So much fucking pain and loss and torment for almost two decades, and yet there were no villains here. Just fate and circumstance.
“Thank you for being you, Kiera.”
Her reply was shaky with emotion. “You too, Quinn.”
35.Taran
Thursday night, Quinn and his pipe band were scheduled to play at the Lantern. I’d done my very best to stay away from him, to not take him up on that silent invitation. But every night I lay in bed, it was a test of my willpower not to go to him.
When Tierney insisted we all meet at the Lantern to support the pipe band, I didn’t put up much objection. She and Cammie had asked if something had happened between me and Quinn in Oban, but I’d avoided the question as best as possible, not telling them the truth and not quite lying. The only person who knew I’d slept with Quinn was London, because she was the only person who didn’t have a bias toward him. London accepted my confession with no judgment, trusting me as an adult to do what felt right, and assuring me she was there for me however it played out.
London was by my side as we entered the Lantern. I knew Laird was playing the pipes this evening instead of Ramsay. Playing smaller events often meant changing their formation from five to three. Ramsay and my brother took turns on the pipes, while Murray, the bass drummer, usually sat the smaller venues out.
Murray was at one of the larger booths on the edge of the barroom with Tierney, Cammie, Ramsay, and Akiva. They’d left a few seats empty for me and London. I shimmied into the booth beside Cammie while London took the empty seat next to Murray.
They murmured hello to each other as Cammie hugged me into her side.
“How are you?”
“How areyou?” I studied her pretty face. “I’m sorry about the Defender.”
She’d come into the store this morning and told me the car needed a completely new paint job.
“I just need to pay for the supplies. Forde pulled in a favor with a specialist in Glasgow.”
“It’s busy tonight.” Tierney had to raise her voice over the chatter to be heard. “What’s the deal?”
Ramsay lowered his pint and gestured to the room. “I recognize some faces from the surrounding islands.”
“A lot of female faces,” London observed.
Frowning, I scanned the pub. She was right. There were more women than men here tonight.
Cammie snorted. “I don’t know how it evaded your notice, but the Leth Sholas Pipe Band is beginning to collect a few groupies.”
Something unpleasant gnawed at me. Something like irritation. And possessiveness.
Tierney seemed to realize there were people shooting covetous looks at our table at the same time I did. Of course, we were seated with two of the band members. Ramsay scowled at the attention and Murray appeared oblivious as he shot London surreptitious glances.
My amusement overtook my annoyance as I thought of London and Murray and how they reminded me of two shy teens dancing around their crushes on each other.
However, the irritation returned in force when Quinn stepped out into the pub with his snare drum attached, my brother at his back with the pipes, and Forde with his tenor drum. A riotous cheer of wolf whistles from the audience escorted them, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the men grinned at each other before taking their places.
The thought of Quinn enjoying said female attention made me want to get up and leave.
As he stepped up to the only mic, he searched the room until he found me. His shoulders visibly relaxed and my ire dulled as our eyes connected. Even with a crowd of people between us, our chemistry was palpable.
“Fàilte guthe Lantern!” he welcomed the crowd, and they cheered and whistled again. “Tonight’s first song is for a very special person. Every time I hear it, I think of you, Taran.”
I tensed as Cammie made a choked, muffled sound of delight next to me.
The shifting of chairs and heads made my cheeks burn as the locals looked right at me. I kept staring ahead at Quinn, though, promising myself I’d murder him later for embarrassing me.
His voice deepened. “Let’s face it, Mo luaidh. Everything makes me think of you.”
“Aw, ye auld romantic, McQuarrie!” someone, I think it was one of Laird’s crew, shouted from the bar, and everyone tittered.
Quinn grinned as I tried not to squirm. I scowled at him because he knew I hated attention, but he merely laughed into the mic before stepping back to start the “Rose of Kelvingrove.”
