A Love for Rebecca (8 page)

Rebecca was so upset, she didn’t know where to look. If she looked at the stage, Lola would think she was watching Sophie’s brother. And looking away didn’t make any sense. Because she really
was
looking at him. She hadn’t meant to; her eyes had found him without realizing it.

Lola sensed her unease. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just late and I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Home? It’s not even ten thirty. Where’s that youthful spirit?”

“You killed it,” she said with a tinge of bitterness.

“Come on. I’m sorry, OK?” Lola said, trying to cheer her up. “You know how I am. I’m sure everyone was looking at him. It was just a joke.”

Lola would’ve said anything to calm Rebecca down so she wouldn’t want to leave so early. If Rebecca left, she and Rory would have to leave too—and the night, to Lola, was very young.

Rebecca accepted her friend’s apology and relaxed. She looked again toward the stage, trying not to focus on anything in particular. But she failed. Her eyes were drawn to the bass drummer. His bare, tattooed arms, beating the instrument, were beginning to glisten with sweat. Strands of long hair stuck to his forehead.

She felt a wave of heat spread up her back.
What am I doing?
she thought. Every time she looked at him, she couldn’t help seeing the image of him at the river.

For a moment, she imagined herself in Mary’s position, wrapped in his arms. She felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, a sensation that both excited and alarmed her—a primal, physical attraction that washed over her without permission.

Feeling self-conscious, she looked away from the stage. She turned and saw Lola dancing with Rory. She felt alone among all the people. Then a boy with a ruddy complexion asked her to dance. She hesitated a moment, but he didn’t appear to be drunk, so she accepted.

She did her best, following her partner, who seemed to know what he was doing. His gaze, however, seemed stuck on her chest, and as soon as she saw that Lola and Rory had stopped dancing, she let go of him. He protested a bit, but she used her status as a foreigner to pretend she didn’t understand him.

Four songs later, the band ended its set. Kenzie grabbed a microphone and thanked everyone present for waiting to the end to see them, then yelled in Gaelic:
“Alba gu bràth!”

A thousand voices roared back.

THE DRUMMER

Once offstage, Kenzie’s band was the center of attention. The crowd gathered to congratulate them and take photos. It had happened with the other groups too, but Caledonia was the big hit.

At some point, Mary had shown up. Rebecca saw her go over to Kenzie and wrap her arm around his waist as she asked Sophie to take their picture.

Motioning with her head, Rebecca pointed out the blonde to Lola.

“Mary?” Lola said.

Sophie took the picture and then hurried over to her new friends. “Did you like it?”

“A lot,” Lola said.

“Yes,” Rebecca said, “you were awesome.”

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of the band.”

As they approached the group, Rebecca noticed an unexpected warmth on her cheeks.

“This is Liam, and you’ve heard the proof that he plays the bagpipes better than anyone. Plus, he’s like a father to us.”

“Hey, who are you calling old?” Liam said. He smiled and greeted the girls with a handshake.

“This is Tambourine James,” Sophie continued, pointing to the youngest member, who waved a timid hello. He was the only one without tattoos on his arms, which were a waxy white. “And this is Scott and his drumsticks.” The young man with the long hair greeted them cheerfully.

Rory offered to get them a beer, but Liam and Scott excused themselves, saying they had to get up early the next day. James trailed after them.

“I’ll have a beer,” Sophie said, and her brother glared at her. “Come on, Kenzie, I’m not a little girl. I can have a beer, can’t I?”

“You said it,” her brother responded. “One beer.”

“I love him,” Sophie told the others, “but sometimes he’s worse than an overprotective father.”

They walked over to a lively bar where the music sounded good. Lola didn’t seem to notice, but Rebecca found it odd that Mary and Kenzie didn’t act like anything more than friends. They appeared to be nothing like the two lovers she’d seen at the river.

They ordered beers for everyone. Rebecca hardly ever drank beer, but rather than complain, she accepted the plastic cup Rory gave her full of the foamy golden liquid.

Sophie suddenly remembered she’d forgotten to put away her
bodhrán and ran back to the stage to retrieve it.

A romantic slow song came on that made Lola jump and turn to Rory, her eyes sparkling. “Do you remember this song?”

