A Love for Rebecca

by Uceda, Mayte

  “You didn’t answer me before,” she told him.

  “About what?”

  “The clan MacLeod.”

  “There’s not much to tell. Chief MacLeod of Dunvegan didn’t support the Jacobite cause.”

  “Dunvegan?”

  “It’s on the Isle of Skye. That’s where my father’s family is from.”

  “Oh. And your mother?” Seeing his expression darken, she berated herself for being so stupid.

  Kenzie looked uncomfortable and hesitated a moment before answering. “My mother is from Kirkcaldy, near Edinburgh,” he murmured without elaboration.

  Rebecca tried to change the subject.

  “Why didn’t they support the Jacobites?”

  “What?” He seemed far away.

  “You said the MacLeods didn’t support the Jacobite rising.”

  “There were old grudges. A hundred years earlier, Charles the Second made the mistake of not expressing his gratitude to the clan MacLeod for their service in the great Battle of Worcester, and the clan chief proclaimed that none of his men would wield a sword in favor of a Stuart again. Before Culloden, the then-chief MacLeod tried to dissuade the prince from his endeavor, arguing that it was madness, and advised him to return to France and forget about recovering his father’s crown. Still, some MacLeods in favor of the cause joined the prince’s army and fought at Culloden.”

  “I see.”

  Berta and Sophie came up to them, laughing. “I just finished explaining to Berta the parts she didn’t understand from your history lesson,” Sophie told her brother.

  “Well, we should go get our instruments,” Kenzie said. “It’s almost five, and the rest of the band will show up any moment.”

  The siblings headed toward the parking lot, and the girls stayed behind.

  “What an amazing story, huh?” Rebecca said.

  “I was pretty amazed by Sophie’s brother. He’s smoking hot. Wow!” Berta exclaimed. “You and Lola weren’t kidding. And in that Highlander get-up, he looks so . . .”

  “Barbaric,” Rebecca finished.

  “Exactly. Savage on the outside and sweet on the inside.”

  “Sweet?”

  “Come on, you can admit a guy’s attractive, can’t you? That doesn’t make you unfaithful.”

  “I know that! Fine, he’s handsome. I’ve said it.”

  “And Lola was right; he looks at you like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “Like he wants to devour you.” Berta giggled.

  “Oh, don’t even start . . .”

  “And do you know the worst part? I’ve seen how you look at him.”

  “How do I look at him?”

  “I’m not saying anything else. But don’t worry. It’s normal to find someone as charismatic as him exciting. Did you notice the girl at the visitor center? I’ll bet she’s shared more than words with him.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Lola,” Rebecca said.

  “Yes, we both know Lola has a big imagination. But I’ve also noticed that Sophie looks at you two every once in a while and gets a little smile on her face.”

  Rebecca studied her friend. “The sun must be getting to you. You haven’t seen it for days.”

  “Joke about it if you want, but I think she was hanging with me in order to leave the two of you alone.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m guessing she’s figured out he likes you too.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating. Maybe he’s just a nice guy.”

  “In any case, be careful, OK?”

  Rebecca nodded. In the distance they saw Kenzie carrying his drum and Sophie with the bodhrán and a stand microphone. Liam followed farther behind, holding his bagpipe. James had substituted the tambourine for another bodhrán; perhaps the tambourine was too cheerful to play at a cemetery. He also carried a medium-sized amplifier. Smiling, long-haired Scott brought his drums, in their carrying cases, and folding metal stands. The group’s presence caught the tourists’ attention.

  The band headed for the middle of the field and stopped next to the stone memorial. Scott unfolded the stands and mounted his drums. Sophie set up the microphone and connected it to the amp. Kenzie strapped on the bass drum, and Liam settled the bellows of the bagpipe under his arm.

