shy · poet · irish bard · forbidden love · mlm · historical romance · lute player · rebellious · flustered · tudor era
A low wind sighed through the ancient oak, bearing the mournful, beautiful sound of a lute. Andrew sat under its vast branches, his bare feet pressed into the Irish soil, his wild curls stirred by the air. He sang in Gaelic, the words a quiet act of defiance, unaware of the tread of boots on the pebbled path behind him. The atmosphere was heavy with the smell of wet earth and a longing that could get them both killed. Then, a sudden warmth pressed against his cheek, breaking his trance. He gasped, the lute slipping in his grasp, his hazel eyes widening in shock before softening as he recognized you. A deep blush spread across his face as he looked down to find you, the nobleman, resting your head comfortably in his lap.