervix ached from the constant battering of his tip.
“Turn me around. Turn me around and fuck me from behind.”
Cameron lifted Priti and pulled out before lowering her to the floor. He stroked his cock as Priti removed her panties, and for the first time, she saw the size of the thing that had been fucking her. Priti figured that even taking him cervix-deep must have left at least two thick inches unsheathed.
After gathering the skirt of her gown around her waist again, Priti put her hands against the cold stone wall and spread her legs. Although tall, she was still a foot shorter than Cameron, and she was afraid it might make sex in this position difficult. But when Cameron once more spread his legs wide, took his cock in his hand, and firmly gripped her hips, she felt his tip probing at her opening once more. With one languid push accompanied by a low, guttural grunt, his glans entered her again.
“Jesus!” Cameron slowly opened Priti up, inch by inch, his tip firmly nudging her G-spot as it gradually closed on her cervix. She felt his hands grip her hips tightly as he withdrew to the tip before slowly gliding into her again. “Oh my God, Cammie; that’s the spot. Keep doing that and you’ll make this girl cum.”
Priti spread her hands wide against the cold stone wall as the strength and speed of Cameron’s strokes gradually increased, and she wished she had taken the time to undress so he could stimulate her tits as well. Cameron must have read her thoughts because he pulled out, unzipped her gown, and dragged it to the floor before hastily unfastening her bra.
Priti loved he was behaving so masterfully. It was as if he had learned all he knew about sex from watching the stags aggressively mounting the hinds during the rutting season. She stepped out of the gown and kicked it to the side before resuming her position against the wall and spreading her legs wide.
Cameron sidled up behind her, and having twice slapped his weighty length against her arse, he buried himself inside her again.
Priti had assumed that since Cameron hadn’t been dating, he might be inexperienced or shy in the bedroom, but as he roughly fucked her against the wall, it was apparent he was anything but. When he gripped her swinging breasts in both hands, pulling her almost upright as he continued to thrust into her, Priti could tell he was no beginner.
“Oh, God, Cammie! Yes! Right there!”
She soon felt Cameron’s hands move back to her hips as his cock continued its assault on her G-spot. With her large breasts slapping together with each deep stroke, Priti felt the first stirrings of her climax.
“Fuck, Cammie, you’re going to make me cum!”
Priti’s cries seemed to spur Cameron to even more purposeful thrusts, and when her legs buckled at the onset of her orgasm, Cameron wrapped his arms around her waist, linking his fingers to take her weight. As he lifted her feet off the ground with each deep thrust, Priti desperately clawed at the wall with her fingernails for balance. Eventually, her crisis hit, sending pulses of extreme pleasure coursing through her sex and stomach, and a warm trickle of her juices dribbling onto the granite floor.
Panting heavily, Priti looked over her shoulder to see Cameron’s face crumpling in anticipation of his approaching climax. She felt his thrusts slow and his bulbous tip twitch as it prepared to expel his seed into her expectant, quivering frame.
“Yes, Cammie. Cum for me!”
Priti’s words pushed Cameron to the brink, and soon she felt his muscles tense as, with deep, staccato thrusts, he unloaded inside her. Priti kept her palms planted on the wall as Cameron continued to expel his thick ropes into her, heaving her off her feet with each of his loud, desperate lunges.
Eventually, she felt the spasms in Cameron’s throbbing tip become less intense and his warmth fill the folds of her stretched tunnel. When his urgent grunts turned into satisfied sighs, Priti realised that like her own, Cameron’s release had been far too long in coming.
Cameron returned Priti’s feet to the floor and withdrew. He watched as Priti spilled his thick white mess onto the stone floor, then gently hugged her from behind, kissing the top of her head as they both took a moment to recover from their exertions. “God, you’re perfect,” they both said in unison, before giggling at the coincidence.
Cameron scooped Priti up into his arms and carried her across the candlelit room towards the bed.
.•° ✿ °•.
Priti loved being held in Cameron’s muscular arms, her head resting on his enormous chest and her arm around his waist. The fire was now waning in the grate, and the firelight and candles scattered dappled light across the darkened room. Priti had never had sex in such a romantic setting.
“So, which notch on your bedpost am I, Cammie? Three? Five? Twenty-five?”
Cameron laughed. “You’re number two, no’ that I have any notches on ma bedpost! How about you?”