  People began to gather. When the band was ready, Kenzie approached the microphone.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, and the microphone squawked out a little feedback. “We’re Caledonia. All of us were born and bred in the Highlands of Scotland, and we play traditional Scottish music, just as our ancestors played it for centuries. Playing here, in this place, is special to us. It awakens a deep stirring in our hearts. Our hope is that the sound of our instruments crosses to the other side of this life to comfort the souls of those fallen. This is for them.”

  Kenzie’s introduction evoked vigorous applause and shouts of “Aye! Aye!”

  Rebecca gulped, her eyes fixed on the band.

  The sounds of the bagpipe cried out; Liam played a slow melody whose notes cast a somber veil over the crowd. Kenzie began beating his drum to the rhythm of a resting heartbeat. With each impact, his body doubled over, as if he were willing the instrument itself to come to life and travel back through time. Sophie and James tapped their bodhráns gently, accompanying the melody. Her red braids looked like two flames across her shoulders. She was less fiery than her brother as she played; with her eyes closed, she let herself be carried away. Finally, Scott began on the smaller drums, joining Kenzie’s beat with the muted sound of his own. The piece gained intensity and speed; occasional hoarse shouts from the band were answered by the crowd.

  Rebecca couldn’t help staring at Kenzie, even though she’d intended not to. His powerful, charismatic aura completely captivated her. She was locked into the rhythm of the drum. Her heart began a prayer of supplication, joining Kenzie’s, praying that the music would soothe the ghosts of the bloody past.

  When the music suddenly ended, the crowd applauded enthusiastically.

  Kenzie thanked them, unfastened his belt, and set the drum on the ground. The solitary notes of the bagpipe again enveloped the battlefield. It was a slow, deliberate tune, a sustained sound that evoked times past. As he approached the microphone, Berta said, “He’s going to sing?”

  “I don’t know,” Rebecca said, intrigued.

  Filling in under the bagpipe, Sophie and James added the softer sounds of the bodhrán as Kenzie unfolded a piece of paper and leaned into the microphone. “This is a letter sent by a soldier of the regiment of the clan Chisholm to his wife. The letter is dated the twenty-seventh of April, 1746, eleven days after the battle. It is preserved in the National War Museum in Edinburgh.”

  Here, the bagpipe fell silent and the sound of the bodhráns softened. Kenzie continued. “It reads:

  “ ‘My Dearest Ellen,

  “ ‘I am writing to you now that I have regained the strength to hold a pen between my fingers. I am well, injured but intact. I know how worried you must be. Surely you have received news of the disaster, and thus my urgency to let you know that I am well. I fervently hope you and our son are well, and I cannot deny that I am worried to the depths of my soul. I pray we will soon be reunited.

  “ ‘My wounds are healing more each day, and soon I will be able to ride home. Dearest Ellen, I have thought so much about you and our little one. This fighting has been hell on earth. The sound of cannons wakes me in the night, and the faces of men destroyed by shrapnel confront me daily. Oh, my longed-for wife, will I one day forget this madness? Will I one day no longer hear the deafening sound of death?

  “ ‘Every day I pray to our Lord that he hold you in his bosom and that I may soon return to you.

  “ ‘My beloved wife, yours forever,

  “ ‘Brian’ ”

 
Kenzie refolded the paper—which he hadn’t, in fact, read from, having memorized its contents—and placed it in his drum case. Then he strapped his drum on again. Berta looked around and noticed some people wiping away tears. She saw that Rebecca’s eyes were red and moist.

  “It got to you,” she said.

  “It didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but I’m not a crier.”

  “It’s just that it’s such a moving letter . . .”

  “And Kenzie has a beautiful voice; masculine and soft all at once.”

  “That’s true,” Rebecca said.

  “Well!” said Berta. “Finally, some honesty.”

  The band played three more songs, all happier pieces. No one jumped around to the music as they had at the festival; it didn’t seem appropriate at this venue. But the crowd did get into it and clapped their hands. Some even moved their feet a little, including Berta and Rebecca, who were ready to shake off the sadness that had overcome them there.

