He kenned of the Harts. All of the MacGregor’s did. They weren’t sworn enemies, but there was no love lost betwixt the two clans. Torquil tried to stay out of clan politics, but everyone was aware of the accusations thrown at each side. First it was cattle raids. Then horse raids. Then the Hart’s storehouses had been emptied of their wares. They blamed the MacGregor. Honestly, Torquil had no information on what was true and what was not. But every time the two clans came in contact, the accusations ran rampant. To him, it was silly nonsense, but his brothers and cousin insisted it was the work ofthe Harts. Accusations aside, he also kenned of the middle daughter whose reputation followed her everywhere. That explained the looks she had received from some of the villagers and clansfolk.
The lass was accustomed to it, apparently, judging by the way she dealt with them.
He was interested in her playing and singing.
And only her playing and singing.
Therefore, her reputation had absolutely no impact on his interest or thoughts on the lass.
Or at least that was what he kept telling himself as he rode home that night.
Chapter Three
Eilidh entered HartsmoorCastle ahead of the rest of her family, the sound of the music still throbbing in her ears, and went straight to her bedchamber. She placed the case that held her fiddle on the side table near the door. It had been a long night. Also an intriguing one. Many people were at the gathering. Of course, there were the usual attendees that spread vile rumors about her, but there were also others that seemed to truly be entertained with her playing and either didn’t ken her reputation or chose to ignore it.
Then there was the lute player. She spun around her room, arms out like wings. She twirled round and round, making herself dizzy as she thought about the man with the magical fingers and the most beautiful of voices. She dropped onto her bed with a flourish.
She wondered who he was. She had never seen him afore. Giggles escaped her lips as she thought of him.
He was quite handsome as well. Nay, not quite handsome—very handsome.
A sharp knock on the door made her jump and shifted her attention from the unkenned man to whichever member of her family was asking for entry.
Pushing off the bed, she called out. “Who is it?”
“’Tis me,” a low voice, grumbled.
Eilidh rolled her eyes. Alpin, her eldest brother. The poor sod hadbeen naught but miserable to everyone around him ever since he had called off his courtship to a wonderful lass. The abrupt ending surprised everyone. Eilidh was for certs that Effie was the perfect match for him. But something had happened. She was unsure what, but Alpin suddenly announced that they would no longer be courting.
She opened the door and pierced him with a glare. “Aye?”
He pushed past her and entered the room.
“Please, come in, Alpin. I insist. I wouldnae want ye standing oot in the hallway by yerself.”
He answered her with a scowl. “I knocked.”
She countered by planting her feet and crossing her arms. “What do ye want, brother?”
“Torquil MacGregor,” he ground out. “Ye need to stay away from him.”
She shrugged. “Tor-who? What are ye talking aboot?”
“The lute player that caught yer eye. Dinnae deny it. ’Twas quite obvious to e’eryone watching, including ma and da.”
Ah, so that was his name. She tried to hide her glee at learning the man’s name. “I didnae e’en ken the man’s name,” she deflected.
“Mayhap no’ then. But ye do now. He’s a MacGregor. Leave him be.”
Eilidh laughed at the absurdity of the conversation they were having.
“What do you think I will do, brother? ’Twas a nice change to see someone play whose talents rival mine.”
Alpin raised a brow in her direction. “Ego is unbecoming of the fairer sex.”
Eilidh rolled her eyes and made a show of placing the back of her hand on her forehead, swaying to and fro feigning a dizzy spell. “Whate’er shall I do without a man telling me how I should behave?”
“Ye arenae funny.” He scowled. It was becoming his most popular expression.
