“What do I get if I win?” asked Kurt with a speculative gleam in his eye, as Blaine began setting up the Scrabble board.

Blaine thought about it, “An original song. If you win, I will write you an original song.”

“It can't just be any song,” Kurt declared, “I want a madrigal, and you have to sing it at open mic night at Studs and Suds.”

Blaine groaned, “I should have never taken you to that Renaissance Fair last weekend. Or any gay bar, ever.” Blaine looked up hopefully at Kurt, but he could see his boyfriend wasn't budging. Blaine threw his hands in the air. “Fine. A madrigal it is.”

Then Blaine came up with a wicked idea of his own. “Okay, you get a madrigal, but if I win, I want a story. Not just any story. You have to write me an historical romance…set in Scotland. And I want to be the main character, but you have to be in it, too. It has to have at least five chapters, and you have to post it on your AO3 account. And then you have to read it to me, all snuggled up on the sofa.”

“Well, since you've never once beaten me in Scrabble, I'm not too worried,” Kurt said, extending a hand. “It's a bet.”

Blaine shook on it.

Two hours later, Blaine was handing Kurt his laptop. “You were the one who wanted to make it interesting,” he said. “I just wanted to play Scrabble.”

“I can't believe you played muzjiks. How do you even know that word?”

Blaine looked at Kurt smugly, “I went to private school, you know. Well, for a while, at least.” But then Blaine relented, because he was never really one to gloat when he won things. “We can forget the bet, honey. You don't have to write me a story.”

“Oh, no, you're getting your story, Blaine,” Kurt retorted, “and you're going to have to sit through every cheesy word.”

Two days later Blaine and Kurt were curled up on the sofa. Kurt had both arms looped around Blaine, who was lying with this back pressed against Kurt's chest.

“Are you comfy?” Kurt asked.

Blaine snuggled more firmly against Kurt and nodded, “Very.”

“Okay,” said Kurt, “Let's begin.”

Blaine MacAnders stood stiffly while others fussed around him. He honestly didn't know how the English could stand wearing all of these clothes. He could barely move, and he certainly couldn't fight, trussed as he was in tight hose, a frilly shirt, and a velvet jacket. A ridiculous cap—also of velvet—rested on his mass of curls which fell far below his shoulders in the Scots fashion. How could a man move if his legs weren't bare? How could he fight?

Of course, fighting was not the order of the day. Today he would marry Rachel Berry, the daughter of a rich English merchant, because King Henry decreed it so, and the MacAnders wanted to keep the peace. This is also why he had agreed to dress in this ridiculous English fashion, at least for one night. Tomorrow, he would be back in his saffron shirt and plaid.

What Blaine would do with a wife after he was married was the real question. Marriages of convenience, especially among the elite, were common (in fact, usual), but there was a general expectation that a wife would produce at least one heir, even among the Scots, who put much less stock on social rank than the English. Blaine wasn't sure how that could happen, since his blood never stirred in the presence of any woman, but his eyes were often drawn to the stout, bare legs of fellow clansmen. Blaine had heard that there were men who lay with other men; in fact, it was hinted at in songs and poems, but he couldn't imagine how one man could approach another. And he didn't want to lose an eye or worse by trying. Thus, he kept his predilections to himself, and if anyone noticed that he was never with a woman, well, they kept it to themselves, too.

Blaine looked across the room as they continued to dress him, and his eyes were drawn to a tray on a side table where the remains of a small meal were congealing. The tray reminded him that there was at least one woman who had the possibility of stirring him to action.

Blaine was surprised when he found himself one day watching the twitching hips of one of the cook's helpers—a tall, angular woman with piercing blue eyes, an aquiline nose, a sweep of thick, lustrous brown hair, and a generous mouth—as she walked from the room. Now Blaine looked for her whenever he was in the manor, and he had talked to her more than a few times. Maybe he could impregnate her and present the child as his wife's. Stranger things had been done, and people were often willing to look the other way when it suited them.

Blaine shook his head. Today he would marry. Tomorrow, he would think about what to do with this English woman who would soon become his wife. Above all, once he had a wife, it would be easier to have his way with the fetching cook's assistant. After all, married men often had affairs, and young women didn't get ideas about men who were married.

Rachel Berry sat erect in the carriage as she traveled to the manor. The trip from England had been arduous, but she had been near Scotland for a few days, staying in the home of an earl whose home was situated quite close to the border. Rachel knew that she looked stunning in her cream colored gown that cascaded with golden embroidery from her neckline to her hem. However, she had no interest in impressing the barbarian who was to be her new husband. She had eyes only for her groom, Finn, who often eyed her with equal interest when he thought she wasn't looking. Of course, the match between a lady of wealth such as herself and a lowly groom would never do, and both of them knew it. Thus, they kept their interest to themselves, and if Finn's hands rested too long on her when he helped her mount a horse, or if she kept her gloved hand in his too long when he helped her from a carriage, there was no comment.

When Rachel was informed that she was to give up her life in England and marry the heathen they called the MacAnders, she had insisted that she be allowed to bring a few English servants. After all, one couldn't expect the filthy Scots to know how to attend to a proper English woman. After great pleading she was allowed to bring Finn as well as her maid, Tina, who was now sitting across from her, looking as nervous as Rachel felt.

