“I want purple trews, lass," Drustan called over the door. "No," she said irritably. "And a purple shirt.”

“My trews may be soft, lass, he thoughts, but what's in them isn't.”

“As he closed the door he said over his shoulder, "Because you're a good lass." A heavy sigh. "And I'm no' a good man.”

“The running pants were tolerable, Drustan decided, relieved. The blue trews had clearly been a torture device and would have strangled a man's seed. Mayhap men were fashioned differently in her time. He hadn't seen one other bulge out there on the street; mayhap they all had wee carrots in their trews.”

“You have splendid breasts, lass," he purred, cupping the plump mounds. "Splendid," he repeated stupidly, and she almost laughed. Men loved breasts any shape or form, they just loved them.-Drustan to Gwen”

“Propping the mirror against the wall near the door, he waved a hand at it and clipped, "Drustan: Cian MacKeltar. Cian: Drustan MacKeltar.""Dageus," Drustan's voice was soft as velvet, never a good sign, "why are you introducing me to a mirror?”

“Then you will simply have to see for yourself. Touch me, lass. Feel my ...sock." His silver gaze sizzled with challenge, as he unzipped his zipper.Uh-uh." She shook her head for added emphasis.Then find me a pair of trews that doona threaten to sever my manparts.”