Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy (4 page)

"Impressed?" He laughed. "This room belonged to the lord of the castle."

"Of course that's what they'd give you," she said. "It's incredible. And you don't even appreciate it."

"'Course I appreciate it. Look at that bed!" He gestured, an expansive sweep of his arm. "Who wouldn't appreciate that! You're welcome to join me any time. I wish you would." She glanced at the bed, twisting a ring on her finger. It flashed a spark of deep red.

"Hey, stop with the ring." Shawn took her hands, separating them. "What's wrong?"

She pulled away, walking toward the window. Evening sun streaked pink and orange across the sky, casting splendid pastels over the stone-walled gardens below. "There's so much more than that," she said.

"The bed? Yeah. I'm throwing a great party. Sure you don't want to come?" He pulled off his tuxedo jacket and started on the shirt's tiny buttons.

"I'm sure." She stared at the floor. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"What's with you lately?" He shrugged off the crisp dress shirt. "You're always tired. I thought those antibiotics helped. Come on, look at me."

She twisted the ring.

He tried again. A little humor always got her. "Come on, baby, I'm here for the taking. The shirt's off." He turned, arms outspread, showing off his powerful chest, his perfect and unblemished back. "The pants are coming off. We could have our own private party before I go." He dropped his hands on her shoulders.

She edged away, and boosted herself onto the window seat under the diamond-paned windows, staring out at the gardens. "I don't feel well. I'm going to bed."

He stared at her for a moment, before turning to dig a shirt from the Victorian bureau. He'd have to find something like that for his own bedroom at home, he thought. He turned back to Amy, trying to guess what had brought this on, or when it had started.

"You upset about that girl onstage? You know it's just a show."

"You didn't have to give quite such an enthusiastic show."

"Look," he said, more subdued, "I've been neglecting you. I know these parties aren't really your thing. I'm kind of committed, you know people already coming and all, but we have the whole day off tomorrow. We could go to that castle."

"The one on the loch? Glenmirril?" Her eyes brightened a little, then dimmed. "Tomorrow's the last day with the living history actors. It'll be packed."

"We'll go at night, when everyone's gone."

"Can we do that?" She slid the ring up and down her finger.

His lips brushed her ear. "I'm Shawn Kleiner. I can do anything I want. We'll take a six pack up to the tower, look at the stars, make love."

"Why?" She met his gaze forcefully.

He glanced away, uncomfortably. "Why? Because it's fun! Making love is always fun." She continued staring at him. He wracked his brain, wondering what he'd said wrong. "Making love
to you
is fun," he added, with enthusiasm, and then, hesitantly, "I guess it would be okay with someone else. I wouldn't know. But it's great with you!"

"No," she snapped. "Why me? You can have anyone you want, and you've always wanted plenty of others."

"You know that's not true!" His voice took on a hurt edge.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! There's never been anyone else, not since I first saw you and fell in love with your angelic smile, those beautiful blue eyes...."

She snorted. "Beautiful eyes are a dime a dozen. Especially for you. What is it about me?"

"Your...you...." He gestured helplessly.

"Because I'm useful? Like doing your party arrangements while you were reeling in that girl?"

"I wasn't..."

"I saw it," she said, dryly. "Have fun with her at the party. I'm going to bed." She boosted herself off the window seat, and left his suite.

"Hey, Amy...." He followed her into the hallway, still holding his shirt. "The town, the castle. Tomorrow?"

"I guess." She didn’t turn around. "But you know I hate beer." Her door shut with a loud bark.

Caroline, one of the flutists, sauntered down the hall, her blond bob swaying against her jaw, her black sweater tight, her eyelids at half mast, appraising Shawn's bare chest. "Hey, how you doing?" she said. "Gonna be at your own party?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" Shawn smiled. His cares slid away like bubbles down a drain, forgotten. "Can I walk you over? In ten minutes?" His eyes trailed her appreciatively down the hall. She turned once to smile at him, swung her blond hair, and disappeared into her room. Yes, he thought, he would enjoy his party.

* * *

With Caroline clutching his arm and preening in the limelight, Shawn sauntered into the pub, swinging his trombone case, and surveying his domain: heavy wooden paneling, laughter, a trio fiddling and singing at the back, bottles reflected in the mirror behind the bar, flirtation, tables and booths jostling for space among the shoulder to shoulder crowd of good-looking men and pretty women shouting for his attention. He gave it first to the barmaid. "You have incredibly beautiful eyes," he murmured, accepting a beer and dropping a tip down her blouse. She laughed raucously, pushing his hand away in pretend outrage.

