“Hurry up, Jack, we’re going to be late!”
“Ah, com’ on, Daniel! When I agreed to be Burns’ best man, I didn’t agree to wear that.” Jack groused.
“Well, it’s a bit late to back out now, don’t you think?”
Jack scowled, but hurriedly dressed in the unconventional attire.
General Hammond stared when he made his appearance at the front of the church.
Teal’c raised a brow.
Sam suppressed a laugh and ended up with a wide smile.
After the ceremony, standing in the receiving line, Jack heard whispers and giggles. Looks and comments made from behind strategically placed hands unnerved him. He was sure they were all gawking at him, even though Burns was dressed the same.
“Sir! You’re looking very, um, rakish.” Sam flashed him a smile, a twinkle in her eyes as she scanned him from head to toe.
“For cryin’ out loud, Carter! It’s a skirt, a damn skirt.” Jack griped in barely a whisper.
She smirked. “Nice knees, Sir.”
From behind her, Daniel piped up. “The feile mor dates back to 1594 when it was worn by a corps of Hebrideans. Their colorful attire set them apart from the Irish warriors who accompanied them.”
“This cannot be the dress of a warrior.” Teal’c’s voice held sheer astonishment.
Daniel smiled happily. “Aye, tis! The kilt gave the warrior great freedom of movement in battle. Of course, this particular outfit is the more formal equivalent of the original kilt. The tux shirt and Prince Charlie jacket and vest make it more suited for these occasions.”
“Shut up, Daniel.” Jack glared.
“Oh, but, Sir, I want to know the answer to that age old question of what you’re wearing underneath.”
“For me to know and for you, to find out, Carter.” he teased, giving Sam a roguish smile and a suggestive wink.