Page 18 of Bad Luck Vampire

“Nay. We jest arrived. Only had time to get seated and hear the fine description our nephews had given Sophie o’ us. Did we no’, lass?”

“Aye, I mean yes,” Sophie corrected herself with a shake of the head, but the men just laughed at her slipping into their speech.

“There ye go, Alasdair. She’s already talkin’ like a Scottish lassie, she’ll make a fine bean ghradhach.”

Sophie blinked in confusion at the words, and then turned to Alasdair, intending to ask what a bean ghradhach was, but Marguerite tapped her arm to get her attention.

“I should introduce you, dear,” Marguerite said with a smile. “Sophie this is Connor, Ludan, Inan, and Odart MacKenzie,” she announced, pointing to one man after the other in order from left to right. She then added, “Gentlemen, this is Sophie Ferguson, Tybo’s date.”

She said the last with an emphasis that made Sophie consider that perhaps Marguerite believed the men had mistaken her for Alasdair’s date since they were seated beside each other. It made her think that perhaps bean ghradhach was Gaelic for “girlfriend” or something, and let that question go because she didn’t want to embarrass Alasdair. It wasn’t his fault that her date was part of the wedding party and he and the others had been tasked with looking after her until Tybo was free.

“Ferguson?” Ludan growled, eyes narrowing. When Marguerite nodded, he said with satisfaction, “A Scot.”

“A lowland Scot, though,” Inan pointed out.

“But still a Scot,” Connor countered.

“Aye. Ye’ve a point,” Inan said with a nod. “Better a lowlander than no’ a Scot at all.”

“Er... well, I’m not exactly a Scot,” Sophie said, almost apologetically. “My father’s grandfather—my great-grandfather—came over from Scotland, but my grandfather and father were born here in Canada. And my mother’s side is Filipino and English.”

She was sorry to disappoint them, but she didn’t feel right claiming to be a Scot when she was basically a mongrel. She just considered herself Canadian.

“Lass, we’re all mongrels,” Connor said with a faint smile. “Our own ancestors traveled to Scotland from Rome and various other places before that. But having Scotland in yer heritage makes ye a fine match fer Al—”

“Wine?”

Sophie turned with relief to the tall, blond waiter who had appeared at her elbow. She suspected the man had been about to say “Alasdair,” and it would have been embarrassing when he wasn’t her date. Now she noted the two bottles the waiter held, one white and one red, but she shook her head, just managing to hold back a grimace. Sophie was not a wine drinker. “No. Thank you.”

“A soft drink, or water, then?” the man asked.

“Water is good,” she said gratefully.

The waiter set the bottles on the table to free his hands and leaned past her to pick up a crystal pitcher of water she hadn’t noticed on the table.

“Oh, I can do that,” Sophie said at once, feeling bad for putting him to extra work when there were so many others at the table to look after.

“It’s no trouble,” the young man said, smiling at her.

Sophie smiled back, and then thanked him once he’d finished. Nodding, he moved on to Alasdair next, but he didn’t even get the opportunity to ask what he wanted. Alasdair simply waved the waiter on, and picked up the pitcher of water to pour into his own glass.

Colle also got water, but the uncles all asked for ale, which had the waiter scurrying away to find some. In the end it was only Marguerite and Julius who had wine.

“So, Sophie, how did you and Tybo meet?” Marguerite asked once the waiter had finished at the table and moved on to the next.

“Oh.” She smiled faintly. “He and Valerian rescued me from a blind date gone bad.”

“Ye had a date with a blind man that went bad?” the man Marguerite had introduced as Connor asked with a frown.

“Oh, no,” she laughed. “I was on a blind date. He could see.”

When all four men just stared at her rather blankly, Alasdair got an evil smile on his face and told them to “google it.”

Much to Sophie’s amazement all four uncles pulled cell phones from their sporrans and began to tap away on them. Turning to Alasdair, she asked, “They really don’t know what blind dates are?”

“They’re from Scotland,” Alasdair said as if that should explain everything.

“A social engagement or date with a person one has no’ previously met,” Inan read out, apparently the first to get the answer since the other three were still tapping. They stopped now, though, and glanced at him, then grunted with understanding and put their phones away.

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