Her eyes went wide. “May I?”
“Of course.”
Charlie gingerly took a seat next to him on the piano bench. She now reminded him of a nervous filly, and he found that odd, given her generally confident manner. She’d have to be confident to buck society’s trends as she did and stand up to her strong-willed mother. Even though Glencoe was fairly remote, aristocratic young women were still expected to act like ladies.
She studied the musical notations for a few moments before glancing at him. Kade couldn’t help noticing that her velvet-brown gaze contained flecks of gold. It made her eyes all the more striking, as if light were sparking from deep within their depths.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Dolt, staring at her like a witless boob.
“Not at all,” he said.
She frowned, but then returned her gaze to his scribbled notations. “Is it written mainly for the piano?”
“Violin, as well as oboe. I’m trying to approximate the sound of bagpipes.”
“That’s rather unusual for a concerto, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “This piece was especially commissioned by King George. He’s mad for anything Scottish, as you know, so he asked me to write something that would extol the majesty and history of the Highlands.”
“Including the part when theSassenachs conquered us?” she dryly asked.
Kade laughed. “I thought I’d leave that part out. The old fellow has a rather rosy-eyed view of our history, thanks to Sir Walter Scott.”
“I remember reading about the king’s visit to Edinburgh,” she said a little wistfully. “It sounded like fun.”
“Several members of my family participated in the affair, and I think they have yet to recover from the ridiculousness of the experience.”
“I wanted to go, but my parents aren’t fond of travel, and Papa particularly dislikes the city.”
“That’s a bit of a shame.”
“I suppose, but I expect I wouldn’t much take to the city, either.” She returned her attention to his music. “If you’re trying to re-create the sound of a bagpipe, why not just use a bagpipe instead of an oboe?”
“Because my grandfather would insist on performing with me, which would result in the king charging me with treason—or at the very least the murder of anything resembling music.”
“You must be joking.”
“I am not. Angus is devoted to his bagpipes, and has spent the last several years trying to convince me that we should tour together.”
Her eyes danced with amusement. “And he’s really that bad?”
“Worse.”
“We certainly can’t have the king charging you with treason, so the oboe it is.” She pointed to a particular section on the sheet. “You seem to be having a spot of trouble here.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
Her smile was apologetic. “Sorry. Rather hard to miss, given all the cross outs.”
“I thought it made sense to go with the B flat down to the A, then come down to the G. It seems to be the natural progression.”
But no matter how much he’d tinkered, he couldn’t seem to coax out the sound he wanted.
“You’re trying for something that evokes melancholy?” she asked.
He blinked in surprise at her ability to read the sense of the passage. “Yes, exactly.”