“I don’t think I could forget it.”

“Rory sang this to me the night we met,” Lola said. “ ‘Spanish Eyes,’ by the BSB.” She smiled at Rory. “Mmm
 . . .
It was magic.”

“I didn’t know you liked the Backstreet Boys,” Rebecca teased.

“Me neither
 . . .
But I love this song.” Lola turned to her boyfriend and put her hand on his chest. “Dance with me, my love?”

“Of course.”

As they got up to dance, Lola realized she’d be leaving Rebecca alone with Mary and Kenzie. She had an idea. “Would you mind dancing with my friend?” she asked Kenzie. Before he could answer, and ignoring Rebecca’s glare, she pushed her friend toward him, causing Rebecca’s breasts to brush against the Scot’s arm. “I’m sure she won’t give you any trouble, seeing as she’s engaged.”

Kenzie stiffened at the word “engaged” but smiled as he offered his hand to Rebecca. She hesitated. “Ignore my friend Lola,” she said, glancing at Mary. “You don’t have to entertain me.”

He insisted with his outstretched hand, and Rebecca felt obligated to take it. Mary looked confused, turned away brusquely, and took off in the same direction that Sophie had a few minutes earlier.

Rebecca noticed the blue hand wraps covering the drummer’s knuckles and the leather cuffs on his wrists. She didn’t know what to do with her left hand, because when she went to place it on his shoulder, she saw a little red devil with horns, a trident, and a pointy tail looking at her with a wanton expression. Rebecca didn’t want to look intimidated or put off by a few simple tattoos, so she opted to place her hand a little lower, over the Scottish flag on his bicep. When she felt his other arm wrap around her waist, pulling her toward him, their bodies’ sudden contact made her tense.

“I don’t want to cause any problems with your girlfriend. I mean, if it bothers her for us to dance
 . . .
”

“My girlfriend?”

“Well
 . . .
I don’t know, I thought maybe you and Mary
 . . .
”

He thought a moment. “So that was you.”

“What?”

Kenzie whispered in her ear: “The spy from the river.” He pulled back and looked at her. “I thought so as soon as I saw you, but I wasn’t sure.”

Rebecca’s cheeks were on fire. She was so mortified, she didn’t know what to say.

“I
 . . .
We were walking by, and
 . . .
”

“No worries. There are worse pastimes you could have.”

The comment burned. She lifted her chin and looked him defiantly in the eyes. It was the first time she had dared meet his gaze, and she forced herself to hide her sudden trembling.

“I am not in the habit of spying—”

“I’m just joking.” He smiled. “Mary’s just a friend, and what you saw by the river was—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she cut him off. “It’s none of my business.”

“We were just kissing; no big deal.”

Uncomfortable, Rebecca looked everywhere but at him. “Let’s drop it, OK? There’s no need to discuss it.”

Her embarrassment made him smile again.

“Fine. But one more thing.” She looked at him. “I don’t want Sophie to know. It’s not going to happen again, so I’d rather it remain between us.”

“I had no intention of telling her,” she protested, as she thought about the fact they’d just met and already shared a secret.

“Good.” Kenzie changed the subject. “Do you like Beauly?”

“Of course. It’s a nice town,” she said without much conviction.

“Sophie told me you’re from Barcelona.”

“That’s right,” she said, feeling his eyes on her. Rebecca didn’t dare look up. She concentrated on the small silver symbol hanging from the black cord around his neck.

“It must be a beautiful city, all full of sunshine.”

“It is,” she replied, and added, “but my friend Lola says it’s possible to be happy even under cloudy skies.”

“I agree,” he said with a grin. “If not, half the world’s population would be unhappy.”

“I suppose so.”

They stopped talking, and Rebecca concentrated on the music. Even though she wasn’t a fan of the Backstreet Boys, she had to admit the song had something special. But she was rather uncomfortable to have them singing about Spanish eyes while a tattooed and kilted Scot was pressing her against him. She felt a tickle on her stomach and realized his sporran was pressed against her belly and his legs were touching hers as they moved. Then she realized he was still looking at her. She looked up and found Kenzie’s dark eyes.

