25. Murray
“Not that you’re Mr. Loquacious, but you seem extra quiet tonight,” Quinn observed, expression concerned. “You all right, Murray?”
My eyes flickered toward Ramsay who was in the middle of tuning his bagpipes.
He didn’t return my gaze, and I lowered mine to the bass drum at my feet.
I very rarely played the Lantern with the rest of the band because the bass drum was so loud.
However, it was also an underrated and underappreciated instrument because it really provided the heartbeat of the melody.
Tonight, I’d act as an intro for Quinn on the snare drum, Forde on the tenor drum, and Ramsay as the piper.
Laird, the second bagpiper in the Leth Sholas Pipe Band, wasn’t playing because we never used two pipers in small venues.
He and Ramsay alternated gigs. Laird was at home tonight, and I would join our friends and family in the audience after my intro piece.
“It’s just been difficult,” I finally replied to Quinn, “bringing Kelly home under those circumstances.”
“You know we’re all here for you both. Well, for the three of you.”
“Aye, how’s that going?” Forde grinned behind Quinn.
We were crammed into Aodhan’s office while we waited to go out into the pub to play our first gig of the season.
I pretended not to know what Forde meant. “How’s what going?”
“Having a beautiful, young wife in your life.” Forde winked, still wearing that shit-eating grin.
For Forde, I imagined the thought of committing to one woman was a scary thing.
At thirty-seven he’d never shown any signs of settling down.
He was the island’s mechanic and paramedic and he volunteered for the lifeboat service.
The man had more awards for heroics and bravery than anyone I’d ever met …
but to me, it seemed to stem from an idea that his life was somehow expendable.
If I said that out loud, he’d probably swing for me.
Forde always got tight-lipped and defensive whenever someone tried to discuss his lack of personal commitments.
“It’s none of your business,” I replied with quiet sternness.
Forde chuckled. “Well, that sounds promising.”
Quinn cut a look over his shoulder at his best friend. “Read the fucking room, Forde.”
He just shrugged, still laughing under his breath.
It made me feel a bit raw. Like Forde could see all the less than gentlemanly thoughts and fantasies that increasingly invaded my mind now that London was under my roof.
“You sure it’s just the Kelly stuff?” Quinn prodded.
Over the years I’d observed the way people were drawn to Quinn for advice.
It had become a habit of his to feel like he had to take on the burden of other people’s problems. But the man had finally found true contentment and happiness for the first time in almost nineteen years, and I had no intention of ruining that for him by bringing him into the Walsh brothers’ issue.
Ramsay and I would deal with it.
I’d called McRae last night as soon as I’d gotten off the phone with Jill. She’d had the audacity to call Kelly because she knew I wouldn’t answer if she called me directly.
What she’d said chilled me to the bone.
Jill knew exactly who Dorian Walsh was.
She promised she hadn’t known when he first came into her life but that now, because of me, she was his goddamn hostage.
“And it’s not just me in danger if you don’t do what they want,” Jill had hissed, panicked down the phone. “They’ll hurt your precious Kelly too.”
“Does that not terrify you, Jill? Is there no part of you that feels an inkling of motherly instinct?”
“You stopped caring about me as soon as Kelly came along. You put this wall between me and her by making it very clear she was the priority over me,” she snapped.
“But that doesn’t mean I want her hurt. All right?
Is that what you want to hear? She’s in danger, Murray, and you are the only one who can keep her safe. ”
Even as I’d choked on my anger at her accusations, I’d asked her what the Walsh brothers wanted.
“A yes or a no by next Friday. If there’s no answer, they’ll hurt me. If it’s a no, they’ll hurt me and then they’ll come for Kelly.”
I’d relayed the conversation to Ramsay, standing outside on my front deck, staring out at the tranquility and beauty before me.
The dichotomy of it. The irony. All I’d ever wanted was to give my family a comfortable life.
When the house was completed, I’d stood on the deck and looked out at the water and felt a gratitude so big, it was overwhelming.
How blessed was I to live in a peaceful haven?
But it turned out, nowhere was safe in the modern world.
Evil could infiltrate from anywhere.
“I spoke to the detective in Inverness this afternoon,” Ramsay had replied when I’d told him what Jill said. “The police will be in touch tomorrow.”
