A Love for Rebecca (9 page)

Kenzie and Sophie waited until Rebecca was inside before continuing on to the small house they shared with their father outside of town.

William MacLeod was seated on an old sofa in the living room, drink in hand.

“Halò, dadaidh,”
Kenzie greeted him.

“Hello, son. How was your night?”

“Same as always.”

“It was not,” Sophie said. She sat down next to her father and, giving him a loud kiss on the cheek, added: “He danced with a girl.”

“I’m sure it’s not the first time your brother has danced with a girl.”

“No, but you should have seen how he looked at this one.”

“You talk too much, Sophie,” her brother said, removing his hand wraps and putting them on the small, round table next to the sofa.

“Well, you’re old enough to find yourself a woman, son.”

“But why should I?” Kenzie said. “Everything’s fine the way it is.”

“She’s Spanish,” Sophie continued. “She’s from Barcelona, and she’s really pretty.”

“Barcelona?” Their father frowned. “That’s awfully far away. Better not fall in love—people from warm climates don’t adapt well here, and I don’t think you could live anywhere else.”

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Kenzie said. “She’s just another girl I met today, for crying out loud.”

“Maybe, but it’s better to cut these things off at the root and not give them a chance to even get started.”

“Tell that to your daughter, who’s been inviting her to go everywhere with us.”

“I was just being nice,” Sophie said. “They’ve been here a few days and haven’t gotten out of Beauly.”

“That’s not our problem.”

“Well, I saw you liked her, so I wanted to help.”

“Don’t help me, OK? Besides, she’s engaged.”

“Engaged?”

“Yes. And now I’m going to shower and go to bed before you say anything else stupid.”

Sophie looked at her father and shrugged as her brother escaped to the bathroom, muttering to himself.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Sophie said to her father. “I really like her, and I don’t care that she’s engaged,” she added with a giggle. “One of her friends has a cold, and the other one is going out with Rory Elliot, so she’s all alone and—”

“You’re always worried about everyone else,” her father said.

“Really, I’d like to be friends. I’m tired of always hanging out with Mary. She only wants to hook up with Kenzie anyway.”

“You should do things with other girls from town, not foreigners who’ll leave in a few days.”

“I know, but next month I’m going to Edinburgh with Mom, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Go on.” Her father’s face softened. “You go to bed too.”

Sophie gave him another kiss.

“
Oidhche mhath, dadaidh
.”

“
Oidhche mhath
, my girl.”

William MacLeod lifted his glass of whisky and knocked it back. He wasn’t drunk. He stopped getting drunk years ago; those had been dark times. He’d had to give up his children, to turn them over to his father, since he could do nothing in those days but drink and wallow in despair. He’d loved only one woman in his life: Elisabeth. He’d always wondered why someone as beautiful as she, a woman with the face of an angel and hair like fire, had married him, a nobody who worked like an animal in the mines in the south.

Still, every night, he sat on the sofa with a glass of whisky in his hand. He drank slowly, savoring, remembering. He closed his eyes and went back to happy times. Then, once the whisky warmed his veins, he forgot the love he still felt for her, despite everything, and turned to hating her with a visceral contempt from deep in his heart.

“Sophie was barely three years old when she left, the whore,” he muttered, his thoughts clouded by the alcohol that brought out the repressed bitterness in his soul with each sip. “And Kenzie
 . . .
I couldn’t bear the sorrow in his eyes. Damn bitch, why did you abandon them? I would’ve left if you’d asked, but you wanted to go so far away, without anyone holding you back. That letter you sent—telling me you couldn’t take it anymore, that you couldn’t raise the children because all you could do was think about how your life was over and how you would end up hurting them. You said that I could handle it, that I would take good care of them, but didn’t you know my world would crumble without you?”

William opened his eyes, red and glassy from the alcohol and tears. As he leaned back and settled himself on the sofa, he closed them again with a whisper:

“Elisabeth,
mo ghràidh
, my love.”

DISCUSSIONS

The next morning, Rebecca got up early. Berta wasn’t awake yet. Lola had come in at dawn, so Rebecca didn’t expect to see her until much later.

She went out for a walk along the river path. She looked at the sky and saw clouds piled up. She detected at least eight different colors in that sea of cotton, and for the first time she truly apprehended the beauty in rain clouds, in the entire sky containing them.

The river flowed silently along this stretch. The countryside was colorful and fresh, and the smells, intensified by the humidity in the air, made her feel oddly tied to her surroundings. She inhaled deeply several times, intoxicated by the aromas, as her senses were inundated with new fragrances that were nothing like the smells of the city.

Her thoughts wandered back to everything that had happened the day before. She’d been in a trying situation because of Lola, and what irritated her most was that Lola had done it on purpose, knowing it would bother her. She thought of the physical contact with the drummer, the intense heat, and how she had trembled when his arm went around her waist and gently pulled her close.