“I suppose the eyes they’re talking about are like yours,” he said.

“What?”

“I was giving you a compliment. Your eyes are very pretty.”

Rebecca stared at the ground and didn’t look up again until the song ended a few moments later.

She saw a flash and turned toward the light. Sophie, who had returned with Mary, had taken a photo before they’d let go of each other. “Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t help it.”

A big smile spread over Sophie’s face. Mary, however, cast them a murderous look. Rebecca stepped away from Kenzie and moved over to Lola, who was still hanging on to Rory.

“We’ve got to go,” Kenzie announced after downing his beer.

“Come on, not yet,” groaned Sophie.

“You know I have to work tomorrow, and we’ve got a gig again tomorrow night.”

“Just a little longer,” she insisted.

“No!”

“We should be going too,” Rebecca said. She looked at Lola and Rory, who didn’t seem too happy about the idea.

“Why don’t they take you?” Rory suggested to Rebecca. “You don’t mind, do you, mate?” he said to Kenzie. “That way we can stick around a little longer.”

“Where are they staying?”

“Riverside Road.”

“It’s on my way.”

Rebecca stayed out of it. It wasn’t her decision. She and Lola could talk later when they were alone again.

“I’ll go get my drum,” Kenzie said. He strode off, kilt flapping. Lola’s and Rebecca’s eyes discreetly followed him across the field. Mary, for her part, looked on with a proprietary gaze.

A few minutes later, Kenzie was back with his drum in a protective black case on his shoulder and two felt-wrapped mallets in one hand.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

Heading to the parking area, they were stopped a few times by people congratulating the musicians on their performance. Rebecca felt out of place with her two traditionally dressed escorts. Then she remembered her own Highland look.

As if she had read Rebecca’s mind, Sophie commented on the rented dress. “That looks great on you. I wish I could fill it out like that,” she added in a low voice so her brother wouldn’t hear.

But he did overhear her, and said, “That might be nice for you but not so much for me—I’d have to go around lopping hands off all the blokes who’d be all over that, which would be pretty much everyone.”

“Don’t be such a pig,” Sophie scolded. “I can take care of myself.” Kenzie snickered. “And does that mean you’d be all over that?” she said, gesturing with her head.

“What?”

“Her.” She indicated Rebecca. “You said the blokes would be all over me if I looked like that. Well, she does look like that, and you’re a bloke.”

“Oh, shut up, Sophie. You think too much.”

Rebecca had missed some of the conversation, since the siblings’ English had started to blend into Gaelic and included words she didn’t understand.

Sophie was about to say something when he cut her off.

“Duin do bheul!”
he said, glowering at his sister.

“Fine, I’ll be quiet. But I’m right.”

Kenzie huffed, and Sophie stuck out her tongue when her brother turned his back. Then she looked at Rebecca and grinned.

When they reached Kenzie’s four-wheel-drive Nissan pickup, the musicians placed their instruments in the bed, which was covered by a tarp, and they all piled in. They rode in silence for a while.

Sophie was the first to speak. “Will you come again tomorrow night?” she asked Rebecca.

“I’m sure they have better things to do than come see us, Sophie,” her brother said.

“Well, maybe your friend will feel better and will want to come to the festival.”

“She won’t want to miss it,” Rebecca assured her.

“The day after tomorrow we’re going to play at Culloden. Have you been there?”

“Not yet.”

“You could go with us. Right, Kenzie?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t sound very enthusiastic, and Rebecca wasn’t excited about accepting the offer.

“Thanks, but I’m afraid we’d be a burden.”

“A burden? Why? It’s all set: You’ll go with us, we’ll play, you’ll get a history lesson, and we’ll go home. What do you think?”

“I don’t know
 . . .
Berta might not be up to it
 . . .
”

“I’m sure she’ll be better,” Sophie said cheerfully.

When they got to Riverside Drive, Kenzie stopped the truck in front of the cottage. Through the trees they saw the front door illuminated by the porch light.

“Thanks for the ride,” Rebecca said, looking at Kenzie.

“No problem.”

“Oidhche mhath,”
Sophie said with a giggle.

“What?”

“Good night.”

“Oh, right.
Buenas noches,
” she replied with the same good humor.