The whole Scene:
“I daresay.” He edged into the room and circled me at a cautious distance, eyeing my nether limbs with interest. “And what are those?”“Like them?” I put my hands on my hips, modeling the drawstring leather trousers that Phaedre had constructed for me—laughing hysterically as she did so—from soft buckskin provided by one of Myers’s friends in Cross Creek.“No,” he said bluntly. “Ye canna be going about in—in—” He waved at them, speechless.“Trousers,” I said. “And of course I can. I wore trousers all the time, back in Boston. They’re very practical.”He looked at me in silence for a moment. Then, very slowly, he walked around me. At last, his voice came from behind me.“Ye wore them outside?” he said, in tones of incredulity. “Where folk could see ye?”“I did,” I said crossly. “So did most other women. Why not?”
“Why not?” he said, scandalized. “I can see the whole shape of your buttocks, for God’s sake, and the cleft between!”
Image from a talented Lady @swietjesO
“I can see yours, too,” I pointed out, turning around to face him. “I’ve been looking at your backside in breeks every day for months, but only occasionally does the sight move me to make indecent advances on your person.”His mouth twitched, undecided whether to laugh or not. Taking advantage of the indecision, I took a step forward and put my arms around his waist, firmly cupping his backside.“Actually, it’s your kilt that makes me want to fling you to the floor and commit ravishment,” I told him. “But you don’t look at all bad in your breeks.”He did laugh then, and bending, kissed me thoroughly, his hands carefully exploring the outlines of my rear, snugly confined in buckskin. He squeezed gently, making me squirm against him.
“Take them off,” he said, pausing for air.“But I—”
“Take them off,” he repeated firmly. He stepped back and tugged loose the lacing of his flies. “Ye can put them back on again after, Sassenach, but if there’s flinging and ravishing to be done, it’ll be me that does it, aye?”