Chapter Nine
It was late morning and Eilidh was in the drawing room, along with her mother and Morven, attempting to sew needlepoint alongside them.
They had tried to teach Eilidh the art of stitching, and though she tried, after stabbing her finger twice, the second time so hard it drew blood, her mother sighed and gently plucked the needle from her fingers.
“How ye can play so delicately, but no’ have any dexterity for needlepoint, I cannot understand. Mayhap, ye are exaggerating so ye do not have to spend yer afternoon here.” Her mother lifted a questioning brow.
“That is actually a clever idea, Ma. I am disappointed that I didnae think of it myself. Though, I might have chosen something else that would be less painful and have no impact on my playing,” she chuckled.
Her mother’s forehead creased. “Are ye so injured ye will not be able to play?” Her mother’s concern was welcomed, but not warranted.
“I jest, Ma. Do ye no’ remember when I used to play until I made my fingers bleed?”
Lillias grimaced. “I do remember those days. I am glad that ye have outgrown that habit.”
“I am sure the maids are, too,” Morven chimed in.
“Getting all yer blood stains out of yer gowns couldnae have been an easy task.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head.
“Giving them all that extra work so ye could make some kind of point. Really, Eilidh, ’tis good ye nay longer play such silly games. ”
She gave Morven a droll look. “Shall I remind ye of the things ye have done to make our maids work harder?”
“Girls,” their mother scolded. “This is not a competition. We all have our talents.”
“Needlepoint is no’ Eilidh’s,” Morven mumbled.
Lillias gave her a stern look. “Ye are not too young for me to send ye to yer room, Morven. Do remember that.” She turned her attention to Eilidh.
“I found it quite enjoyable that ye attempted needlepoint again, Eilidh. As I said, we all have our talents. Yers is not found in this room, but with yer fiddle. Do not let anyone make ye believe that yer talent is wasted. It is not.”
Eilidh felt her cheeks heat at her mother’s compliment.
“Ye are verra kind, Ma. If ye would allow it, I would like to go practice now.”
Her mother smiled. “I would never deny ye that. I only ask that you take heed.”
“I will. I shall be near the village.” She bent and kissed her mother’s cheek.
She found it quite comical that though her mother had been in Scotland since afore her oldest brother Alpin was born, her English accent still slipped in on the way she said certain words once in a while. Not oft, but sometimes.
“Have fun. Whate’er ye may be doing,” Morven called out after her.
Eilidh ignored her sister. She didn’t want to give her mother fodder to ask her questions about what Morven was hinting about.
Though she was for certs asking Morven. There was nay telling what answers her sister would give.
That would depend on what mood she was in.
She hoped Morven would keep her secret, even though she didn’t ken what that secret was.
She only had an inkling. Which for Morven, that was all she needed to concoct a story that she would overdramatize.
She hurried to her bedchamber to gather her fiddle and bow.
Earlier, Joan had slipped her a missive she had received.
Eilidh’s eyes rounded when she had read the note.
It was from Torquil, asking her to meet him at the glen.
She questioned Joan how she received the missive, but her maid refused to tell her.
She had only said that there were ways. Not everything passes through the laird.
Eilidh did not question her further. She was happy to have the note and invitation.
And it was why she had gone to her mother’s drawing room earlier.
She kenned her mother would be more than happy to have her sit and try her hand at needlepoint once again.
Her lack of talent when it came to sewing was nay secret and she kenned she would not have to stay the whole afternoon.
A few deft stabs and a bit of overreacting on her part, ensured that her mother would excuse her to do what she wanted, which was play.
That part was true, however, that she wanted to do so with Torquil would remain a secret.
She felt guilty having to lie once again about where she was going, but not guilty enough not to go or to confess to the truth.
She was not ready for that quite yet. She kenned the time was drawing near.
Secrets such as these did not stay secret for long.
Especially when her father had someone watching her.
Whoever it was, did not appear to be doing so currently.
She checked over her shoulder quite often as she walked, but sensed and saw no one.
Though, honestly, he had remained undetected all the times he had watched her afore now—with the exception of the market—if that was indeed her watcher.
Torquil was waiting at the glen, just as he said he would be in his missive, when she arrived. The wildflowers were in full bloom, a colorful explosion making the glen even more beautiful than afore.
He met her with a smile, before claiming her mouth in a soul-crushing kiss that had her toes curling.
“Hi,” he finally said, mirth dancing in his bright-green eyes.
