But it wasn’t the crowd that interested him at this moment. Nay. He thought to the performance he had witnessed moments afore hetook to the stage. The bonny lassie fiddling with adept fingers, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Her long, chestnut hair, woven into a thick plait that had loosened, allowing tendrils to break free and dance around her face as she played.
Most of the onlookers danced along happily, but there were those whose looks dripped with disdain. Though the lass appeared to ignore them as she played softly at first, her music emoting a devastating rawness that he had never heard in any song afore. At least not one so skillfully done. Not even in his own volatile-driven song had he ever felt he’d delivered so much raw emotion. Though that was always his hope.
The lass had drawn Torquil in, pulling him away from the conversation he had been having with Evander, his older brother, and commanding he approach the stage. He drew closer, step by mesmerized step.
Her talent in playing the fiddle was unmatched to any person he had listened to afore. He was intoxicated by the sound. By the movement.
By her.
She was tempting, sultry, with smoldering eyes that matched the flames of the bonfire erected nearby.
And when their eyes had met, it was as if lightning had struck him right there in the spot he stood watching her. A jolt such as he had never experienced.
He searched for the lass that had disappeared quick as a flash once she had finished her song. She had moved so fast, he had lost her in the crowd.
The crowd.
He should be engaging them, but the lass had him so intrigued, she consumed his mind, making him forget he was performing for others.
His eyes scanned the people until his gaze locked on hers once again.
There.
She was on the edge of the clearing, standing near the trees, watching him in much the same way he had watched her. Even from here, he could see the snide looks thrown her way. He could see the hands covering mouths as they whispered and gossiped about the lass.
She noticed, too.
He could tell in the way she broke eye contact with him to look at the others, her brown brows drawing down. But she didn’t cower. He smirked as he watched her transform into a vision of strength. The lass straightened her shoulders, jutted her chin out in defiance, and crossed her arms, afore locking her eyes with his once again. Her composure was something to be commended.
Torquil dipped his head slightly and smiled in her direction.
He noticed a few village folk in the crowd acknowledge who he was smiling to and they nodded, jabbing their friend’s ribs with an elbow, and gesturing betwixt he and the lass.
Some men narrowed their eyes as they watched his movements, their mouths thin lines. Mayhap they realized he was a MacGregor. He was sure there were MacGregor enemies in attendance. The village was unaffiliated. Men, women, and children from all clans had arrived to take part in the celebration. Even so, one would be daft to start a fight here.
Torquil paid the men no mind and played louder in response. His own rebellion.
He had no interest in fighting or warfare. That was for lairds and warriors. For people like his cousin, who was laird of clan MacGregor, or his brother, who was his cousin’s man-at-arms. His brother savored the fight. Lived for it.
Torquil did not. He thought it was a waste of time and life. Too many good men died in the name of fighting for someone else’s idea of what was needed for the clan.
He’d much rather entertain those around him, no matter whatclan they did or did not swear fealty to.
The lass had stepped from the shadows of the trees and closer to the stage. Did she feel the same effect he had when he had watched her play earlier?
She was watching his hands strum the strings of his lute with the sharp eyes of a musician. Watching his fingers.
She lifted her eyes, and their gazes clashed together once again. No words needed to be spoken betwixt them. They had an unspoken understanding. Torquil could not explain it. He didn’t ken the lass’s name, however, he felt like he kenned her. Understood her.
He had never been so enthralled by someone.
He finished his song, and when she clapped her hands, he offered her a barely perceptible nod. Respectful, but challenging. How he would love a collaboration betwixt them. With her fiddle and beautiful voice, and his lute, and surprisingly deep baritone, their harmonies would be decadent. He could imagine them together, wandering the country, playing as an unexpected duo.
It would be divine.
With a final look, she pressed her lips together, and walked away. Slowly, he noticed, as she looked at him over her slender shoulder. So slow, it was almost as if she wanted to be followed.
“What got into ye at the end of yer song, brother?” Evander clapped Torquil on the back, drawing his attention away from the fleeing lass. “Ye made some villagers stop mid-conversation and watch ye. ’Twas impressive, I must say.”
