Would she ever get far enough away from Hartsmoor that the lies wouldn’t follow? The thought seemed impossible.
She wasn’t sure where the rumors had started, or who had started them. They were all lies. She kenned that. Her family kenned that. But to others outside of their family, well, they were much too happy to run with the comments and spread them far and wide. Gossip ran rampant through the villagers, even though the habit was uncouth.
Her siblings, especially her brothers, kept close watch on her during these appearances, as if they were fashed that someone would attempt something untoward to her. She snorted. She supposed they already had, considering the vile and insulting offer she had just received. But shockingly, neither of her brothers, or her brother-in-law, for that matter, were anywhere in sight minutes ago.
She ran her fingers through her hair that had loosed from its braid and tucked it behind her ear, trying to remove the lingering feeling of the village boy who had touched it.
It was just as well her brothers had not seen what happened. If they kenned how often she sidestepped such conversations, they would for certs make their parents aware, and Eilidh would be forbidden from leaving Hartsmoor ever again. There was a good chance that she would be locked in her chambers and just the thought of that hurt her creative heart. To think that she would only be able to play her songs for family was a dour thought.
She dropped to the ground and rested her back against a tree. The coolness of the ground seeped through her skirts, but she didn’t care. She just enjoyed the solitude and tried to ignore the fury of how she was perceived to those outside of her family.
She couldn’t remember how long ago the rumors had started to make their way through Dornich and the surrounding villages. Nor could she ever pinpoint why. She had done naught for such a reputation to be attributed to her.
A single tear wound its way from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. She swiped it away angrily. It wasn’t a tear of sadness, but one of anger. It frustrated her so that she cried when she was angry. Her emotions were often misconstrued because of that reaction. But, nay, she was angry. Mad that people could be so cruel for no reason. Because, truly, she had never given anyone a reason to sully her character in such a way.
From her secluded space, she could still hear the music playing, and if she turned, she would be able to see the players and singers through the filter of the thin branches swinging in the slight wind.
One time, a few years past, she and her mother had spoken thoroughly about her fiddle playing. Lillias could see that it was something that Eilidh felt deeply passionate about. Rather than trying to dissuadeher, Lillias encouraged her to continue with her practice and song creation. That was her favorite part. Eilidh loved playing and hearing her notes and words come to life, but her true joy came from the lyrics she would obsess over as if she were mad, ensuring each word fit perfectly to convey whatever emotion it was that she wanted to show through the song. Her hope was that those who heard it would feel the same way.
Lillias also spoke about how she understood that music was a way for Eilidh to be free. How it let her mind soar to new places, and how that was a wonderful thing. At first, she had been surprised her mother had been so open with her and spoken so candidly. She realized her musical endeavors were out of the norm from what was expected from the daughter of a laird. And, while her parents did not fully support it—they worried when she traveled—they allowed her to do so anyway. Though Eilidh always had the feeling that wherever she went, there was never a Hart far away. She had not ever seen who, but she was for certs, her father, Arthur, sent a chaperone to watch from afar and ensure her safety.
Because of that, her music had begun to feel as if it were closing in on her. A cage to keep her contained, when all she wanted was her freedom. Something she no longer felt when she visitedceilidhsand gatherings. It was different afore she realized that her father would never let her travel alone. She was naive to even think he would. But when she first started joining in the celebrations and playing her fiddle, she believed independence was hers. She was free from the constraints of her family.
She was daft for believing such a thing.
She still loved to perform, she could not deny that. However, there was a very distinct shift that gnawed at her. Something that she could not ignore.
A new song began. Unfamiliar, which meant it was an original. She kenned all the songs usually played. Eilidh smiled. Another creative,just as she. The haunting thrums of a lute’s strings filled the night.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and listened, swaying to the music as it floated over to her. A beautiful voice began to sing, deep and rich. The baritone sound causing Eilidh’s skin to pimple. She jumped up and turned so she could look through the opening in the branches and see who sang.
She froze.
The man wasn’t anyone she had met or seen afore. His voice didn’t match his appearance. Blond hair, so light it was almost white, with streaks the color of red berries, worn long so it brushed his shoulders. Tall and lean, her brothers would say he was gangly, all arms and legs.
She would say he was perfect.
He was handsome, with a sharp jaw and striking eyes that he closed when he held a note.
The song was haunting and beautiful.
As if on their own volition, her feet moved forward, bringing her closer.
His gaze swept the crowd, and when their eyes clashed, her breath caught, as his gaze lingered on hers.
She moved closer, unable to deny the draw she felt toward him, as if he held an invisible string that he’d tied around her wrist, and pulled her closer and closer, drawing her in.
The reaction was completely foreign to her, but one she readily wanted to embrace.
Eilidh needed to ken who this mystery man was.
Chapter Two
The crowd gatheredaround Torquil MacGregor swayed to the music as he strummed his lute with practiced ease. There was no need to concentrate. The notes came to him easily. He could lose himself in his music. The song was one he played often—at almost every gathering he attended, and it always seemed to be a crowd favorite.
He took pride in that. Kenning that something he had created entertained so many people. He had written the song a few years afore. Surprisingly, the melody had come to him in a rush, so quickly he had to fumble for ink and parchment to scribble it down afore it left him. A storm had raged outside. The wind whipped the trees outside his window ferociously, thrashing the branches against the shutters as thunder boomed so loudly it shook the rafters of his quaint home.
The song was about the volatility of relationships. Not that Torquil had ever experienced the feeling himself, but he had seen plenty of courtships disintegrate into disaster. Enough so, that he understood the ever-churning storm of emotions. The end result was a solemn tune that built up into a crashing crescendo. Only he kenned the true meaning of the tune, but every crowd he had ever performed it for, enjoyed it.
