Torquil shook his head and chuckled. “Just giving the crowd a good show. ’Twas what they came for, was it no’?”
Evander narrowed his eyes. “Aye. But I have seen ye perform that song hundreds of times. Ne’er once have ye ended it with such passion.”
“Passion?” Torquil barked out a laugh. “’Tis that what ye heard?”
His brother shrugged. “Call it what ye will, brother. Ye ken ’twasout of the norm of how ye usually play.” Evander lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “The villagers have been friendly, but I noticed a few warriors from other clans looking suspicious. ’Tis possible they may have fighting on their mind.”
Torquil sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Ye believe that e’eryone that isnae patting yer back and sharing a tankard of ale with ye wants to fight ye. I dinnae ken how ye live like that.” Torquil shook his head.
Evander met his eyes, his look serious. “’Tis how I keep ye, me, and our clan safe. Ye always need to be on guard for those that dinnae have yer best interests in sight.”
“We are at aceilidh, Torquil stressed. “In a village. One that is no’ sworn to any of the surrounding clans, including ours. Why would anyone want to disturb the peace of the night?”
Evander harrumphed. “That we ken of.” His brother pushed a hand through his long hair. “Ye truly dinnae have a fighting bone in yer body, Torquil. ’Tis good that ye are a musician.”
They made their way to the area where long tables and benches had been set up and each took a seat. Within moments a young serving wench appeared with mugs and a pitcher of ale.
She smiled shyly at Torquil as she poured the ale and handed him the mug.
“I enjoyed yer performance o’ermuch.” Her voice was soft and her cheeks flamed as she offered the compliment.
“Thank ye,” he grinned, and he and Evander clanked their mugs together afore taking long pulls of the ale.
The lass dipped into a curtsy and left.
“She is sweet on ye,” Evander said, gesturing with his hand holding the mug to the retreating lass.
“Please, she is much too young.”
“Aye, but she doesnae realize that.”
Torquil shook his head and took another sip of ale.
Across from him, Evander cleared his throat, drawing his attention.
Torquil raised an eyebrow in question.
“Say whate’er ’tis ye want to say. ’Tis clearly eating at yer innards.”
“I saw ye watching the fiddler lass.”
Torquil kept his face neutral, careful not to show any reaction to his brother. Evander would pick up on it and would rib him endlessly. “She was quite talented. I noticed many people stopped and listened.”
His brother squinted, nodding his head. “Aye. Do ye ken who she is?”
Torquil frowned. “Nay. I have ne’er laid eyes upon the lass afore today.”
“Take heed and keep it that way. She is one of the Hart daughters.”
Outwardly, Torquil remained calm. Inwardly, a knot formed in his stomach. “Is that so?”
“Aye. Her brothers are here, along with her parents. Laird and Lady Hart.”
“I ken verra weel who her parents are, brother.”
Evander stood, stretching his back. “’Twas just a quick reminder lest ye forget.” He walked away, leaving Torquil alone with his thoughts.
Forbidden thoughts.
