Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy Read Free Page B

pursuit of the green room.
    "Beautiful playing!" she gushed. Her hand fluttered to her chest. Shawn's eyes followed. "Just beautiful!"
    "Likewise," Shawn replied. His gaze slid up past auburn curls brushing her shoulders, to green eyes. "Just beautiful!" She blushed, glanced at the floor with a giggle, and returned her eyes to his with a bold gaze. "Come to my party tonight," he murmured.
    "You don't even know me." She dimpled. "I'm a stranger."
    "There are no strangers," Shawn crooned. "Only friends we haven't met. The Blue Bell Inn." She simpered. With a slow smile, he eased his hand, palm against palm, from hers, and turned the doorknob behind him. She'd be at his party. He didn't waste time wondering.
    In the green room, he surveyed his domain. Despite the name, the walls and carpets were pale blue. Fluorescent bulbs flooded the room with light. Coffee burbled on a counter against the far wall. Bouquets of roses and mixed flowers lay between the percolator and a tray of cookies. Men and women sprawled on comfortable couches and chairs scattered around the room. Some spoke quietly. "...called my son," said the concert master, Peter, as Shawn passed. And the young man—Shawn didn't know his name—who'd just joined the violas: ".... meeting my wife at the airport."
    The excitement of the hallway carried into the musicians' private quarters. A boisterous group of men in tuxedos and women in black dresses surrounded Amy. She, too, wore a flowing, black skirt, and long-sleeved black blouse that set off her cobalt eyes, long, dark lashes, and pale skin—unusually pale tonight, he thought. Thick, black hair hung to her waist. "The Blue Bell Inn," she repeated. "As soon as people get there."
    Heads turned as Shawn pushed through. Cheers went up, calls of friends, hands raised in greeting. The volume rose, swallowing the irritated glances of the concert master and several others. But Shawn didn't bother about the opinions of those who didn't know how to have fun. The good cheer of the more lively crowd reached out and drew in their king with hand shakes, congratulations, and back slaps.
    Shawn reached for Amy. He pulled her close, kissing her enthusiastically to catcalls from his friends. "Hey, what was with your playing tonight?" he asked, pulling back. "It was a little off."
    She smiled weakly, and twisted away.
    "She played great. As always," the concertmaster snapped, turning from his conversation. "Ignore him, Amy."
    "You coming to my party?" Shawn asked her.
    "Not tonight," she said.
    "Oh, come on, Amy." Dana squeezed her shoulder. "I want my best friend there."
    A couple of the men hooted. "Losing your touch, Shawn?"
    He grinned at them, unfazed. But Conrad arrived, tugging at his bow tie and staying Shawn's comeback. "Fine job, as always, Shawn," he said. "We sold out all five performances. Dan suggested scheduling a Saturday matinee. Big bonuses for everyone as usual."
    "I'll think about it." Shawn spared a glance after Amy and turned back to the conductor. "You coming to my party? Lots of good Scottish ale!"
    "I need my sleep," Conrad answered. "Have fun. Keep the orchestra's reputation in mind this time, will you?"
    Rob guffawed. "Like the fox will watch the hens!" Several men laughed.
    Conrad shot Shawn a stern look. "I'd like to be welcome back."
    Shawn held up a placating hand. "Just a little unwinding. I promise!"
    "You promised in Edinburgh." Conrad did not look amused.
    "I really, really promise this time." Shawn put on his most innocent face. His friends laughed. Conrad gave him a last, hard look, and turned to the concertmaster, giving a sharp nod toward the door.

    Near Loch Ness, Scotland, 1314

    Dark clouds scudded across the pale sliver of moon. But even a full moon would hardly have pierced the thick pine boughs sheltering the small clearing. A stiff wind sloughed through the branches high above, rustling over the night sounds of insects and loch.
    He called himself Fearchar when he met MacDougall. Whether