Chapter 8 Ramsay
The mood in the Fisherman’s Lantern (locally known as the Lantern) should have lifted Quinn’s, but I could see as we settled on the stage, he was stiff. He wanted to be anywhere but here and I didn’t blame him.
The Lantern was the most famous hotel, bar, and restaurant in Leth Sholas. Housed in a red-painted building on Main Street, its twelve bedrooms were continually occupied through the summer months. It was not only a tourist destination, it was a local favorite for a drink.
The month of June saw the pub area packed with tourists and locals alike.
The full band wasn’t onstage. At smaller venues, we reduced our sound from five to three.
Murray Shaw, who ran a successful fishing company, was our bass drum player, a large drum that strapped to the front of his chest and stomach.
He beat the drum in a sideward motion, releasing a loud boom of beat, and so the bass was better suited for larger venues and outdoor performances.
As it was, Quinn was our snare drummer, and Forde Dallas, his best mate, was on the tenor drum tonight.
That was raucous enough for the pub. I was our bagpiper as was Laird Macbeth, but the two sets of bagpipes were also too much here.
At smaller venues, we alternated performances.
Tonight, he’d sat this one out along with Murray, and they were at a table in the middle of the pub.
The three of us stood onstage, me in the middle of a bristling Quinn and a resigned Forde.
Quinn had been in a ferocious mood for several days.
“Ready?” I asked him.
He tried to clear his scowl but cleared his throat instead. His voice boomed out over the cacophony of the pubgoers’ conversations. “Fàilte gu the Lantern!” He welcomed the audience in Scottish Gaelic.
Immediately the room began to quiet.
Quinn waited, expression still stony. “We’re three parts of the Leth Sholas Pipe Band. If you hate the pipes, now is the time to leave.”
I met Murray’s gaze across the room. He shook his head with a heavy sigh.
Laird stared at the fire as if he hadn’t even heard Quinn.
As if he wasn’t here. He probably wasn’t.
We’d told him he didn’t need to come tonight, considering his mother was on her deathbed, but he’d insisted he needed the break.
Thankfully, the tourists thought Quinn’s comment was a joke and tittered.
I was certain the locals knew better—that Quinn McQuarrie was in a foul fucking mood.
Quinn and Forde began the rapid beating of the snare and tenor drums and I quickly followed suit.
Covering the mouthpiece of the blowpipe, I blew into it and the three drones let out the first wailing cry of the bagpipes.
My fingers were already in place on the chanter pipe as the familiar, upbeat melody of “Scotland the Brave” filled the pub.
People tapped their feet, swayed in their chairs, and began to clap along.
I, personally, thought the tune sounded better with all five of us, or even better with a larger pipe band with multiple drums and pipes.
But it did the trick of creating a lively atmosphere in the Lantern, which was what the owner Aodhan was paying us to do.
However, my favorite songs to perform weren’t the well-known upbeat tunes.
After the loud cheers had died down at the end of “Scotland the Brave,” I stepped forward to do a solo. “Sad the Parting” was one of my favorites, a haunting melody that had brought me to a standstill the first time I heard a piper play it.
The mournful deep groan of the drones played a bass note to the haunting chanter melody as I brought the pub to a hush.
I was midway through the song when Cammie and Tierney slunk in through the door, quickly finding their seats with Murray and Laird.
Though I should, I couldn’t tear my eyes off Tierney as the melody visibly ensnared her.
Even in the dim glow of the pub, I could see the bright sheen to her eyes and her hard swallow as she tried to hold back the emotion.
As if sensing her, my bloody dog suddenly leapt up from her place in front of the large fireplace and wound her way through the tables to Tierney.
It took the American a second to even notice Akiva, she seemed so enthralled by my performance.
Then she gave a little jerk and blinked her eyes rapidly as she leaned down to say hello.
She scratched behind Akiva’s ears and placed a tender kiss on her furry head.
Her blond hair wasn’t in its usual ponytail, and it slid over her shoulders, shielding her face and my dog in a curtain of silken wheat-gold.
I imagined how soft that hair would feel wrapped in my tight fist as I …
Fuck.
Thankfully, Cammie jerked in her chair, pulling my mind from fantasies it had no right exploring. Quinn’s sister gaped at the interlude between dog and woman.
Akiva wasn’t unfriendly, but she’d never been the kind of dog who looked for affection from anyone but me and perhaps Annie.