He sidled up to Dana at the bar, sliding an arm around her shoulder and nibbling her ear. She laughed and swatted him away.

He drank his ale with the redhead from backstage, pressing her close during a slow song, whispering things in her ear that made her giggle, blush furiously and lean back for more. He ordered a lager, crooned a mournful
Caledonia
with the band, and pulled out his trombone, playing
Blue Bells
faster and faster, with snatches of cartoon and movie themes thrown in for fun. He slid into a bluesy striptease, making eyes at Caroline while he played, to the hooting of the patrons. The beer glowed inside him, flushing him.

"Shawn, put that thing away and join us," Rob hollered, from a poker game in the corner. "Jimmy here thinks he can beat you." Dana, seated at Rob's left, nodded. Bar lights glinted in her spiky auburn hair.

Shawn laughed, already pulling the mouthpiece from the trombone. "You warned him?"

Rob grinned. "We told him about your legendary luck. He says prove it."

Shawn eyed the ruddy-faced Scot, who stared back sullenly. He grinned, packed away his instrument, and joined them. Cards slithered around the table under Jimmy's expert hands, and they settled into a routine. Caroline planted herself on Shawn's right leg, kissing him enthusiastically with each win, while the redhead spilled ample cleavage over his left shoulder, comforting him in each loss. As his money piled up, and the beer soaked his brain, he took more chances. He didn't notice Caroline's pouts as the redhead comforted him more frequently, or the groans of the crowd. Musicians and patrons pressed close.

"You're almost out of money," Caroline purred in his ear, pulling his face from the redhead's cleavage. "Where's that famous luck?"

"You're right here, baby." He kissed her soundly. "One more game."

The cards flashed around the table, bets placed, antes upped, and Dana grinned as she reached across the table, claiming his emaciated pile of bills. The redhead once again cradled his head in consolation.

"Double or nothing!" Caroline pulled his face back toward herself. "Let him play on credit, Rob."

Shawn guffawed. "Schmitz warned me to learn a lesson last time I did that."

Laughs went around the pub. The musicians remembered that peccadillo. "Schmitz isn't here." Dana winked as she passed her cards to Jimmy.

Too many beers made the decision easy. "He sure isn't," Shawn announced, his voice echoing with the effects of alcohol. The patrons cheered. They'd be talking about it for years, how he came back from nothing.

Rob looked to Jimmy, who stared hard at Shawn, while his hands shuffled the deck fluidly. Jimmy nodded. The redhead dug a notebook and pen from her purse and began scribbling IOU's. "You good for them?" she asked.

"You know I'm good, baby." He scrawled a drunken signature on each one, even as Jimmy slid cards swiftly to each player, around and around the table.

Shawn gulped a mouthful of frothing ale before scooping up his cards. Rob and Dana scanned their hands and pushed in their ante. He edged Caroline off his lap. The redhead backed up. Jimmy pushed in a large pile of bills, his eyes boring into Shawn's.

Shawn thumbed his cards aside, close to his body. Nine of spades. Jack—spades. Another spade—the queen. He kept his face still, despite the flush of liquor, and pushed aside the next card. A three of hearts. He thumbed the next one into view, hardly daring to hope. It was the ten of spades.

He didn't react. It was still a matter of extreme luck. But then, he was known for just that. Rob pushed in twenty-five pounds. The bets flew around the table, even as whispered side bets flew around the room behind him.

Rob exchanged three cards. Jimmy exchanged two, Dana three. Shawn discarded his three of hearts, drawing the six of diamonds. More bets flew around the table and around the room, the stakes climbing as Rob put in seventy-five, and Jimmy a hundred. They discarded and drew again. Shawn slid his new card up.

The eight of spades.

A corner of his mouth twitched up. He couldn't lose.

Rob put in another hundred.

"I raise you two hundred," Jimmy grunted.

Dana folded with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Easy come, easy go," she sighed.

Shawn snapped his fingers for the redhead's pen, and put a three in front of the twenty-five on his IOU.

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you're good for it! Ye're already playing on credit."

"Give him a marker, Shawn," somebody yelled from the crowd. "Your trombone!"

