Read Online A Love for Rebecca by Mayte Uceda - Free Book Online Page B

Lola chatted away nonstop about their excursion to Inverness. When she found out about the Celtic festival, she scolded Rory for not telling her.
    “I forgot,” he protested, turning crimson.
    Berta intervened on his behalf. “Don’t get mad at him; he’s been too busy taking care of us, especially you.” She gave him a smile and winked.
    “That’s true. I’m sorry.” Lola touched his hand, then turned her attention back to her friends. “So, tell me about these girls.”
    They explained how they met Sophie and Mary, and Rory talked about Sophie’s brother, Kenzie, and how they’d been friends since they were little. He said they’d always been close and still were, even though they didn’t see each other so often.
    At the end of the long evening, they toasted with a little whisky Rory had bought at a distillery near Inverness. It was the first time Rebecca had tried whisky, and she made a face when she brought the glass to her mouth and smelled the amber liquid.
    “Slàinte mhòr agad!” Rory said and raised his glass.
    The girls looked at each other. The well-known “Cheers!” they’d expected to toast with remained on the tips of their tongues.
    “What the hell was that?” asked Lola.
    Rory laughed when he saw their faces. “How about we just say ‘ slàinte .’ ”
    “OK, that I can handle,” Lola said. She gave him a light kiss that made him blush.
    “Slàinte!” they all shouted.
    They each took a drink and set the glasses on the table. There was some clearing of throats, and stomachs were on fire from the strong liquor.
    “You speak Gaelic?” Berta asked. “I thought there weren’t many Gaelic speakers left.”
    “That’s true. Most live on the isles or here in the Highlands. My great-grandfather on my father’s side spoke it, so then my grandfather did too. He told us they were disciplined if they used it in school. None of us speaks more than a few of the common phrases. But now the government is trying to revive the language. At any rate, if you want to learn more about Gaelic, you can ask your new friend.”
    “Which one?” asked Rebecca.
    “Sophie. She and her brother are part of the select group of Scots who speak perfect Gaelic.”
    “Really?”
    “It’s not surprising, given that they grew up with their grandfather in the Hebrides, on the Isle of Skye. Half the population speaks it there. You should hear them, especially when they argue, or when the blokes don’t want anyone to know what they’re saying.”
    After Rory left, the girls grabbed blankets and went out to the back garden. The night was cool but dry. They could smell the fresh-cut grass from a neighbor’s yard. Since arriving in Beauly, the three of them had scarcely had any time to talk alone. Berta and Rebecca were about to pepper Lola with questions when she beat them to it.
    “Yes, I’m in love! More than in love: I’m mad about him!”
    Berta let out a big laugh that made her glasses slide down her nose. “You don’t have to tell us. You should see how you look at him. And we’ve only been here three days! It’s all happening so fast. You’d better slow down, or you’ll be heading down the aisle before Rebecca.”
    “Don’t be so old-fashioned. I don’t need chapels or churches and priests.”
    “Maybe Rory does,” Rebecca pointed out. “Is he Catholic or Protestant? Or whatever they are in Scotland.”
    “What do I know? Maybe he’s Lilliputian.”
    “Well, you should know if you’re so interested in him. Otherwise you could get surprised later.”
    “I don’t care what he is. I’d marry him in a Hindu ceremony in Bali if I had to.”
    Berta sighed. “Mmm, an ocean-side wedding on an island of the gods  . . . That doesn’t sound too bad. But do you hear yourself? You’re talking about getting married, for heaven’s sake!”
    “I know I’m acting like a crazy lovesick girl, and I never thought it could happen to me  . . . certainly never like this, so madly in