Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)
Page 15
As they all continued to talk, making plans, Lennox stole a glance at Nora’s pensive profile. Was she thinking about her own future in London, the one she dreamed of creating as a master weaver? Something caused him to reach for her slim hand, clasping it in his own.
“Are ye pleased by this plan, wife?” he whispered, a hint of irony in his tone.
She lifted her chin and sent him an enigmatic smile. “It seems an answer to both our prayers.”
* * *
Nora watched everyone else eat heartily while she poked around with her eating knife, feeling slightly sick. This time, however, she knew she couldn’t blame her condition.
They were going to London. The identity of the man in the miniature would be revealed at last, and everything in their world was about to change. She felt it in her bones.
Yet wasn’t this what she had wanted, to go to London and pursue her ambition to become the first female master weaver at the court of Henry VIII? And as she watched Lennox chat with Hector, Nora told herself that she must also wish for a wonderful outcome for Lennox. In London, he would discover the answers to all his questions, solutions to his problems. Quite possibly, he would find his rightful place in the world.
“What has put that crease between your brows?” Lennox asked with a bemused smile. “Is there a problem with our tapestry?”
Nora let herself look into his eyes, feeling a conflicting surge of emotions as she took in his use of the word our. She ought to be putting distance between this man and her vulnerable heart, but it felt impossible.
“The tapestry will take many hours to complete, even days, but it is begun,” she murmured.
“I should have a private viewing, I think,” he teased. “Later tonight.”
His eyes touched her lips, and she felt an answering twinge between her legs.
“Now then, ye two lovebirds,” scolded Hector with a grin. “Ye are surrounded by other guests—”
Just then, a loud pounding came at the double doors. “Help, help!” shouted a man’s voice. “Ye must come. There’s been a terrible shipwreck!”
* * *
The great hall became a scene of chaos as the messenger was admitted and Hector Mór heard his plea for strong men to aid in the search for survivors of the shipwreck.
“Some of us were hawking over on the west coast of the island, far from any croft or shepherd. The storm was rising and we sought shelter in a grove of trees when an awful cracking sound reached our ears. ’Twas the destruction of a great galleon, pushed by the wind into a narrow cleft in the rocks.” The man paused, panting, overcome by emotion. “’Twas being crushed like a walnut. Men were screaming, but the cliffs were too high for any to reach safety. When we came to the edge and looked, we saw only the waves, sweeping them overboard!”
Hector Mór would hear no more of the man’s story. He ordered whisky and a bowl of venison stew for the distraught messenger, while the rest of them hurriedly made preparations to leave on a rescue mission. It was no surprise to Nora when Lennox insisted on joining the MacLean warriors and clansmen, and even Lord Fairhaven gallantly proclaimed that he would go as well.
When Nora and Lennox were upstairs in the bedchamber, and he was assembling his possessions and weapons, he paused to look at her.
“Will ye worry for my safety, lass?”
His tone was light, and his teeth flashed in a smile, but when Nora came near, she thought she saw a sign of something deeper in his eyes. “Of course I will worry,” she said sincerely.
Lennox wavered for only a moment before gathering her into his arms. “That means more than I’d like to admit,” he whispered.
She could feel the power of him, warm and vital, as he bent to kiss her. Nora’s own response surprised her, for tears sprang to her eyes as his mouth moved over hers, urging her lips to part so he could taste her. Her breasts tingled, her hips arched closer to him, and then he was lifting his head and setting her away from him.
“I must—” he began raggedly.
“I know,” Nora interjected quickly, her cheeks warm. “You must go.” She could hear the clatter of men, swords, and horses in the courtyard below. Aching to cling to Lennox, Nora instead stepped back, watching as he drew on doeskin gloves and a tartan wool cap. It felt so odd, knowing they were legally wed yet uncertain if she could show him she cared about his welfare in the way a true wife would.
He turned and left the room, and Nora hurried after him. A torch burned at the top of the twisting stone staircase. As he started down, she touched his shoulder, half-expecting that Lennox would continue on. Yet, he turned to look back at her, and Nora stopped breathing.
“I beg you, have a care,” she managed at last.
“Ye have my word, wife.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, and that simple gesture made her heart ache with longing. “Fear not. No doubt I’ll be back before ye notice my absence.”
Chapter 17
Days passed without word of the men.
Nora spent her days in the small workroom with Mary MacLean’s loom, hoping the hours would pass more quickly if she lost herself in weaving. All her life, it had been her escape from cares and pain, helping her to forget when Father took her to England and it seemed she might never see her mother again. Distracting her from the temptations at the Tudor court, when young men had tried to pay her court. Offering a refuge when the world seemed fraught with uncertainty and even danger.
It should have been utter joy to bring Lennox’s pattern to life, spending endless hours in the solitary pursuit of creative perfection. But her mind kept wandering to Lennox, imagining him in some sort of danger. Or perhaps the men had stopped to visit another castle, enjoying themselves. What if another lass had turned his head? After all, as he had reminded Nora on the day they left Stirling, their handfasting could easily be undone with a few words.