And sure enough that morning, I spoke with the island’s Detective Inspector Paul Young.
He was head of the island’s small station where his wife Detective Constable Alice Young worked alongside Police Constable William Shearing.
During big events, Police Scotland’s N Division sent extra officers to help deal with the tourists.
But otherwise, the small force was enough for Glenvulin.
Usually, officers were referred to by their surnames, but we were all so close knit here in Leth Sholas that they were called by their first names.
DI Paul had invited me to the station on Monday morning to discuss the situation with him and two detectives who worked in the Specialist Crime Division.
I was anxious that we weren’t meeting immediately, but the detectives worked out of Inverness and were in the middle of an operation.
“You better get the drum on.”
“What?” I blinked, coming out of my thoughts.
Quinn frowned in concern. “It’s almost time to go onstage.”
I quickly strapped on the drum and a minute later, I marched out of the office, hitting the sides of the instrument with the beaters in a staccato tempo as I strode into the low-lit pub area of the Fisherman’s Lantern.
The stage was really a space near the back of the room where Aodhan removed tables and chairs.
All the other tables and chairs were turned to face the makeshift performance area.
Cheers and greetings in English and Gaelic met my ears despite the booming bass of my drum.
I turned to stand straight and center, lifting my knees in a march along with the beat.
Most spring/summer gigs we wore our kilts with T-shirts or jumpers, but it was a Baltic spring evening, so we’d forgone the kilts for jeans and long tees.
My gaze automatically zoomed in on familiar red hair, and I found London clapping along to the beat with everyone else, her attention steadfast on me. Even when the wail of Ramsay’s pipes joined in, followed by Quinn and Forde on their drums, London kept her focus on me.
She was a bright light in all this messed-up darkness.
Had she almost kissed me yesterday?
The idea that my wife might want me as much as I wanted her filled me with the kind of anticipation I hadn’t felt since I was a boy.
I reluctantly dragged my eyes from her as I left the stage, the drums feathering out into a fade as I disappeared to allow the lads to continue the gig alone.
When I returned from the office, drumless, I received a few cheers and raised pints as I moved through the crowded bar to London’s table.
She sat with Taran, Cammie, and Tierney who had Akiva at her feet.
London had not only kept a seat open for me next to her but there was also a pint waiting for me.
She leaned in, her light floral scent causing a tightening of need in my gut. “Well done.” I barely heard her compliment over the noise of the band.
I murmured my thanks and reached for the pint.
London’s lips brushed my ear, sending a shiver from my nape down my spine. “It’s NA.”
My breath caught as I turned my head, our noses almost touching as I looked into her spectacular eyes that sparkled in spite of the bar’s dim light.
Even over Ramsay’s pipes, I heard the hitch of her breath, and hot blood shot south as I imagined hearing that hitch rising to cries of pleasure as I moved inside her.
As if she read my thoughts, London’s lips parted on a sharp exhale that whispered across my mouth.
And since we were in public and we were supposed to be husband and wife, I dared to move my head downward and brush my lips over hers.
London made a small feminine sound, and it elicited a big reaction in my dick, which was followed by an even bigger reaction when she chased my mouth and pressed her lips more firmly to mine.
I wanted to grab her up and carry her out of there.
I wanted to press her against a wall and kiss her until we couldn’t breathe.
Like a splash of cold water, however, I remembered the last man who kissed her had treated her with force and aggression.
It cooled my blood and I retreated from the kiss.
London’s gaze was searching, a world of confusion in her eyes that made me feel like shit for taking advantage of our situation in the first place. She cleared her throat and sat abruptly back in her chair, turning to stare determinedly at the band.
It was a tense twenty-minute set as I watched her out of my peripheral, trying to gauge her disposition. After the lads finished and pulled up chairs to join us, it grew impossible to know what was going on inside London’s head as she engaged with our group.
“Did you see, Murray?” Taran shoved a piece of paper down the table toward me. It was a small poster.
London leaned into read it with me. “Open mic night on Thursday?”
“It’s become a regular thing at the Lantern. London, you have to convince your husband to play,” Taran urged. “Quinn says you have a fantastic voice, Mur.”
“He does,” London agreed. She looked up at me. “You should do it.”
I played and sang for me and my family, not for public gratification. “Nah, I’m good.” Letting go of the poster I took a sip of my ale.