Sometimes Quinn, if she could be bothered with him.
I’d blamed it on my remoteness. That, in some way, I’d raised a dog who should be naturally affectionate to be aloof and wary of strangers.
But Akiva had taken to Tierney Silver and it shouldn’t bother me as much as it did.
Then again, everything about the woman bothered me.
Lately, that night in her B and B bothered me.
The whole room had thrummed with the emotion raging in her as I’d found her hammering down the wall. I was angry at her recklessness as I saw the support braces shift out of place with each swing, realizing Quinn hadn’t finished securing them yet.
Then I’d felt the fury swelling out of her and I’d known what was within Tierney Silver wasn’t only grief.
I had to remind myself for the hundredth time it was none of my fucking business.
And if I didn’t stop thinking about her now, I would lose my pace with the music.
However, distraction came in the form of something I wasn’t grateful for, for Quinn’s sake.
Taran Macbeth chose that moment to walk into the Lantern.
The stunning brunette flicked a look at the stage, locked eyes with Quinn for a mere second, before ignoring him in favor of searching the room.
She made her way intentionally through the crowds until she reached Tierney’s table and lowered her head to whisper in Laird’s ear.
Whatever she said, his expression tightened.
He murmured something to Murray. Murray frowned, said something back, but Laird waved him off and stood up.
He placed a hand on his sister’s back and the siblings pushed through the audience, ignoring the concerned attention of the locals.
Then they were gone.
It did not bode well for Isla Macbeth.
I didn’t look at Quinn, but I could feel his need to jump off that stage and go after Taran and Laird. So I finished up the song before it should end and nodded at him to start the next one so he could beat out his mess of emotions on the damn drum strapped to his waist.
TIERNEY
Never in my life would I have thought the bagpipes could be this hot. I’d witnessed the Tattoo multiple times and loved it, but I’d never had this visceral reaction to it.
However, watching Ramsay play that melancholy melody up onstage hit me like an emotion-packed semitruck.
And the more I watched the band, the more I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
I was distracted momentarily from what was happening on the small stage when Taran suddenly appeared to pull Laird away.
Cammie and I had shared a concerned look.
Word was that their mom, Isla, was deteriorating quickly.
Cammie had told me on the way over so I was surprised to see Laird in the pub at all.
Taran arriving and taking him away was not a good sign.
But no one could take this journey for them, and interference at this point would be unwelcome.
So, we’d attempted to turn our focus back to the band.
I succeeded only because of Ramsay.
He’d shaved off his yeti beard. There was already a salt-and-pepper stubble growing on his cheeks but unlike the beard, it did nothing to hide his angled jawline.
He was all rugged edges and soft, kissable lips.
To top it off, he’d had his hair cut. With one shave and a haircut, he’d gone from sexy yeti to unbearably, ruggedly, should have his own social media platform HOT.
Ramsay McRae was all kinds of levels of sexy.
Damn it.
“You’re drooling again,” Cammie teased.
“I am not. Though … seriously, why aren’t these guys all over the internet?” I gestured to Murray Shaw and then the stage. All the men who made up the band were attractive in their own right. “I mean, was there a ‘must be over six feet tall and hot’ application process?”
Cammie laughed, her eyes darting beyond me.
I turned to find Murray listening in, his eyes dancing with laughter. “What was that now? Say it louder for my ego.”
“Oh please, I’m not embarrassed, you know you’re all good-looking.”
“We’re the Leth Sholas Pipe Band.” Quinn’s voice echoed around the room. “Thanks for listening. Oidhche Mhath.”
As the audience clapped their thanks, I asked Cammie, “What does Oidhche Mhath mean?” I knew I probably butchered the pronunciation.
“Good night.”
“Do you all speak Gaelic?”
Cammie shook her head. “I know bits and pieces, as does Quinn. Our parents are fluent, but I’m sad to say it is a dying language.”
I nodded and surveyed the audience, noting many a person still ogling the gorgeous Scots on stage. Quinn murmured something to Ramsay and then strode out of the pub without looking at anyone.
Cammie sucked in a breath at his abrupt departure.
Ramsay stepped down from the stage, whistled low, and Akiva shot from my side to him. The big Scot had already put his bagpipes down and lowered to his haunches to greet his dog with an abundance of affection. Now that he didn’t have a beard hiding his face, his smile … it did things to me.
Great.