Nate's Fated Mate(54)

Nate could see going forward, he was going to be lying to his mother as much as she had ever lied to him. Maybe in a hundred years, they'd be even.

"I hope you're right, Mother. I hope Sheena does love me. She stayed away a century last time."

"Grovel a little, son. It won't kill you. Women like to see a man on his knees."

He started to make a crude joke about men liking women that way as well just to see the look on his mother's face, but Nate laughed instead. Angus was obviously having a negative effect on his sensibilities.

"I love you, Mother. Are you going to be okay as a divorced woman?"

"Of course, I am. I would never lie to you about something like that. Duty calls though. Let's talk again soon. Keep me posted on your remarriage. I'd like to attend the ceremony. Being a MacNamara, I'm sure Sheena will want a big showy one."

Nate shook his head slowly in disbelief after the screen faded to black.

A knock on his door drew his attention. "Enter," he called, and saw Angus poke in his head.

"If yer not busy Admiral, I have something for ya. But ya need to take a walk with me to see it."

Nate rose from his seat, shelving thoughts of his Mother's vulnerability and Sheena's success at convincing his father to do what she wanted. Both were equally alarming and messed with his peace of mind.

Fortunately, the one thing Angus was always good for was in providing a distraction.



"A perfect fit, sir, if I do say so," Evan declared.

Matthew draped the sash over the Admiral's naked chest. "Who else could say so, Evan? No one else has your impeccable sense of style."

"I adore you, Matthew" Evan said.

"And I you. Now he's finished. What do you think?"

Nate rolled his eyes as both master clothiers stepped back to admire how he looked. 

"I think manscaping is fine for special occasions, but I for one am very glad the Admiral is still au naturel from the waist down. The black combat boots really bring out the sheen of the dark hair on his legs."

"They do, Evan. They really do."

When Matthew turned him toward the mirror, Nate laughed at what he saw. He'd never looked more ridiculous in his life.

Angus stepped up behind him and glared. "I put ya in my family's plaid and ya laugh at it? Yer an unfeeling, heartless bastard of a man, Admiral Tiberius. I don't know what my sweet Sheena sees in ya."

Nate's gaze fell to the brightly colored fabric now wrapped around Angus's girth. Angus even had a fuzzy white bag on chains hanging down the front. He had no idea what purpose it served except to make the man look more ridiculous.

"I'm bare chested and wearing a skirt. Everything manly about me is swinging loose under it. Why do you get a fucking white shirt and I don't, Angus? I'm all but naked."

"Because I'm doing ya a fecking favor-not that ya can appreciate it. And just so ya know, I'm having Evan and Matthew here make kilts for all the lads. There's no use trying to stop me. I've made up my mind. Not even Erin can talk me out of it."

"All the lads? What lads?" Nate asked.

"Why are ya being dense today? The aliens," Angus said loudly, rolling his eyes. "We're going to be holding the highland games of my fecking grandfather's day and now we can be properly dressed for them. I'm going to have to thank John personally for sending the kilt makers. Maybe he can come to dinner at the castle sometime. There has to be some furniture there sized for normal people. I'll put Carleton to work on it when they go home."

Nate's chin dropped at all of Angus's ramblings, but the one he'd heard loudest flabbergasted him. "You're intending to dress the aliens in kilts? Angus, you've lost your fucking mind. The aliens are nearly all warriors on the planets they hail from. They're not going to want to wear a man skirt."

Ignoring him, Angus looked at the kilt makers. "Pay no mind to the Admiral's lack of vision and his poor understanding of what makes a real man. Fine work on the kilts, fellas. I'll bring ya some ale before ya have to make Darcone's. His growling won't seem so bad after a couple drinks. But I advise ya to just take measurements while under the influence because yer fecking seams won't be sewn straight until ya sober back up."

Watching the kilt makers's heads bobbling on their necks, Nate wondered when he'd lost control of …  well, everything.

"Come on, eegit. Let's go see the women. Yer the type who always has to be convinced the hard way. I'm tired of talking."

"You? Tired of talking? That would be a fucking first," Nate said tersely. "And I could have you thrown into a holding cell for your disrespect to me."

"And I'd be out of it faster than ya could blink yer eyes. The lads know who has their best interests at heart."