A sigh escaped her lips, and suddenly she felt the urge to talk to Mario. She knew he’d be working at that hour, but she needed to hear his voice. She pulled out her phone and called his number.

“Rebecca?” a male voice answered. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I just wanted to talk with you a bit.”

“Oh, babe, this isn’t a good time. We’re with a client. You know you shouldn’t call me until the afternoon. I’ll call you, OK?”

“Yes, OK. It’s not important; don’t worry.”

“Love ya, beautiful.”

“Love you,” she whispered.

A raindrop landed on her phone’s screen. Looking up, she saw that the gray clouds had turned darker and menacing. She hurried back to the cottage just in time to avoid a downpour.

In the kitchen, Berta was preparing tea.

“You look terrible,” Rebecca told her friend, who was holding a teacup in one hand and a tissue in the other. Rebecca fixed herself a cup of tea and some toast and sat down with Berta.

“This is what I’ll take home with me from Scotland,” Berta said, her voice raspy and snuffling. “A horrible cold.”

“You’ll be over it soon, you’ll see,” Rebecca said to cheer her up. “How’d it go last night with Mrs. Munro?”

“I can’t say that I was bored. She brought me up to date on all the neighbors. And she made me eat all the vegetable soup and that
porris
stuff.”

“Porridge.”

“Whatever. And I had to drink a concoction made with hot whisky, honey, and lemon.” She blew her nose loudly. “And you? How was it? Did you have fun?”

“It would’ve been fun if it weren’t for Lola—she’s so self-centered.”

At that moment Lola entered the kitchen, her pajamas wrinkled and her hair looking like a stork’s nest. “Good morning,” she said hoarsely. “You two make more noise than a bulldozer.”

“I was just filling Berta in on your little games.”

“Good. I’m just in time then,” Lola said indifferently as she looked through a cupboard.

“What did you do this time?” Berta asked with a suspicious smile.

Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “She forced me into the arms of a wild-looking Scotsman.”

Berta’s glassy eyes opened wider.

“Oh, yeah? Who’s the wild man?”

Lola burst out laughing. “Oh my God, he’s the most wild and sexy thing I’ve ever seen in my life. If I didn’t love Rory, I’d take him to bed myself. Or to a Scottish hayloft. Or a dark Scottish room. Or the backseat of a Scottish car. Or a stable filled with Scottish sheep, or
 . . .
”

“OK, Lola!” Berta said, nearly choking on her tea. “I think we’ve got it. But would one of you tell me who you’re talking about?”

Lola took the remaining stool at the counter. “Sophie’s brother.”

“He’s a wild man?” Berta asked, surprised.

“A total barbarian.”

“The same guy Mrs. Munro told us about?

“The very same. And—are you ready for this?—he’s also the same guy we saw at the river rendezvous with Mary.”

Berta’s eyes widened even further. “The dude at the river is Sophie’s brother?” Rebecca nodded slowly. “And did he recognize you?”

Her friend’s sheepish expression told her the answer.

Berta howled with laughter. “I so should have been there! Oh! Why did I have to get this stupid cold? And you say Lola forced you into his arms? Oh, God! I want to hear this.”

“I only asked him to dance with her,” Lola explained innocently. “I was dancing with Rory and
 . . .
you know
 . . .
so she wouldn’t be alone.”

“So I wouldn’t be alone!” Rebecca exploded. “Mary was right there, and she was absolutely livid!”

“Oh, my goodness! This is better than I thought.” Berta turned to Lola and added: “You are evil.”

“Hey, she shouldn’t complain,” Lola countered. “There were a dozen girls wanting to do the same thing, but little Miss Goody Two-Shoes didn’t even realize it.”

“I didn’t want to dance with anyone!”

“OK, calm down,” Berta said. “There’s no reason to get so upset over an innocent dance.”

“An innocent dance with a hot guy dressed like that dude from
Braveheart
,” Lola continued. “You should thank me. It’ll be the closest you get to a real man in your life.”

Berta laughed loudly, but her coughing cut her off.

“Go to hell, Lola,” Rebecca said.

The other two were taken aback at the force of her words.

“You better watch your language, Miss Potty Mouth, or you’ll have to find a Catholic priest to hear your confession,” Lola retorted. “And you might have to pop over to Ireland to find one.”

They were all quiet: Rebecca muttering to herself, Berta holding in her urge to laugh and cough at the same time, and Lola trying to arrange her curls.

“Well, you should know Mary’s not his girlfriend,” Rebecca informed them as she finished her last bite of toast. Her friends looked at her. “He told me they’re just friends and what happened at the river wasn’t going to happen again.”

“If that’s how he is with his friends, I advise you not to go near him again,” Berta said, holding back a sneeze.

