Chapter 20 Taran #2
Cammie shot her a mock look of betrayal before glowering at Forde. “How come you can date women younger than you, but I can’t date a younger man without the constant jokes?”
“Eh, excuse me, but how many babysitting jokes have you cracked about women I’m seeing?”
“None. I hate repeating myself, which is all I’d be doing if I cracked a babysitting joke every time you slept with a girl half your age.”
“Exaggeration.” Forde wagged a finger in front of her face. “Stop deflecting because you’re embarrassed you spent a year shagging a bairn.”
“Shut up!” She shoved him. “People might think that’s true, Forde Dallas.”
He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. I meant a postadolescent wanker.”
“Wow.” I eyed Forde a wee bit speculatively because I could swear there was more than a hint of real bite to his teasing. “You didn’t like Greig, huh?”
“Nah, not really.” He turned to Cammie. “You were too good for him.”
“Not too old?” She raised an eyebrow.
“He’s too young. There’s a difference.”
“Well, he knew his way around the female body better than many men your age.” Cammie pointed at Forde.
Forde’s gaze turned low-lidded as he stared intensely at Cammie. “That child has nothing on me. Trust me.”
A far too long moment passed between the friends as their gazes held. Then Cammie gave him a tight, mocking smile. “Well, you’ve certainly had more practice.” She patted his arm. “Remember to get tested regularly.”
At the flash of ire in Forde’s dark eyes, I scrambled to change the subject. “Oh, hey, we’re next in line.”
Forde glanced between us, shot Cammie an indecipherable look, and jerked his chin. “I better get back. Enjoy the day, ladies.”
“Bye.” Cammie waved her fingers at him even as she turned her head away.
Forde stared at her profile for a second longer before he stalked off.
“Is he gone?” Cammie murmured.
“Aye.”
She scowled. “He’s been a pissy wee fucker lately.”
London snorted as we exchanged a knowing look.
We bought sandwiches and water from the deli stall and were deciding where to go next when a crowd of children drew London’s attention. “What’s that?”
Cammie’s expression lit up. “Murray is doing storytime. Come on.”
“Storytime?” I queried as we followed her through the crowds.
“When Kelly was wee, she got bored at the games, so Murray did what he always did and sat her down to tell her a story. Soon he had a crowd of kids around him, completely enthralled. Since then, the council has asked him to do storytime at every games.”
Well, that was adorable.
“Don’t get too close.” London grabbed onto Cammie’s arm. “We might put him off. It’s for the kids.”
“I am a big kid,” Cammie reminded her. “And there are other adults here.”
I laughed around a bite of sandwich as we situated ourselves just behind another group of adults.
Sure enough, Murray sat on a wooden chair on a small platform where the solo dancers had performed earlier.
“Who is the little girl?” London asked quietly.
Cammie followed her gaze. “Oh, that’s Kelly, Murray’s daughter.”
The wee blond girl gave her father a bottle of water. He took it with a tender smile, and she darted off the platform to stand with a group of kids her age. Younger children had gathered before Murray, sitting cross-legged at his feet, ready for his story.
“Has anyone heard of the tale of the king who sought a drink from a certain well?” Murray asked the kids, leaning forward as he did.
“I’ve heard of the queen,” a deep male voice called from in front of us. “Get it right, lad.”
“Asshole,” London muttered under her breath.
Murray was unperturbed. “Well, I’m putting a wee spin on it.
” He winked at his daughter and she grinned, like she was in on a secret.
“Long ago, right here on Glenvulin, there was a king who had grown very sick. So, he asked the eldest of his three sons to go to the well of true water on the very northern point of the island and bring him back a drink so it might heal him.”
It became clear to me why the council asked Murray to continue this tradition.
His deep, gravelly voice was easy on the ears, and he had a warm, engaging way of weaving a tale.
As he continued to tell the story that I knew from my childhood, I liked that he’d switched it up so that it was three princes who faced the frog guardian at the well instead of three princesses.
The folktale was our version of the frog prince, really.
But Murray had made her a frog princess instead so that the female had the power in the story.
As the children gasped at all the right points, I found my focus moved to London.
She appeared more transfixed than the children.
When Murray was drawing the tale to a close, he looked up and paused mid-story.
I bit my lip against a curious smile because he’d locked eyes with London and apparently that was enough to pull him from his train of thought.
London’s cheeks flushed, and I caught Cammie’s eye above her head.
Cammie waggled her brows, and I stuffed the last of my sandwich in my mouth to stop from physically reacting.
Murray found his footing again and continued.
London, however, stepped away. “I need another drink.” She was gone before the fisherman finished his tale.
“What is going on there?” Cammie murmured.
“I don’t know. But I say we leave it alone.”
“Sure.” She nodded in agreement, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. “It would be nice, though. Murray deserves a good woman. And London deserves a permanent visa.”
“Leave it alone, Cameron McQuarrie.” A smile curled the corners of my mouth.
“Oh, I know when not to play matchmaker.”
“Tug-of-war is starting,” I evaded, brushing past her.
“Aye, it started eighteen years ago!” she called after me.
Cammie McQuarrie. She always had to have the last word.