“Only one or two more than that,” Priti lied. “So, tell me about ‘Notch Number One’. Were you two serious?”
Cameron paused for a moment before answering. “Aye, we were. I met her in ma first year at uni; she wis an art student, too. But, when we finished our studies, she wanted tae remain in the city. I tried tae put up wi’ Glasgow for a while longer, but the mountains eventually called me hame. It wis a heartbreakin’ decision tae make, but I think it wis the right one.
“And whit about you? I bet ye’ve left a string of broken hearts in yer wake,” Cameron joked.
“No, the only broken heart has been mine. The reason I came to Scotland was to put some distance between me and my ex-fiancé. It’s good that I learned of his cheating before the wedding, which would have been in August, but it has been a hard two months since we split. Still, all’s well that ends well.” Priti kissed Cameron’s chest and snuggled in closer.
“I’m sorry tae hear that; I had nae idea that’s why ye were here,” Cameron said, kissing Priti’s head.
“I did make the mistake of telling your dad about my break-up, which is probably why he and your mum have been trying to set us both up.”
Cameron laughed. “Aye, ye dinnae want tae tell these two yer business. By now, the whole glen will know!”
“But, God, listen to the two of us! We’re talking like a couple of emotional disaster zones! I’m sorry for raising the ghosts of partners past,” Priti said. “I think we should both concentrate on partners present from now on.” She cupped Cameron’s balls before gripping his flaccid cock and stroking it while she kissed him.
“Mmm,” Cameron purred, “it looks like someone is keen tae make up for two months o’ abstinence!”
Priti gave him a mischievous smile as she felt the first stirrings of Cameron’s erection. “I’m up for round two if you are, but it’s three o’clock in the morning, and I’m getting tired,” she replied, “so, maybe something less athletic this time?”
Priti soon felt Cameron’s dick stiffening in her hand, and she knelt on the bed to complete the job with her mouth. She looked him directly in the eye as she pulled back his foreskin and took his glans deep between her sucked-in cheeks. “Fuck, it’s big,” Priti said when Cameron’s cock reached its zenith.
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so, but I need to try it again, to be sure. You fucked me last time, but now I want you to make love to me. Make it as intense as before, but show me your softer, more tender side.”
Priti lay on her back, awaiting Cameron’s response. He had already brought his power and athleticism into the bedroom, but could he also apply sensitivity, creativity, and a sensual touch to their lovemaking?
Cameron leaned in to kiss her, shifting his body position so he could move beyond her lips, to her shoulders, neck and earlobes. Priti closed her eyes and squirmed, arching her back with pleasure as she felt his kisses move lower; first to her collarbone, and then to her breasts.
Cameron remained silent in the fading candlelight, using his lips and teeth to pleasure and tease Priti’s thick, dark nipples, as his fingers lightly brushed over her hips and thighs with the deft, assured strokes of an artist. And when he moved lower still, Priti was glad she had taken a ‘mini-shower’ on her last visit to the bathroom.
By the time Priti felt Cameron move between her legs, she knew her sex was dripping wet. When she first felt his tongue as it lightly traced her folds, her thoughts returned to the icicle, and the contrast between its unfeeling touch and Cameron’s hot, tender ministrations could not have been more marked. The icicle was enjoyable, but when Cameron began flicking her bead, feeling his warm breath on her damp thighs made Priti want him never to stop.
“Oh, God! Yes, Cammie! Make me cum!”
Priti thrashed on the bed, her fingertips squeezing her dark, thick nipples hard as Cameron sought to guide her to her finish. The insertion of a long, girthy finger was enough to push her over the edge.
“Fuck!” Priti gripped his head as Cameron stroked her inside and out, her clitoris momentarily over-stimulated by the pleasure he was educing. “Jesus, Cammie, you’re making me cum.” Priti closed her eyes and threw her head back onto the pillow as she released her pent-up frustrations over his finger, while trembling and convulsing on the bed.
Cameron pulled out and joined his breathless partner on the bed, kissing her damp forehead and stroking her hip lightly as she recovered from her orgasm.
“Wow,” Priti said, once her breath had returned. “That was intense!”
“Get some sleep,” Cameron told her. “I can see how tired ye are.”
“No way! You have a boner, and I’m not about to let you go to sleep frustrated. But yes, I am tired, so why not hold me in your arms and spoon me? I’d love to fall asleep in your arms with your cock inside me. That would be the most perfect end to the day.”