“Hi,” she said, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I am glad ye received my message. I wasnae for certs it would get to ye.”
She nodded. “I cannae say how. My maid, Joan, wouldnae tell me—other than to say they have their ways. I was happy to have received it. I have missed ye,” she confessed, lowering her gaze.
It was not a lie. She had missed him. It had been a few days since the night she had snuck out to meet him.
And since that night, she had been kept away by family obligations.
Torquil’s finger under her chin pushed up gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I missed ye, too, Firebrand.”
“Firebrand?” She looked confused. “What is that?”
“’Tis what ye are to me. What ye remind me of. Yer passion, for music, song, life. ’Tis all fire. So, Firebrand is my nickname for ye. Unless ye arenae fond of it,” Torquil quickly added. “I willnae call ye aught that ye dinnae find pleasant.”
She tilted her head and ran the name through her mind a few times and smiled. “I like it verra much.”
He gathered her in a hug, squeezing her tightly. “I am glad to hear that. Shall we?” Torquil pointed to a blanket that he had spread out on the grass. There were cups of ale, bowls of berries, and crowdie cheese.
“Ye did all this for me?”
“Aye. Weel, for us, but aye. Do ye approve?”
She nodded, amazed at his thoughtfulness. And his romanticism. No one had ever gone through such measures for her afore. “This is wonderful.”
“Ye deserve naught less. I thought it best, considering the time of day, that we have a wee bite to eat, afore we play.”
Eilidh smiled.
“What?” Torquil asked, his eyebrows raised.
Eilidh shrugged. “I have ne’er seen it myself, though I have heard it from my sister, Moira. But, if I were to guess, I would say that this is romantic. Was that yer intention?” Then she had a horrible thought. What if this was something Torquil did oft? Her heart sank.
“Hey.” He lifted her chin so she had to look him in the eye. “Why the sudden change in yer demeanor?”
She shook her head. She did not want to ruin the afternoon with silly thoughts that she had no proof of otherwise. “’Tis naught.”
Torquil nodded, but Eilidh could tell that he did not believe her. “To answer yer question, I am happy that ye find it romantic.”
Eilidh was for certs she saw his cheeks redden. Was he embarrassed?
“I wasnae for certs what would be considered as such.” This time, Torquil ducked his head shyly. “I havenae any experience in such things.”
The way he said the words and his mannerisms in doing so showed Eilidh that he was telling the truth. She fought the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. She did not want to make Torquil aware that for the briefest of moments, she had doubted his sincerity.
“This is perfect,” she said, finishing her ale. She leaned over and boldly kissed his cheek.
Food eaten, they each picked up their instruments, and Eilidh began to play, hoping Torquil would recognize the song and join her.
He did and was soon strumming along with her.
It was a song about young lovers, and Eilidh could not help but make the connection betwixt the two.
The song, soft and tender, was like a whispered conversation.
One which they only kenned the words to.
They looked into each other’s eyes as they played, sitting close together. That alone was something new for Eilidh. Rarely did she sit whilst she played. She was usually standing so she could dance and stomp around on the stage, or the ground, or dais, or wherever she may be playing.
But sitting beside each other playing, feeling the heat emanating from Torquil’s body, made this duet more intimate. Like they were the only two people in the world, and no one could keep them apart.
Lost in Torquil’s gaze, she stumbled on a note. Something that did not usually happen to her.
Torquil reached out, grasping her fingers gently, as he guided her closer and closer. Simultaneously, they laid their instruments to the side. The music faded into silence as their foreheads touched. As they breathed each other in.
Holding her face, he kissed her, capturing her mouth, claiming her. His moves slow, but hungry. It was as if every song they’d played had led to this very moment.
They collapsed onto the grass, breathing heavily as they laughed. Their laughter mingling with the quickening beats of their hearts.
This was forbidden. She should not be here.
Eilidh felt the thrill of danger—of wanting someone in a way that she was unsure of herself.
She only kenned that there was more. And whatever that more was, she wanted it.
She wished she had asked Moira what it was like to be with a man.
She for certs could not have asked her mother.
But whatever this was, it was creating an inferno deep in her belly.
Taunting her. Igniting a yearning. Of what, she didn’t ken.
She pulled back briefly to look into Torquil’s eyes, torn betwixt fear and desire.
“Ye can leave or ye can stay,” he said quietly. “The decision is yers and yers alone. I willnae pressure ye.”
She saw the same desire that she felt reflected in his eyes, and her decision was made.