Chapter Three
Eilidh entered Hartsmoor Castle 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 had been 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.
She waved her hand in dismissal and sat on the edge of her bed. “It doesnae matter anyhow.” She grew serious as she regarded her brother. “So, tell me, this To-Tor—”
“Torquil,” he supplied.
“Aye, Torquil. Who is he?”
“A MacGregor.”
She tilted her head back and let out a slow breath, praying for patience to deal with the dolt that was her brother.
“I understand that. Ye mentioned it already. So, he is a MacGregor. What, if aught, does that have to do with musical performance?”
“’Tis no’ his performance on the lute that fashes me. Moreso his clan.”
“There werenae any issues this eve. All was peaceful.”
“Sometimes, all is no’ as it seems. Ye ken the Harts and MacGregors arenae allies.”
She straightened. “But also no’ sworn enemies.”
“Only due to lack of evidence. They have caused harm to us, Eilidh. Ye were a wee lassie, but they emptied our storerooms one year. We had people starve to death that winter. Their blood is on MacGregor hands.”
“Ye just now said ye couldnae prove it was them.” She threw her hands up in the air.
“I will ne’er understand ye men and yer constant need to fight and be at odds with each other.
Just because ye dinnae agree with something they may or may no’ have done, doesnae mean that ye can ne’er speak to them. ”
Alpin’s face reddened. “Members of our clan died. That is no’ a simple misunderstanding.
” Alpin blew out an exasperated breath and pointed at Eilidh.
“This. This is why I dinnae discuss such events with lassies. Ye dinnae understand the inner workings of clan rivalries and enemies.” He pushed his hands through his thick hair.
“And I refuse to explain it to ye any further. I am here to do ye a favor.”
“Telling me to stay away from someone—a musician, mind ye—because you doonae like something he, nay, not he, but his clan has done, is absurd. I have played and performed with many musicians outside of our clan.”
“Lord above, ye are stubborn. Stubborn as a mule. I shan’t say it again, sister.
Stay away from Torquil MacGregor. Ye will save all of us—on both sides—a lot of hurt.
” He stomped to her door and pulled it open, but paused.
“Be happy ye are hearing the warning from me. Da noticed how ye were looking at the MacGregor as weel. Be glad ’tisnae him in here speaking to ye of this subject.
Now be smart afore ye start a clan war.” He slammed the door and she listened to his footsteps until they faded down the hall.
For a long moment, she stared at the door in disbelief.
Whatever in the world was her brother thinking?
Did he not realize warning her away from something only tempted her to find out more about the man?
What Alpin spoke of was horrible if it were true.
It was so many years ago, that they could never be certain of who the culprit was.
It seemed an overreach that such a grudge was still being held.
But, if it was them, how could she willingly ignore such a travesty?
Eilidh shook her head. She had never met the man and didn’t ken if she ever would. It was all a moot point.
She pulled her fiddle out of the case and stood by the warmth of the hearth. She was always thankful for her maid, Joan. The young woman always kept Eilidh’s chamber to the temperature she preferred. Even on the coldest of days, her private space was always warm and comfortable.
She replayed Torquil’s performance in her mind. Imagined them performing it as a duet for eager onlookers. Mayhap one day they would.
Taking a cloth, she wiped down her instrument, removing any remnants of dust or dirt that may have collected whilst she was outside earlier in the eve.
Then she plucked at the strings, trying to mimic the notes of Torquil’s song, and noticed one was beginning to fray.
Just barely. She had no replacements. The string would last another performance or two, but…
She smiled, a devilish thought entering her mind.
In the morn, she would go to the market to see about purchasing new strings.
And mayhap Torquil would be there as well.
The strings were only an excuse. The task would get her out of Hartsmoor for the day and give her a chance to find Torquil.
*
The next morn, Eilidh woke afore dawn. Her excitement at going to market made sleep fleeting. Her mind was too busy running through all the possibilities of what the day might bring.
Would Torquil be there? Would he recognize her? Would he want to speak with her?
All of the questions kept repeating in her head, over and over again.
After hurriedly getting ready for the day, she rushed downstairs to break her fast, hoping to beat her siblings that still lived at home, to the meal. She didn’t feel like conversing with them this morn. They would only question her and what she was doing. And why.
They were the last people she wanted to have that kind of conversation with. Especially after her visit from Alpin last eve. She would be fine without seeing him at all this day.
Aside from that, she wanted to travel alone to the village market. One of them, or mayhap, even both of them, would demand they accompany her.
Una, the Hart’s long-time cook, looked up in surprise when Eilidh entered the kitchens in a rush.
“Good morn. Someone is up early this day.” She said with a wink and a smile as she gestured for Eilidh to sit at the table that was pushed up against the wall.
She and all of her siblings sat in these seats for plenty of meals.
They didn’t always like eating in the Great Hall with their parents and all the warriors.
It was loud and boisterous, and the men were raucous.
She would sometimes catch them watching her and she always wondered if it was because they believed the rumors that followed her around seemingly everywhere she went.
Within moments, a plate piled high with fresh-baked scones, steaming hot, was placed in front of her.
The fragrant aroma of wild berries wrapped around her, tickling her nose.
Una returned with tubs of fresh-churned butter and jam.
A pot of tea and an assortment of dried meats finished out the offering.
Eilidh laughed. “Ye have mistaken my appetite for one of my brothers, I fear, Una.”
The cook paused, her hands on her hips as she gave Eilidh a stern expression. “I ken that determined look in yer eye. Whate’er ’tis ye have planned, ye will need a full belly to carry it out.” She waved her hands in front of her toward the food. “Go on. Break yer fast, miss.”
She couldn’t deny the cheery woman, and Eilidh did as she was told. Una was like a second mother to all of the Hart siblings. She had been feeding the castle folk of Hartsmoor afore any of them were born.
Eilidh finished and pushed from the table, patting her belly to show Una she couldn’t possibly eat another bite. “’Twas delicious as always, Una. Thank ye.”
“Always a pleasure, dearie. Now, go on and have yer fun.” She shooed her toward the door. “But please do take care. Dinnae get lost in yer surroundings,” she warned, kenning full well that Eilidh would.