“Bollocks.” Evander spat. “Ye cannae e’en believe yer own words judging by the look upon yer face.”
“’Tis no’ yer concern.”
His brother closed the distance betwixt them. “’Tis my concern in regards to our clan. Do ye believe Seamus will be happy to hear that ye are trolloping with a Hart lass?”
Torquil barked out a laugh, not letting the mention of their cousin bother him. “Trolloping? Ye have a way with words, brother.”
Evander poked him in the chest. “’Tis naught to jest aboot. The Harts willnae tolerate a scandal with one of their daughters. E’en theone with the loose reputation.”
“Dinnae speak of her in such an insulting manner,” Torquil growled, shoving his brother back.
Evander raised his brows in surprise at Torquil’s aggression. “’Tis no’ my assessment. I am only referring to what I have heard. ’Tis no’ of importance,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What should be the focus is that we dinnae need to clash with the Harts at this time. We’ve avoided war with them so far. Let’s no’ give them any reason to change their mind. We may no’ be aligned, but we at least are enjoying peace betwixt our clans for now. Dinnae ruin it.”
Torquil put his hands up in defense as he took a step back. “I dinnae ken what ye believe I will do, but I have no plans for causing any trouble with the Hart lass.” He didn’t want to say her name and have his brother believe that he had any feelings towards Eilidh—which he didn’t. He admired her musical talent. That she was beautiful and intriguing had naught to do with it.
“Be sure to keep it that way,” Evander said gruffly. “I dinnae want to have to bring any of this information to Seamus. He has enough to fash aboot.”
Torquil gave his brother a bored look then started to examine his fingernails. Hopefully his brother would get the hint.
With a click of his tongue, Evander nodded. “I mean it, Torquil. The Hart lass is off limits.” He spun on his heel and exited the cottage, slamming the door behind him.
The warning from his brother hung heavy in the air, making the inside of the cottage stifling. So much so, he needed to get out. He needed fresh air. He waited for some time to allow Evander to get far enough away to ensure they did not cross each other’s paths. After a fair amount of time, he grabbed his lute and left the cottage.
He walked through the woods, restless. His mind running with scenes that could happen if he did not heed Evander’s warning. He felt as if he were strung as tight as one of the strings on Eilidh’s fiddle. Hecould hear her laughter in his ears, a soft, musical tinkle that he found he liked very much. When he watched her perform, he could feel the fire of her passion for her music.
He blew out a breath and kicked at a loose rock that was in his path.
The sound of rushing water filled his ears and he was surprised to find that he had walked the distance to the burn. He had not realized he had traveled so far.
Wildflowers grew in colorful bunches close to the water. The bright colors promising a warm summer. One of the deep-green flowers that bloomed was the same color of the ribbon that Eilidh had weaved through her braid last eve.
He sighed. Everywhere he looked, there was some sort of reminder of a lass that he barely kenned. One that he had been warned to stay away from by his brother, and one he had been dismissed from by an elder, who shot him a wordless warning in his old, watery eyes.
But, even with those warnings. With those signs. He kenned that he would soon see Eilidh Hart. The feeling settled deep in his bones and that was how he kenned it was true.
He dropped onto the ground near the wildflowers, plucking one of the green blooms, and tucked it behind his ear afore he once again began to play Eilidh’s song. Over and over, he repeated the song, the melody, until it was etched in his memory, as he lost himself in the story and he captured her essence in sound.
Overhead, dark clouds eventually blew in, blocking the sun with the threat of rain, and forcing him to pack up. Torquil pushed off the ground and headed back home. The idea of getting soaked with rain was not appealing, so he hurried his steps, and beat the first drop by mere moments. No sooner had he set his lute down and shut the door, then the skies opened up and fat raindrops began to fall, playing a steady rhythm on the thatched roof of his cottage.
Adding another log to the fire, he watched the flames for a fewminutes. Listened to the crackle blend with the drops of the rain. The sounds blending into a beautiful, natural harmony.
He poured himself a cup of ale and thought of how events from one day could change everything. His life, up until last eve, had been uneventful. He wrote songs and played his lute wherever he could. Then he would return to his cottage to sleep and then repeat the cycle over again. He was happy with his quiet life.
But then he saw her, and somehow, without a word spoken, his world had shifted. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to set it to rights.
Dreams consumed him that night as he slept. Dreams of a bonny lass. Light freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and tops of her cheeks. Long hair that he wanted to wrap around his fingers. A forbidden lass that he couldn’t get out of his head.
He dreamt of a duet that they shared. A song they had written together. Performed together to an eager crowd desperate to hear it. He dreamt of her fingers caressing his skin. Brushing through his hair. And finally, he dreamt of her lips meeting his in a devastating kiss that knocked him to his knees and left him speechless.
When he woke, frustration filled him. All that he had dreamt of the night afore was naught that could come to fruition. Eilidh Hart could not be his. Would not be his. It mattered naught whatever fancy he was feeling about the lass right now. He should forget her.
Heneededto forget her.
At the basin, he splashed his face with the cool water, hoping the shock would knock some sense into him.
It did not.
He felt as if there was a tug of war going on betwixt his head and his heart. For a lass he had just met, no less.
