Chapter Twelve
Soft sunlight streamed into the cottage the next morn, warm and golden on the tangled throw. Torquil woke first, sated and content from the night he and Eilidh had shared.
He watched Eilidh as she slept with a mix of admiration, wonder, and something else he didn’t want to admit—dread.
Her thick, brown lashes rested on her freckled cheeks.
Her long hair fanned over the pillow and his arm.
Absentmindedly, he twirled a tendril around his fingers.
She had one slender leg stuck out and resting on top of the throw.
Eilidh stirred, opening her eyes slowly, and meeting his gaze with a lazy smile. She stretched and turned into him, placing a kiss on his chest. “Good morn,” she greeted, her voice husky from sleep.
Torquil kissed the top of her head. “Good morn.”
They stayed silent, enjoying the quiet solitude of their sanctuary. A peace such as he had not kenned afore settled over him as he caressed Eilidh’s back.
A sharp knock sounded and they both started, shattering the mood and shaking them out of their peaceful splendor. Torquil jumped out of bed, grabbing a pair of trews from his trunk and pulling them on as the persistent knocking continued. A knock that he kenned wasn’t from his brothers.
“Are ye expecting anyone?” Eilidh whispered, wide-eyed, clutching the throw to her chest.
“Nay.” He snatched one of his tunics and tossed it to her. “Here, put this on. Yer clothes are still out by the fire. I will see what the urgency is.” That feeling of dread from earlier filled him, making him believe that whoever was on the other side of the door was not bringing peace with them.
Torquil was almost to the door when it flung open, a rain-soaked Hart elder bursting through the doorway.
Torquil recognized him straightaway. He had seen him at the market afore and several gatherings. He dared a glance at his bedroom door, silently willing Eilidh to stay hidden within.
“Is she here?” the man, Fergus, demanded, his voice tight. “She didnae return home last eve. We have been looking through the night.”
“Who is it?” Eilidh came out from the bedroom, wearing only his tunic, which fell far past her knees, but still was not her own clothing.
Torquil closed his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. This was the worst thing that could happen right now.
Fergus’s eyes moved to Eilidh and widened in surprise. Then narrowed in anger as he took in the scene. Torquil in only his trews. Eilidh half dressed. The man clenched his jaw. “What is happening here?” he spat.
Torquil squared his shoulders, stepping in front of Fergus, effectively blocking his view of Eilidh, who remained frozen to the spot, her face pale.
“This willnae stand. What have ye done?” Fergus growled, his eyes blazing with judgment. He took a step toward Eilidh, but Torquil moved to stand betwixt them.
“This is nay business of yers.”
“Ye fools,” he said staring at Eilidh afore turning back to Torquil. “Ye must make this right. Her reputation will be ruined. The laird’s daughter. Did ye no’ think afore ye acted on yer carnal desires?” He shook his head in disgust.
“Fergus,” Eilidh called out, her voice shaky.
“Nay, Eilidh,” Torquil warned. “Dinnae say aught.”
Fergus pointed his finger at Torquil. “I mean it,” he ground out. “Ye have ruined her for anyone else. She is yers now. Ye cannae undo what has been done.”
Torquil pushed his hands through his hair.
This conclusion was inevitable. In the back of his mind, he kenned that all along.
But he had not heeded his mind’s warning.
His attraction to Eilidh was too strong.
And hers to him. Their feelings were mutual, and he would not change aught about that.
Nor would he regret the night they had just shared together.
Mayhap, they could have used more caution and taken things slower.
But naught could be done to change that now.
The predicament they were in, he would take full responsibility for. Whether Eilidh wanted him to or not. It mattered naught. His mind drifted to the villagers at the gathering when he had first seen Eilidh. Their hushed whispers as they spoke of her reputation.
A reputation that he had proof was not deserved, but, yet, he had just done that very thing—ruined her reputation.
“Have ye heard a word of what I said, boy?”
Torquil ground his teeth as he tried to keep his temper in check. He had heard the man well and clear. And it was not only the Harts he would have to deal with. He also had his own clan which would not take kindly to the actions he had taken.
“Aye, I heard ye,” Torquil spat.
“Then ye will do it. Ye must do it. There isnae any question.” Fergus nodded as if he had just solved the problem.
“Do what?” Eilidh asked innocently. She was still standing in the same spot, her arms wrapped around her waist.
Fergus turned to her. “We have had a search party out all night looking for ye. Yer family is verra worried. They thought ye were lying dead somewhere in the woods.”
Eilidh sucked in a breath. “There is nay need for dramatics. I have oft left for the woods to be alone.”
“No’ for the whole night. Let us be truthful here. I dinnae ken how yer family is going to take this news. It may have been better if we found ye dead.”
“That is enough,” Torquil warned in a low voice.
“How can ye say such things?” Eilidh’s voice had risen in her anger.
“Yer father will say much worse, I can promise ye that.” Fergus turned and looked at Torquil expectantly.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, kenning what he had to do and wishing the circumstances were different. Not because eventually, they would have reached this same outcome, but because it should have been done with all the proper pomp and circumstance that Eilidh deserved.
Torquil felt the weight of Eilidh’s gaze on him as Fergus declared, “Ye will wed her, or she will be ruined. And that willnae be allowed.”
Behind Fergus, Eilidh gasped, her face pale.