Highland Vow (Highland Heartstrings #3)

Chapter One

Scottish Highlands

Spring

Eilidh Hart’s blood pumped swiftly through her veins.

Her fingers moved deftly over the neck of her fiddle as her bow expertly stroked the strings in an upbeat tempo that drowned out all sound except for the music that she was playing.

Her feet tapped in rhythm as she played, and she couldn’t hold back a blissful smile.

She was in her element. Lost in a world all of her own.

Performing was what she loved most. The creation of music that others could enjoy.

The ceilidh was in one of the villages outside of Dornich, on neutral lands away from Hartsmoor Castle, and clansfolk from neighboring areas were all in attendance, including her family.

The villagers had hosted a fine feast of meats, roasted vegetables, fresh baked bread, and pastries for dessert that everyone had supped on earlier.

Now with full bellies and lots of ale being passed around, the atmosphere was jovial.

People gathered around Eilidh and clapped, the music growing wilder and more untamed the longer she continued to play.

There were a lot of unfamiliar faces, but also many she recognized.

Eilidh paid them no heed as she continued to stroke the strings, unapologetically working the song into a musical frenzy.

She ignored the faces that smiled with feigned interest as they whispered in hushed voices. She kenned what they were saying even though she couldn’t really hear them. It was the same thing they always went on about.

“’Tis the scandalous Hart girl.”

“The one that traipses aboot the land with her loose morals.”

All lies. Cruel rumors. None of which had an inkling of truth to it.

Eilidh spun around, turning her attention to a different group of onlookers, most of whom she didn’t recognize. They clapped along, some hooking their arms together and spinning to the music. The joy on their faces as they danced was all Eilidh needed to return the smile to her face.

In the crowd, she found her supportive siblings.

Almost always encouraging, but Eilidh wished they would truly see her.

It was easy to get lost when you were one of five siblings, and though they were a very close family, sometimes she felt as if she were part of the mist that covered the loch on cool mornings, fleeting and ethereal. There but not. Present but absent.

Moira, her older sister, stood beside her husband, Errol, both of them clapping along to the tune that erupted from Eilidh’s fiddle.

Her second-oldest brother, Rory, was there as well.

He squeezed his wife, Alana, close to his side, kissing the top of her head as he stroked the cherub-like, rosy cheek of their wee sleeping bairn she held in her arms. Eilidh was amazed the wee lad could slumber through all the noise.

Eilidh’s calloused fingers moved quickly as the song reached its crescendo.

She finished it with a flourish, holding her fiddle and bow up in the air as she dipped into a low bow.

The cheers of the villagers, the ones that appreciated her music, filled her ears and she straightened with pride and gave them a smile afore making her way through the crowd.

She set the instrument down and snagged a cup of ale from a serving maid with a “thank ye.”

“That was impressive.”

Eilidh turned at her younger sister, Morven’s, voice. “I am no’ sure where Ma and Da are, but I am for certs they are proud. Another original, nay?”

She smiled, happy that her sister had noticed. “Aye. Ye liked it? Truly?”

Morven nodded.

Music started and her eyes lit up afore she dashed off to the middle of the square where couples danced. It didn’t take long for one of the village lads to offer his arm to Morven. Of course, she accepted with a wide smile.

Eilidh watched for a while, her head tilted to the side, a bit of longing tugging at her.

How she would love to feel like she belonged.

If she entered the dancing circle, she kenned that no one would step up to offer her a dance.

With a sigh, she leaned against the cool stone of one of the outbuildings, and bent her knee to rest her foot against the wall.

One day, she would find her love. She kenned it would happen.

She just didn’t ken when. But Moira had found Errol, and it hadn’t mattered that the Harts and MacLeods were sworn enemies.

They still managed to overcome all that adversity to create a strong love that managed to heal the pain of the past and bring the two clans together.

And she couldn’t ignore Rory. He had always been one that preferred to be alone.

That all changed when he met Alana, and now they had a beautiful family.

“Ye caught the eye of many a man this eve.”

Eilidh slid her eyes to the lad that had approached and leaned against the wall next to her. His leering gaze traveled down her body, pausing on her bosom afore making its way back to her face. She hid the shudder of disgust that threatened under his inspection, and gave him a droll look.

He licked his lips, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, in what Eilidh could only assume was a move he thought was enticing, and tilted his head, his red, shaggy hair falling over his left eye.

The gesture had the opposite effect. “We all ken what ye are like, Eilidh Hart.” He caught a strand of her hair and twirled it around his fingers before bringing it up to his nose and sniffing.

For a moment, she was frozen in place.

He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “The stables are nearby. Let us go have a quick tup, aye?” He grabbed his crotch and thrust his hips in his hand.

Disgusted at his crude words, she yanked her head back, and the hair fell from his hand. She pushed him away from her and took a step back.

He put his hands up in defense, mocking her. “Come on, lassie. Dinnae be shy now.”

Spinning she left him standing there, as he continued to call after her.

Shaking her arms out as if she could shake the essence of the boy off of her, she hurried to the edge of the clearing, near the surrounding trees, his words echoing in her ears.

She looked over her shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he hadn’t given chase.

Her fists clenched at her sides, she tightly squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out all the hushed words she would hear whispered around her whenever she played at a gathering of some sort or another.

Thankfully alone, she heaved a shaky breath.

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 dissuade her, 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 visited ceilidhs and 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.