Page 19 of Some Like It Scot
I took a sip of tea before answering. “Well, I travel around the world and collect stories to share, either through articles or podcasts or on my blog. I’ve even contributed to a few documentaries.”
“You’ve been on the telly?” Blair’s mouth dropped wide. “We’ve got a regular celebrity among us, don’t we?”
“No, nothing like that.” I laughed and shook my head. “And I’m really not interested in that kind of visibility.”
In fact, the idea kind of crawled over my skin like Peruvian-sized cockroaches.
“Go to the pub of a Friday night and you’re bound to collect more stories than you could ever use,” Maggie offered with a smug look that let everyone know she thought she was clever.
“To be honest, I love getting everyday people’s stories. Those are some of my favorites,” I answered. “And sharing the history of an area, or the legends.” I raised theLore and Legendsbook. “There’s never a dull moment with all these stories waiting to be told in a new way.”
“Aye, Mull’s stories are fathomless for sure.” Mirren returned to her seat and placed a card on the table in front of me.
“I can’t wait to learn about them.” I waved toward the ladies. “I’m sure you all could write a book with the stories you know.”
They nodded, a few snickering at the apparent delight of some of their memories.
“Our storiesdotell a lot about us, don’t they?” Mirren topped off my nearly full cup of tea. Her expression caught my attention, and I couldn’t look away. Those pale eyes captured mine, delving deep, as if she saw all the way back to my broken childhood. “But if you’re spending so much time on all these other stories, when do you share your own?”
My face went cold. People weren’t supposed to see through me.
Especially not that quickly.
Which made me wonder about all those faerie stories about Scotland. And whatever magic powers Mirren, the bookshop lady, had. Because here I was, being held captive by Mirren’s all-knowing eye like Frodo Baggins and Sauron. I flinched a little but tried to cover it with a rub to my arm. “I don’t travel to share my stories.” I laughed weakly. “People aren’t interested in those.”
“Then you’ve been around the wrong people, I’d say.” Mirren didn’t let go of me or the topic. “Every person’s story is worth hearing, Katie-girl.”
Katie-girl.The first time I thought I’d misheard, but here she went and said it again. The intimacy of the name paired with her knowing look twisted at my emotions. I cleared my throat. “Maybe my stories are just intermingled in the ones I tell.” I swallowed through the lump in my throat and succeeded in pulling my gaze from hers, though I still felt her looking at me. Thankfully, each of the women rushed ahead, sharing some of their own life stories.
I drew in a deep breath, thankful for the distraction as I tried to wrangle in my emotions. Maybe I should skedaddle out of Scotland on the next ferry before I ended up spilling my heart to a faerie who would capture me in some sort of faerie world from which there was no escape. I looked down at the book in my hand and wondered if it would give me some answers.
As the ladies talked, I began to relax a little, commenting here and there, trying to sort out why my insides kept doing the shimmy every time I glanced over at Mirren.
Then Lori asked, “Where’s home for you, lass?”
With only a slight hesitation and a tightening of my fingers on my teacup, I gave my automatic answer: “North Carolina.”
“Do you have any siblings?” Blair blinked behind her glasses.
My throat closed up. “I have two brothers. Both older.” Sarah’s name waited on my tongue, but I forced the temptation away. “Brett, the brother who is closest to my age, would love fishing here. Chase would probably prefer the convenience of Edinburgh.” Why was I chattering? I didn’t chatter. “Where would you say are some of the best fishing spots?”
“Any of the lochs,” Bea answered. “And my husband would be happy to show you.”
I smiled and readied for another redirection of the conversation away from me when Blair asked, “Are your parents still with ye?”
With me? Ah, alive. “Aye,” I added for levity. “They’re in North Carolina. Actually, the mountains back home are similar to yours here in a lot of ways. I’ve heard there’s a particularly large mountain on the island. What is it called again?”
“Ben More,” Maggie said. “And if you walk to the top of the bràigh behind Craighill, you’ll catch a fine view of it.”
“I have a nephew who’d be keen on a lovely lass like you,” Lori offered with a dreamy sigh.
“Oh.” I steadied my feet against the floor, readied to stand. Escape. Possibly run. “Well, that’s nice.”
“Do you have a sweetheart back home?” The angle of Blair’s glasses now made her eyes larger. Or maybe I was just paranoid. Like all of them were trying to peer into my broken and very private past.
“No sweethearts.” I set my teacup down on the table and pulled my books up into my arms, tilting just a little bit to measure how faraway the front door was. If I could jump over Bea and her tall hair, I could probably make it in less than five seconds.
“I cannae believe a lovely lass like you hasnae a lad of your own.” Bea shook her head as if she’d read my mind about the escape plan. “There are some strappin’ lads here who’d love a tall lass like yourself. You look like you could weather a few storms, and that’s a fact.”
