Chapter Twenty
The sun was warm on Torquil’s back as he worked on repairs, trying to make himself useful and hopefully show the Harts that he had the strength and capability to care for Eilidh as needed.
The stares from the Hart villagers made him feel like a trespasser.
He could feel their looks boring into his back wherever he went.
Whatever he did. He sighed, pushing his hand through his hair, unsure of how he could win over a whole clan that seemed to be so dead set against him.
He found Alpin working on some fencing and offered to help. Alpin coldly dismissed him. “Ye’re no’ needed.”
“I am willing to help. The job will go quickly if shared betwixt the two of us.”
“I dinnae need the help of a MacGregor,” Alpin spat. “Ye are more likely to sabotage the fence so that it keeps no one out, and instead lets them in, than fix aught.”
Torquil held his tongue, kenning that Alpin was coming from a place of anger about circumstances that were out of his control.
But he would have appreciated a chance to make him see that he was not the enemy.
He cared naught for the deeds of his clansmen and whatever they had done under the order of his cousin.
They were warriors. That was how they lived their lives.
It was not how he lived his. Though he still had his doubts about the stories he had heard since his arrival at Hartsmoor.
“I can help ye with the fence,” he said again, calmly.
“And I said I dinnae want yer help.” Alpin spun on him. “Since when are ye so helpful around the castle when all ye do is sit around and play yer lute. Leave the physical work to those that can do it,” he said bitterly.
“It appears ye think ye ken me, but ye dinnae. I may no’ live at MacGregor keep, but I will have ye ken that I have my own cottage. One that I have built every piece of furniture within it. Without help. My lute has naught to do with it.”
Alpin shook his head in dismissal. “I willnae allow ye to use Eilidh to gain favor with the Harts. Whate’er yer reasoning was for all of this, I willnae have it. She willnae be a pawn in yer game.”
Torquil threw his hands in the air in exasperation.
“Do ye think I would suffer this house to play politics? I dinnae ken whate’er favor ye think I would be gaining, but ye are sorely mistaken.
Ye lot are miserable to deal with. So much so, I find myself wondering how Eilidh comes from such a place.
” He clenched his fists as Alpin got in his face, snarling.
“Och, och. Enough.” Morven squeezed between the two of them, intervening. “Ye two must cease. Ye are acting like fools, the both of ye.” Her eyes glanced from one man to the other, and back again. “Ye are behaving like children.”
For a long moment, the two men glared at each other, but eventually they parted without exchanging any blows.
Torquil stormed off, ashamed of doing so, but furious at the same time.
He never wanted this war. Once again he cursed his carelessness at getting caught in a compromising position with Eilidh.
If it were not for that fateful night, he could have found a way to court her properly and, hopefully, win the blessing of her da.
But that chance was taken away from him and he could not change the past.
Inside Eilidh’s chamber, he grabbed his lute and made his way out through the courtyard, heading for the woods where he could be alone, away from those that held naught but hate in their hearts for him.
Sweet solitude. That was what he was after.
He wandered through the thick trees, absentmindedly strumming his lute as he walked. Unsure of himself and where he fit in, because for certs, he did not fit in here with the Harts.
He had been sitting, playing Eilidh’s songs on his lute for a long while when Eilidh found him. He did not want to burden her with the argument he’d had with her brother earlier. It would not help aught and would only upset her further. “This will ne’er be my home,” he admitted softly.
She looked at him, confusion marring her bonny face. “I have oft felt like an outsider here myself. But what has happened? Talk to me, Torquil,” Eilidh pleaded.
But he only shook his head, refusing to say any more.
She heaved a deep breath and stood, brushing off her skirts with her hands. “I will return to our chambers and let ye have yer time alone then. Please, dinnae do aught drastic. I need ye,” she whispered, bending to place a kiss upon his cheek.
He watched her walk away, his heart hurting, her kiss lingering, but not kenning what to do.
The cold started to seep into his bones. Mayhap he should just stay here and let the cold overcome him. Consume him and carry him away.
He recalled Eilidh’s voice—soft, defiant, and musical—and kenned he could not leave her. This battle was both of theirs. He would not leave her to fight it alone.
But staying meant fighting for more than her. More than him. It meant fighting for them both.
As a united front, they could be strong and overcome aught. He kenned it to be true.
Doubt began to consume him. What if the Harts continued to push back? To ignore his offerings of a truce. To reject the fact that he loved Eilidh and would do aught to protect her and make her happy.
Would she agree to remain with him if she did not have the support of her family?
It was a question he pondered in his mind over and over again as he returned to Hartsmoor, but his determination to make things right spurred him on.