“I wonder why on earth he would tell you that,” Lola said pensively. “After all, he doesn’t even know you. Unless
 . . .
”

Rebecca gave her a look of annoyance. “Unless what?”

“He’s interested, I bet. He likes you.”

“Yeah, right. Anyway, he told me not to tell his sister about what I saw.”

“Well, I think he likes you. I’m telling you, I have a nose for these things. I’m like a bloodhound.”

Rebecca took another piece of toast and began to spread lemon curd on it. “I think of you more as a poodle with black, curly hair.”

“As long as I have a pedigree
 . . .
”

“Come on, you two, cut it out,” Berta said.

Lola clucked her tongue and swiveled on the stool. “Since we’re all here, I wanted to mention that Rory invited me to go to Nairn for a few days.”

“Where’s that?” asked Berta.

“Near Inverness. Some friends lent him a cottage. I’m so excited! We’ll finally get to be alone. You don’t mind, do you?”

Berta shrugged and pushed up her glasses. “This is your trip,” she said.

“Why don’t you rent a car and travel around?” asked Lola.

“If these people would drive on the proper side of the road, I would,” grumbled Rebecca. “But I don’t even want to think about crashing somewhere or running over some poor soul.”

Lola rolled her eyes and rested her head in her hands. Rebecca finished eating her toast and cleared the breakfast cups. “I’ll go return the dresses to Mrs. Ferguson’s shop,” she said.

“Why?” Lola asked. “The festival doesn’t end until tonight.”

“Do you think Berta looks like she wants to go to a party?” Berta blew her nose loudly, raised a hand, and wagged her index finger as a negative. “Because I’m not going by myself.”

“You won’t be by yourself. You have Sophie.” With a cunning snicker, Lola added, “And Kenzie. Because, in case you didn’t notice, he looked at you like a cat looks at a tasty mouse. But, of course, you were more interested in studying the ground.”

“You focus on romping around with Rory and leave the rest of us alone,” snapped Rebecca.

“Fine,” said Lola. “You two do whatever you want.”

Berta went back to bed after a quick shower and a couple of aspirins, so Rebecca gathered the dresses and, a little disheartened, left for the store to return them. She wasn’t gone long. She dropped the dresses off at Mrs. Ferguson’s, ran a few errands in town, then returned to the cottage in time for lunch.

She found Berta resting on the sofa, leafing through a magazine. Rebecca settled in next to her and gave herself a foot massage—her feet were tired from all the activity of the last few days.

“And Lola?” Rebecca said. “No, don’t tell me: she left already.”

“Exactly, and she doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”

Rebecca snorted. “As long as she comes back in time to catch the plane
 . . .
”

Berta put a hand on her leg. “What are you going to do?” she asked. “I’m a mess with this stupid fever and cough, and it drives me crazy that you’re stuck here because of me.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mind.” Then Rebecca remembered her conversation with Sophie. She had to let her know they wouldn’t be going to the festival or to Culloden the next day.

“Culloden?” Berta was surprised.

“Yes, she said the band was going to play there.”

“Oh, I wish I could go!” Berta said. “I want to see them play, I want to go to Culloden, and mostly I want to meet Kenzie Mac
 . . .
”

“MacLeod,” Rebecca finished.

“Is he as hot as Lola says?”

“You know Lola. She likes all men.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Berta said. “She usually has good taste.”

“Well, I don’t deny that he’s attractive. Of course, dressed like that and with all those tattoos
 . . .
”

“He has tattoos?” Berta started to laugh but had another coughing fit.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I was imagining your mother’s face if she had seen you dancing with a guy like that.”

Berta kept laughing and coughing until she started crying. Rebecca wanted to be serious, but thinking about her mother’s horrified face made her laugh too. “The shock would kill her,” she said.

Then Rebecca stopped laughing. She thought about the fact that she really did need to let Sophie know. With Berta still so ill, she didn’t think they could go anywhere. She knew Berta felt guilty about them missing out, and if it had been only a cough and sneezing, Rebecca would have felt freer to go out. But with the fever, Berta shouldn’t be left alone for long.

Rebecca decided to ask Mrs. Munro how to locate Sophie. In the afternoon, she knocked on her landlady’s door.

“Hello, love,” Mrs. Munro greeted her. “Is something wrong? Has your friend Berta taken a turn for the worse?”

“No, no, it’s not that. I just need to find Sophie.”

“Well, I don’t have her phone number, but the MacLeods live on Croyard Road. If you go down to High Street, turn onto Croyard Road to the left, then go straight out of town, you’ll take that narrow road until it curves to the right. At the end of the gravel road, you’ll see William’s cottage. It’s the only one, and you’ll know it because he has sheep grazing in the meadow next to the house. There aren’t many people left in Beauly who raise sheep, but he seems to enjoy it. What can I tell you
 . . .
The poor dear
 . . .
” She was pensive a moment, then asked, “Will you remember the way?”