Perhaps that would be for the best, Nora thought, her heart twisting. She carried another man’s baby, and soon it would be obvious to the world.
Each afternoon, Nora climbed the many steps to emerge onto the flat roof of the keep. Standing there inside the wall-walk, she could look over the low, crenellated wall and see miles in every direction. Her immediate view was out over the cliffs and the Sound of Mull, but soon she would turn to gaze across the misty green moors. The only sign of life she ever spied was a cow or hawk or rabbit.
Raindrops had begun to fall on the afternoon when Nora made her way back down the winding stone steps then back through the corridors to her workroom. To her surprise, she found Lady Fairhaven waiting beside the loom.
“Hello,” said the countess, smiling. Even though the two of them were alone in Duart Castle, she wore an elegant gown of sapphire blue silk, the slashed sleeves revealing gold-embroidered puffs. “I hope you don’t mind this interruption, but I am growing terribly lonely. I have read two entire books since the men left, and now I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Nora couldn’t help smiling. She had shared a few meals with Cicely but otherwise assumed the noblewoman would be busy with her own pursuits. “I’m very pleased you are here, my lady! I confess that I am growing lonely, too.”
“Have I not insisted that you call me Cicely?” The twinkle in her eyes belied her stern words. “Now, then, I am very curious to see your tapestry. How envious I am of people like you who have real creative ability. My brother is an exceptionally talented painter, but I am hopeless, even at the usual feminine pastimes like embroidery or playing the virginal.” Cicely gave her an engaging smile.
Nora found herself opening up, showing the young countess how the loom worked, explaining about Lennox’s cartoon, and then slowly divulging pieces of her life story.
“You and your father came from Flanders to live in London?” Cicely exclaimed. “Perhaps our paths crossed there.”
“I doubt that, my lady. We were not part of your world.” She shook her head. “For several years, Father oversaw the tapestry repair workshop that is part of His Majesty�
�s Great Wardrobe. As you may know, the king moves among his castles and palaces every few days, it seems, and most of the royal tapestries go with him.”
“I’ve never understood why the king is so restless,” exclaimed Cicely. “It creates so much work for the rest of his household!”
“Indeed. And Father’s real gifts were wasted. Eventually, he was granted the title of weaver, but most of the new tapestries are still being acquired from workshops in Flanders and France.” Nora shrugged philosophically. “Eventually, the King of Scots made Father an offer he found irresistible. They are going to weave grand tapestries in a new workroom at Stirling Castle, and Father is the master weaver.”
Cicely leaned closer to the loom, studying the way the colored weft threads had been woven into the grid of plain warp threads, then beaten down with the bobbin to create specific areas of color. “This is exquisite. No doubt your husband will be astonished when he returns and sees how you have brought his drawing so vividly to life.” She straightened and met Nora’s eyes. “What of you and your aspirations?”
“I want to become the first royal master weaver who is also a female,” Nora replied without hesitation. “It has been my dream since I was a child.”
Cicely clapped her beringed hands together. “Hear, hear!”
“My father, who knows my abilities better than anyone, has warned me it cannot be.”
“But he is a man!” The countess’s tone implied that this explained everything. She leaned closer. “When we are in London, I will help you. I know Jan Mostinck, who oversees the royal tapestries. He’s very old, and no doubt he needs assistance.”
Nora wanted to hug her new friend. “I know Master Mostinck but never imagined he might see me. It was one thing to work alongside my father, in his workroom, but quite another to imagine that those who are in power in the Great Wardrobe would welcome me, alone, a mere female, into the fold.”
“You know well enough that, since the monasteries have been dissolved, the king has the funds to do as he pleases. It amuses him to acquire riches, especially precious tapestries.”
“Yes, I do know that.” Nora’s heart was racing. For the first time since Lennox had gone away to help with the shipwreck, she felt able to focus on herself as an individual. “I would be very grateful for any help you can give me when we are in London, my—”
“Cicely! When we are together, you must call me Cicely. I will be delighted to assist you, Nora. Are we not friends now?”
Was it really possible? She wondered, feeling rather dazzled. “I would certainly like that… Cicely.”
“Let us go and see what Tilly has for us to eat.” She linked arms with Nora and led her to the doorway, inquiring casually, “How does your splendid Highlander husband feel about having a wife with grand ambitions?”
Nora tried to keep her tone light. “We will see when we reach London, I suppose!”
* * *
Two afternoons later, Nora looked up from her weaving to see a stream of golden light pouring through the long, narrow window. The sun was shining at last! Rising, she left her loom and lifted her deep violet skirts to hasten her progress up the winding stairs. The moment she emerged onto the rooftop, she turned toward the sea and saw a large birlinn sailing toward the castle, the colorful MacLean coat of arms billowing from the mast. Her heart leaped as she realized Lennox was coming back to her. The prospect of being in his arms again made her feel dizzy.