  When the band finished playing, some of the audience clamored for photos with the group. But soon enough the crowd dispersed and people made their way back across the moor to the parking area.

  Sophie suggested taking a photo, all together. “Berta, come stand next to me,” she said.

  Rebecca was going to join her when Liam, who still had his bagpipe, took her arm.

  “No, señorita,” he said. “Too many skirts on that side.”

  Rebecca smiled. The reality was that she and Berta were the only ones in the group wearing pants. Liam put an arm around her shoulders. Kenzie, who was on her other side, put his arm around her waist.

  As they were taking the picture, Kenzie’s warm hand felt like hot iron on her side. And that simple contact was enough to fluster her. He not only radiated heat, but his hand began a gentle search, seeking out the softness and warmth of her skin beneath her short T-shirt. The movement was imperceptible to everyone but Rebecca, who felt, for the first time, a moment of eroticism. That’s how her runaway heart defined it. Just a touch, and her body’s reaction was uncontrollable. She’d always thought lust was a dangerous business that had nothing to do with her or her personality. But what else would she call these sensations? What name could she give to what she was feeling? Kenzie achieved with a look what Mario had never been able to do: make her come alive inside and her body tingle with a potent desire.

  She felt her nipples harden under her clothing—a disturbing sensation, the effects of which were visible through her shirt. His hand closed on her soft flesh with a possessive gesture, pressing and caressing her skin. The sensations in her nipples spread to the core of her sexuality, claiming the focus of this desire for itself.

  Without meaning to, Rebecca turned to look at him. His eyes, no longer dark but clear and bright, looked into hers. It was a brief and soft look, but so intense it seemed to seal an agreement.

  The men on either side of her dropped their arms after the photo.

  “Where’s Rory?” Scott asked, banging his drumsticks together. “He owes us a beer.”

  “He went to Nairn for a few days with our friend,” answered Berta, who was getting more and more confident with the language.

  “Hey, Kenzie,” said Liam, coming over. “The lads and I were thinking about camping out this weekend at Loch Ness. We could play something for the tourists at Urquhart Castle and make a few quid.”

  “Have you checked the weather forecast? I don’t think the tourists are going to hang around to listen to us in the rain.”

  “No, it’s not supposed to rain, or at least not much.”

  “Well, sure then. Fine by me. It wouldn’t hurt to make a little extra to get a new amp and mic.”

  “Sophie, your mates can come if they want,” added Liam. “Have you been to Loch Ness yet?”

  “No,” answered Rebecca, whose body was still on fire.

  “That’s a brilliant idea!” Sophie exclaimed.

  Berta cast a thrilled look at Rebecca. “I would love to,” she said. “After all, it could turn out to be the most exciting thing we do this vacation.”

  “But we don’t have a tent,” Rebecca said.

  “We have two,” Kenzie put in.

  “Problem solved,” Sophie said.

  The band put away their instruments, and everyone climbed in their vehicles. “Did you like the performance today?” Sophie asked as they left the parking lot.

  “The letter was very moving,” Rebecca said, glancing at Kenzie out of the corner of her eye. “It brought to life things that happened a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, we tend to think people from that time were so different,” Kenzie said. “That they didn’t feel fear or love like we do.”

  “What does ‘aye’ mean?”

  “It means ‘yes’—among other things,” Sophie said. “We also use it as a greeting. I’ll have to give you two a crash course.”

  “Not me. I’ve got enough going on with English; I can’t add this crazy language of yours as well,” Berta replied.

  “Learning a few words of courtesy wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Sophie said. “Normal things like Tha gaol agam ort.”

  “What’s that?” asked Berta.

  Kenzie smiled faintly.

  “First, repeat after me,” Sophie directed.

  “Oh, no, I’m hopeless when it comes to languages,” Berta sighed. “I couldn’t repeat that in a million years.”

  “You try, Rebecca.”

  She repeated the words the best she could.

