Page 51 of Wedded to the Devilish Highlander
So, she did.
Soft, lilting notes filled the room as Eileen moved her fingers over the old keys. Ivy retrieved a violin, tuned it quickly, and joined in.
The music floated down the corridors, and soon enough, people started to gather—maids peeking around the doors, Lyla stepping slightly into the room with a wistful smile.
Ivy caught Eileen’s eye at some point and sneakily gestured for her to look at her mother. The message was clear:Look what ye did! She’s smilin’ again.
It felt like a dream.
Then, Archer appeared in the doorway.
He froze.
His expression was unreadable. For a heartbeat, Eileen feared he’d turn away. She stopped playing the piano, and Ivy halted on the violin, both of them looking toward the door.
“I apologize,” Eileen said. “I didnae ken whether this room was off limits or nae.”
“I begged her to play, Archie,” Ivy added.
Eileen noticed Lyla looking sternly at Archer.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, he stepped inside.
“It’s been a long time,” he admitted. “Ye should keep playin’. It sounded braw out there, and it must sound even better in here.”
Eileen smiled, and her fingers danced over the keys once again. Ivy tapped the violin with her finger to get the beat, then joined in.
The music swelled once more, lively and bright, and someone—perhaps one of the maids—grabbed a passing lad and spun him around, laughter erupting.
Soon, an impromptu dance began. Couples whirled, skirts flared, and the room pulsed with life.
Eileen let herself be pulled into the center when someone took over playing the piano, laughing, breathless. Archer’s gaze never left her.
She spun around, her skirt flying, her hair coming loose, her cheeks flushed with joy.
And Archer—hard, brooding Archer—looked utterly undone.
Eileen danced with a young man she’d never seen before, but she didn’t care. As the music swirled around her, she felt free and without a care in the world.
The only thing that could possibly make the dance any better was if Archer stepped in and danced with her. She caught his eye as she spun around the room. He looked happy, content, but he didn’t move from his spot close to the door. Still, his eyes followed her wherever she went.
She begged him with her eyes to come and take her hand, but he stood stoic and still, only watching. It was not enough for her, but at the same time, it was.
She spotted Lyla at some point on the edge of the dance floor, just like her son, but her foot tapped along with the music, and it felt like an act of defiance against the woe that had plagued her for so long.
And then there was Ivy, the most exuberant dancer in the room, who flitted from partner to partner, men and women, not caringwho she danced with, only caring that she spread the joy far and wide.
Dinner that night was lively, full of chatter and lingering smiles. Eileen sat beside Ivy and across from Archer. The warm light from the hearth played in her hair, and she felt something akin to fire stirring between them again.
“Tell her a story, Archer,” Ivy requested after the meal. “Ye tell ‘em best.”
Archer shot his sister a look of exasperated fondness but agreed. Eileen watched in awe as he relaxed into the attention he was receiving.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as if settling in for a long tale. The room grew quiet, the crackling of the fire filling the space as all eyes turned to him.
“Long ago,” he began, his voice low and rich, “Clan MacLennan wasnae the stronghold it is now. We were a scattered people—farmers, smiths, and crofters—fightin’ to carve a life in the rocky Highlands. It was Alasdair Fleming, me great-great-grandfaither, who gathered the people under one banner.”
He paused, his eyes glinting in the firelight.