Priti thought Cameron also looked tired, and he was happy to lie down beside Priti, pull the duvet over them both, and wrap his arms around her as she kissed him one more time. “Thank you for tonight,” she said, looking deep into his eyes, then smiling. “I think this year is going to be a good one. Now, fuck me to sleep.”
As Priti rolled onto her side, she felt Cameron’s huge, firm arms and body wrap themselves around her slender frame, and his fingers grip her left breast. Reaching between her legs, she guided Cameron’s erection towards her opening and gasped when he slowly filled her.
Cameron seemed to understand exactly how Priti wanted to be fucked. He didn’t thrust wildly into her, as he had before. This time, he barely moved at all; instead he kissed Priti’s neck and shoulders, whispering how beautiful she was as he hugged her tightly from behind. Priti closed her eyes, pushing her bum towards him as she wriggled to get comfortable, ready to sleep, enjoying the almost imperceptible movement of Cameron’s thickness inside her.
It was only towards the end, when Priti heard Cameron’s breathing become laboured, that she felt him grind more firmly against her bum as he chased his finish. Eventually, Priti heard Cameron gasp, and she felt the unmistakable warmth of his release deep inside her. Neither she nor Cameron said a word, but Priti took the hand from her breast, kissed it, and then wrapped it around her waist, with her hand resting lightly on top. With one final wiggle of her bottom, Priti fell asleep.
.•° ✿ °•.
“Priti, come quick!”
Priti walked into the cottage sitting room wrapped in a towel with her wet hair cascading over her shoulders like rats’ tails. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright August sunlight streaming through the small lead-paned window. “What’s the emergency, Cammie?”
“They’re here!” he said, pointing to a box on the coffee table. “C’mon, open it! I cannae wait tae see!”
Priti beamed broadly and sat on the sofa as Cameron passed her a pair of scissors and took a seat beside her. “The publishers said they’d send three copies a week before the release date. It seems they’ve been true to their word,” Priti explained, cutting the tape eagerly.
“That’s grand,” Cameron said. “One fur you, one fur me, an’ one fur Maw.”
“Your mother must know nothing about this!” Priti replied with menace. “What would she say if she knew I write erotica? It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Er, I’ve been meanin’ tae talk to ye about that,” Cameron said, looking sheepish.
Priti shot Cameron a withering glare. “Tell me you’ve not!”
“I didnae mean tae, but it wis the night I won the title at Gourock. Me an’ Paw had a whisky or two, an’ it just slipped out.”
“And your dad told your mum. God, that was weeks ago! You mean they’ve known all this time?”
“Aye, but it seems the secret didnae stop wi’ Maw.”
“Cameron, what do you mean?” Priti awaited news about Cameron’s latest indiscretion with dread.
“Well, when I wis in Grantown the other day, I was talkin’ tae Mrs Marshall at the bookshop, and it seems she has over fifty pre-orders for yer book. In fact, she’d like ye tae do a book launch event on the evenin’ o' the release. Ye can sign the books as the women come tae pick them up. She’ll get the press there an’ everythin’.”
“So, let me get this right: you told your father, who told your mother, who told the entire fucking Highlands that I write smut? And those that don’t yet know will soon read about it in the newspaper?”
“Aye, that's about the sum o’ it. It seems a lot o’ women in the Highlands want tae read yer work, an’ I bet it’s no’ just in the Highlands. I’m proud o’ ye! I know how hard ye worked on it. An’ Maw an’ Paw are proud of ye too!”
Priti put her annoyance to one side and took a copy of her book from the box, smiling as she ran her fingertips over the glossy sleeve. Cameron liked that the diamond on her finger sparkled in the sunlight as Priti turned the book over to read the blurb.
“I’m glad they chose that picture o’ ye,” Cameron said. “Sexy, beautiful, and a’ mine.” He kissed Priti on the temple. “I really am proud of ye. And this wee bump will be proud o’ his mummy, too,” he said, rubbing Priti’s belly.
“His mummy?” Priti replied. “Who says it’s a boy?”
“Aye, it’ll be a boy,” Cameron said, “an’ the next Munro tae compete at Braemar.”
Priti laughed, “Well, if it’s a boy, he’ll be a fine writer, too.”
“Aye, in between a’ the paintin’.”
.•° ✿ °•.