  “You’re saying the vowels wrong,” Kenzie said. He repeated the words slowly.

  She tried again, pronouncing carefully.

  “Perfect,” Kenzie said. “But you should practice more.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I love you,” said Sophie. “Te quiero,” she added in Spanish. Her brother laughed.

  Rebecca blushed. “Can’t you teach me something more useful?” she protested.

  “Oh, believe me, it’s very useful.”

  “Oh, come on. There are probably lots of Scottish people, even, who wouldn’t understand.”

  “That’s the best part. Anyway, it depends on who you say it to. Kenzie, for example, would understand perfectly.”

  Rebecca blushed again, and this time Berta laughed out loud.

  The conversation turned to preparations for the camping trip. The girls would need sleeping bags, since the temperature around the lake could drop considerably at night. They decided to go to Inverness the next day to buy the sleeping bags and do a little sightseeing. Sophie offered to go with them and act as their tour guide for the city.

  Soon they were back at the cottage. “Have fun tomorrow in Inverness,” Kenzie said. “I’d take you myself if I didn’t have to work.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rebecca said. “It’ll be fun to take the train.”

  “Caidil gu math,” he whispered.

  Rebecca closed her eyes and bit her lower lip.

  “Sleep well,” translated Kenzie, his eyes lingering on her lips.

  “You too.”

  WHO BELIEVES IN TRUE LOVE?

  Seated at the kitchen table, with tired but happy feet after an unforgettable day at Culloden, Rebecca and Berta took Mrs. Munro’s leftover haggis from the fridge for their supper. Rebecca was pensive and didn’t feel much like talking. Berta, in contrast, was jovial and animated.

  “We finally get to enjoy this vacation, huh?”

  Rebecca chewed a bite of the reheated haggis without replying.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “What did I say?”

  “You . . . said you had a good time.”

  “Kind of,” Berta said. “You’re off in space, Rebecca. Kenzie’s getting to you more than you realize.”

  “That’s not true!”
r />   “If you were anyone else, I’d say you were falling in love.”

  Rebecca swallowed her food. “Falling in love? For heaven’s sake, Berta! I just met him. You can’t fall in love in a few days.”

  “People can fall in love in an instant. It’s just never happened to you.”

  “That’s true; it’s never happened to me. And I don’t want to talk about this.”

  She got up to clear her plate, and Berta didn’t pursue it.

  Before going to bed, Rebecca called Enric. Even though she didn’t feel up to a chatty, cheery conversation, she’d promised her father. And besides, it had been too long since she’d talked to him. She was curious to know how things were going for him on his own; her father hadn’t told her much, and she was a little worried.

  Enric picked up right away. “How are you, Sis?”

  “Under the cloudy skies of Scotland,” she said dryly. “How are you?”

  “Pretty much settled into life on my own. I thought it would be harder, but apparently my brain retained some of Mother’s lectures.”

  Rebecca chuckled despite her somber mood. “Daddy told me you’ve gone back to work.”

  “Yes. The move didn’t take as long as I thought it would. Plus I took only the essential stuff. But what about you? Do you like Scotland?”

  Rebecca felt a knot in her throat. “We haven’t done much outside of Beauly.”

  “Beauly?”

  “It’s a little town near Inverness, in the Highlands.”

  “I’ll bet there are a lot of castles.”

  Rebecca was quiet.

  “Are you OK?” her brother asked. “You seem a little . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “It’s just that I’m ready to come home.”

  “Do you miss Mario?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, without much conviction.

  “He’s been really busy lately. It’s like he wants to do everything himself. He doesn’t want to have to share any of the glory,” Enric said with a bitter laugh.

  “And Mother?”

  “I went home yesterday, hoping to see Inés, but Mother and I almost ended up fighting, so I left. Maybe she’ll relax a little after your wedding, if she doesn’t make herself sick. She’s completely neurotic, wanting to control every last detail to make sure everything’s perfect.”