Normally I would give this light frothy historical romance three stars, not for any literary achievement, but for being an honest and enjoyable example of its genre. The Laird Who Loved me treads the well-worn theme of the young spunky heroine of disadvantaged background who falls in love with the older, rakish but wealthy hero. Alas, the Scottish background doesn't contribute much to the story except a fantastic cover image. I was very disappointed to discover that the hero only wears the kilt for a masquerade ball - actually the cover is quite faithful to the details of his costume. The Laird Who Loved me is part of family series, like the ones Nora Roberts and other writers do. I feel like this book stands on its own, although if I had read and enjoyed the rest of the series I might be more tolerant of The Laird's foibles. My two main issues with the book are that a) it went too quickly to be a beach read - I finished it in an evening, and I wouldn't want to take up suitcase space with a book that went so fast, and b) the character of Caitlyn is a disservice to virgins everywhere. I am a master at willingly suspending my disbelief, but Caitlyn has so much instinctive knowledge of the ways of love, despite Alexander being the only man she's ever kissed. Even when they have sex, she's so knowledgeable in the ways of his body and hers that only her hymen tips off Alexander to her (formerly) virginal state. Give me a break! It's one thing for the older hero to initiate the ingénue into the ways of love, and for her to be a quick learner. For an older, experienced man to find a sheltered young woman his equal in the arts of love is just too much. To all you hopeful virgins out there, I find this to be beyond fantasy.