Even in his liquor-logged state, Shawn's head spun at the blasphemy. But the crowd pressed close, tingling with the drama.

"Worth a lot, your horn?" Jimmy asked. "A big name like you?"

His inner Conrad shrieked, but Jimmy's attitude rankled. "A big name like me, yeah, it's worth a year's salary to you. Bring it."

Caroline swayed like Vanna White, and the fawn-colored case moshed over the crowd, into her waiting hands. She dropped it with a flourish and a thud in the center of the table, and reached underneath to pile bills on top of it, flashing white teeth.

"An you lose, you give me the money, and you get yer horn back," Jimmy said.

The crowd cheered, like Romans at the Coliseum, demanding their excitement. Shawn glanced down at his cards. He couldn't lose. They'd be talking about it for years, how he bet his trombone against the big Scot. The crowd edged in. Body heat slicked the surface of the air. The chatter and side bets rose to a fevered pitch.

He stared sternly around the room, one eyebrow cocked. Silence dropped like a guillotine blade. He cocked the eyebrow next at Rob, who smugly laid out four aces. Shawn grinned slyly, spreading his hand for all to see. "Straight flush," he announced needlessly.

Cheers erupted. Caroline shrieked, pumping a fist in the air, and grabbed his face in both hands, kissing him and stamping her feet. He came up for air, grinning at the Scot. Someone slapped his back. His hand fell on the money covering his trombone. "Game's over, big guy." His fingers flexed on the crisp bills.

The noise diminished suddenly, sending a nervous chill down Shawn's back. He froze, looking around. "What's wrong?" His eyes fell on Rob's face; he followed Rob's gaze to where Jimmy had wordlessly laid out his own hand.

"Straight flush." Jimmy's meaty hand fell on top of Shawn's. "To the king."

Glenmirril Castle, On the Shore of Loch Ness, Scotland, 1314

Late at night, Niall leaned on the tower parapets, gazing over the dark loch, far below. Its soft murmur reached him, and an occasional splash as a fish leapt for a night insect. A rich baritone melody floated up the tower stairs. "
The Laird's own bard to war is gone.
"

Niall smiled, and sang back, softly, "
His harp and sword at hand
."

“I thought I’d find you up here.” Iohn appeared in the arched doorway, crossed the small space, and rested his arms on the wall beside Niall. "Feeling better?" he asked.

"At times." The summer breeze lifted Niall's hair. He tugged his cloak closer. "Suppose it were true." He turned to Iohn. "Suppose you fell asleep and woke up hoondreds o' years on?"

"Go 'won," said Iohn. "Doona tell me ye believe in fairies!"

Niall laughed, not bothered by his ribbing. "I'll no tell ye sich. But 'tis no the only story, what Rabbie told, o' hoondreds o' years passin' when a man thinks 'tis but days or hours. Ye've heard the things Thomas the Rhymer claimed?"

"Aye." Iohn nodded. "Being whisked away by the fairy queen for three days and findin' seven years had passed. And they say there was ne'er a more honest man."

"What would it be like, d' ye think?"

"To wake up and find hoondreds of years passed?" Iohn mused, staring out at the loch, resting his arms on the tower wall beside Niall's. "Mayhap the forests would be gone, as the story says? More villages?"

"Does aught ever change?" Niall asked. "A few villages more or less. But life goes on as always, no? We fish and hunt and rescue our cattle from the thieving MacDougalls."

"Aye, the thieving bastards." Iohn spit. After a moment's silence, he asked, "Gil?"

"He'll be aw' right. Thanks be to God ye were there for him."

"Aye," said Iohn, and they fell silent for a moment before Iohn said, “William’s waitin’ for us.”

Inverness, Scotland, Present

"Of all the damned luck," Shawn shouted once more, laughing.

Spinning high and happy with several more pints inside, he and Caroline stumbled down Inverness's dark streets, under the shadow of Inverness Castle, and south along the banks of the River Ness. The moon glowed a silver crescent in its waters. They swung a metal pail stuffed with cash between them, singing Caledonia as they stumbled toward the castle-turned-hotel.

Shawn routinely skated to the center of thin ice, and never fell through. He hadn't this time, either. "I don't get paid for three days," he'd told Jimmy. "We're doing one more gig. Give me my trombone, and I'll pay you right after the concert. "

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