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“I asked several people in the village about Liam Grant, and no one had ever heard of him.”
“That’s because most people in Drumnadrochit call me—”
Effy took a quick, sharp, audible breath that had all of them turning toward her. But she put her hand over her mouth as if she’d hiccoughed and said, “ ’Scuse me.”
Liam set three pints on the table. “Billy,” he finished.
“Most people call you Billy?” Kris laughed. He looked nothing at all like a Billy.
“‘Liam’ is short for ‘William,’” he said. “And when I was young…” He handed her a pint.
“Billy,” she finished, lifting her brows at the Camerons.
Rob shrugged and picked up his fresh drink, but Effy nodded, fluffy white hair bobbing. “Aye. Billy he was.” She frowned. “Is?”
“I prefer ‘Liam’ these days,” Liam said.
“I bet ye do,” Rob murmured.
Effy gave her brother a sharp glance and reached for his pint. He slapped her hand.
“Dinnae,” he said, and she sniffed. But she took her hand back, and she didn’t try to touch his ale again.
“Liam!” a voice called.
Johnnie held up another glass, smiling widely. Liam crossed over and took it, then reached for his back pocket. The owner appeared horrified and waved away the offer of payment.
“I’m glad you two are keeping company,” Effy murmured.
Were they? Kris supposed that was as good a term as any. Or at least one she was willing to acknowledge.
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“He’s been too long alone. It isnae right.”
Rob muttered something that sounded a lot like: “Is, too.”
But when she would have asked him to repeat it, Effy continued, “He’s had a sad and lonely time. When he sees you, he smiles.” Effy glanced past Kris. “Everyone should have a reason to smile.”
Liam joined them, and he did smile, which made Kris smile, too.
“You don’t have to pay?” she asked.
Rob snorted again. This time Liam cast him a quick glance. The old man tugged his ale closer and crooked an elbow around it as if he were in a prison cafeteria protecting his last piece of meat.
Liam returned his gaze to Kris. “I help out when they need it. Johnnie wouldnae charge me for a few pints.”
A slow, easy melody replaced the faint trill of bagpipes, and a few couples drifted onto a portable plank dance floor in one corner of the pub.
“Dance Wednesday,” Liam explained. “They try to get folks in for the middle of the week.” He set down his pint, then reached for hers. “Would ye?”
“Dance?” Kris let him take the glass. She wasn’t much for dancing. Hell, she wasn’t much for bars or gatherings or even men.
Liam took her hand again, and she was lost. What was it about him that made her do things she normally wouldn’t?
The other couples shifted to the side when Liam and Kris stepped onto the floor, though the movement seemed more deferential than polite. She tried to catch someone’s eye, to smile, to fit in, but they were all too involved with each other to notice. An instant later, so was she.
She went into his arms, and he pulled her close, until her cheek rested against his shoulder just right. He had a natural grace, and where he led it was very easy to follow. Where he led she wanted to follow.