Kurt McBurt collapsed on his pallet in the tiny room under the stairs. He was exhausted from all the preparations necessary for the marriage of the MacAnders to the English woman. The pallet and a chipped wash basin took up nearly all the space in the room, but a bigger room would mean sharing, and that was out of the question. If he roomed with another cook's assistant, his secret would soon be out.

Kurt was barely two when his mother died, and his father was killed in battle not many years later. A few days after his dad's death, some of the MacAnders men found Kurt alone in his family's house in the woods, hungry and crying in a nightdress. Mistaking the pretty little boy with the high voice for a girl, they carried him back to the manor and left him with the cook, Shannon. It didn't take the cook long to discover that he was a boy, but she found that she liked having the cheerful child around, so she continued the charade of his sex, telling herself it would just be for a little while.

For his part, Kurt found that he loved the kitchens. He had a knack for cooking, and although food was not plentiful, those who had to cook also had to taste, so kitchen workers were never hungry. Since cooking was relegated to women, Kurt kept up his feminine disguise, and Shannon abetted him, eventually helping him acquire the small space under the stairs when his age made it improper to keep bunking with his patron.

With his lean figure, sparse facial hair, and high voice, passing himself off as a girl, and later, a woman, was not problem. He grew his chestnut hair out even longer than the men, padded his chest just enough to give himself a little shape without attracting undue attention, and shaved regularly with the knife he kept in his stocking. Kurt was a beautiful man, but he was not an especially attractive woman, which kept him from having to ward off unwanted advances. He also learned to avoid the men when they were drunk, so that no one would get overly friendly. It wasn't that Kurt didn't want the attention of men, but he feared what they would do to him if they discovered his secret in the moment of passion.

Kurt particularly craved the attention of one man, the MacAnders. Blaine MacAnders was rugged and strong, and his bare legs that flashed under his great kilt made Kurt blush with impure thoughts. He supposed it was wrong to have such feelings for a man, but perhaps acting as a woman for so long had changed him, although Kurt recalled liking men for as long as he could remember.

As Kurt laid on the pallet feeling the exhaustion sinking into his bones, he wondered if Blaine was excited about marrying Rachel Berry, who was rumored to be beautiful as well as rich. Kurt felt sick to his stomach at the thought of Blaine with any woman.

Sometimes, when he would bring Blaine a snack late at night, or bring dinner to his room when he was too exhausted to join his men, he thought he saw a glimmer of interest in the MacAnders' eyes. It gave Kurt a thrill, to imagine that Blaine might be interested, but it scared him, too. He couldn't imagine what might be done to him if his secret was discovered.

Despite being slowly dragged under by the cloak of sleep, Kurt took a moment to relive one of his favorite memories. About two years ago, Kurt had taken a tray to Blaine's room where the laird had shut himself in, buried in work. Kurt entered the room on cat's feet and placed a tray on a side table. Then he checked the fire to make sure that there was sufficient firewood to keep the clan chief warm.

When he turned around, he was startled to find Blaine staring at him, his eyes filled with interest. Kurt dropped a small curtsey and bowed his head to hide his blush. Then he tried to scurry out of the room, but the laird caught his wrist with one strong hand and pulled Kurt toward him.

Kurt kept his head down, but he looked up at Blaine under lowered lashes.

“What's your name?” Blaine asked.

“Elizabeth, my Laird.”

Blaine put a hand to Kurt's face and lifted his head up so that his eyes met Blaine's. His other hand remained clasped around Kurt's wrist, and Kurt felt the heat from Blaines hand searing his skin. The hand that was touching his face was likewise hot, and Kurt nearly jumped when Blaine began moving his fingertips just the slightest bit, stroking work-roughened fingers over Kurt's smooth cheek.

“Elizabeth, you have beautiful eyes,” Blaine said. “They remind me of the sea.” Blaine got a faraway look, and then he shook his head as if to clear the thought. “I want you to serve me personally from now on. Whenever I'm at the manor, you're to bring me my meals. Is that understood?”

Kurt dropped another small curtsey, “Yes, my Laird. If it pleases you.”

Blaine brought Kurt's hand to his mouth and kissed Kurt's palm. “Oh, it pleases me. It pleases me very much.”

From then on, Kurt brought Blaine his meals, fearing for a long time (and also secretly hoping) that Blaine might show additional interest in him, but while Blaine would chat amiably with Kurt, he never touched him again, and Kurt was both relieved and disappointed.

“I'm marrying Rachel!?” Blaine asked, clearly affronted. “You wrote a historical horror story? This is the worst tale ever.”

“Hey, I'm the one who's in drag here. Try to keep some perspective.”

Blaine laughed. Then his face grew serious, and he twisted to look at Kurt and raised a hand to stroke his face, “You wrote Finn into the story. Does that make you sad?”

Kurt looked down at Blaine and gave a small, wistful smile, “A little, but I like to think he gets to live in this story, at least.”

Blaine smiled up at Kurt, “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”