Laughing, Nora waved to the vessel with both hands. The two guards on the roof walk stared at her in bemusement, but she didn’t care. “That’s my husband out there,” she explained, as giddy as if she had been drinking wine.
Turning, Nora hurried back down the steps and into the great hall, where she glanced around for Cicely. There was no sign of her, but Nora paused beside Fergus and crouched down to ruffle his fur. “Your master returns, as well as your friend Lennox,” she told him, wishing the old dog could rise and run at her side to greet the MacLean clansmen.
Out in the cobbled courtyard, the guards had already opened the outer gates, and Nora held her skirts aloft as she rushed down the hillside. A little voice in the back of her head fretted that she should not show Lennox how much she cared, yet it was impossible to stop.
The men were already disembarking by the time she reached the brow of the cliff, where a well-worn path led down to the landing beach. “Lennox!” she exclaimed, immediately spotting his golden head and broad shoulders above the others.
He shaded his eyes against the sun and grinned up at her, calling, “Patience, lass. I’ll be there soon.”
The husky promise in his voice made her stomach flutter.
Some of the servants and other wives were emerging from the castle and surrounding croft houses, chattering among themselves. Nora didn’t want to socialize with them. She didn’t want anything to get in the way of her reunion with Lennox, so to pass the time, she picked wildflowers and began to weave them into a wreath.
She chose red campion, purple thrift, and a few delicate bluebells, interspersing the vivid yellow of ladies’ bedstraw among the blossoms. By the time the MacLeod clansmen started up the path, Nora had set the bright wildflower wreath atop her head and stood waiting, off to one side.
The men who marched past were grimy and sunburned, but when Lennox appeared, Nora thought he had never looked more splendid.
“Hello!” she called.
“Have ye come to greet me? I am honored,” He cupped her cheek with his strong hand, and the simple motion caused pleasure to blossom in her very core.
“We have all been worried,” she said. “What has kept all of you away for so long?”
Lennox caught her hand and led her behind a grove of larch trees. “It’s been terrible. The ship, a Dutch brigantine, was crushed, first broken against the rocks during the storm, then further destroyed when it surged into a deep notch between the cliffs.” A shadow crossed his face. “It took days to recover all the bodies, and even then I do not think we were completely successful. Finally, the MacLean himself fell ill. We were forced to take shelter at Torloisk, another MacLean castle nearby, until Hector recovered his health.” He shook his head, and the sun struck sparks on his gilded hair. “’Twas not a place I would ask even Chaucer to sleep.”
Nora wanted to tell him how worried she’d been, how filled with joy and relief she was to see him safely returned, but she suddenly felt shy. Would she seem like all the other besotted lasses he must have known? “It is so good to see all of you returned home,” Nora said instead.
“Look at ye, wearing a crown,” he teased lightly.
She put her hand up to the flowers, helpless to stop her face from growing warm. “I prefer these to jewels.”
“Ah, Nora, ye have never been more beautiful.” He traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. “Are ye blushing because ye care?”
He was gazing so tenderly into her eyes that she blurted out the truth. “I do.”
“So do I, lass.” Lennox lifted her up in his arms and covered her mouth with his. It was a kiss that ignited a flame of desire between them, yet it had an even deeper effect on Nora, as if he were speaking to her with his body. When at length Lennox raised his head, he murmured, “Let’s go inside, shall we? I want to see what ye have done with the tapestry, and I am in sore need of a bath, if such a thing exists in that drafty old castle.”
It almost felt as if they were truly a happily married couple as they walked arm-in-arm up the sloping green hillside to Duart Castle. Inside, they found Lord Fairhaven drinking a tankard of ale while talking with Cicely, and Hector Mór was already seated near the fire, propping his feet up on a stool.
“It seems I’m not a lad any longer,” the clan chief complained good naturedly, while Fergus limped over to join him. “Where is my whisky, Tilly?”
“You must be hungry,” Nora said to Lennox.
“For food?” His smile held a wicked gleam, and her face grew warmer. “It is the least of my needs today.”
“Every day I was away, ye and the tapestry were in my thoughts,” he said. “Have ye had time to weave?”
She blinked. “In the midst of rescuing the crew of a ship that was dashed on the rocks, you were thinking about my tapestry?”
Lennox arched a brow, feigning surprise. “Is it not our tapestry? If memory serves, I’ve had a hand in its creation as well.”
And so, as he ate his oatcake, they went into her workroom. The bobbins and shuttle lay where she had left them a short while ago, in front of the nearly-completed image of a Highland galley on a wave-tossed sea.
Lennox stared, awestruck. “How can it be that ye have done so much?”
“I have worked many hours each day, as long as I could in this feeble light. Sometimes, when I felt especially inspired, I brought in oil lamps to allow me to weave into the evening.”
“It’s exquisite. Ye are truly gifted.”
He examined her creation with so much care, asking questions about every choice she had made, that Nora felt a warm glow spread through her body as they talked. This man saw and valued a deeply important part of her in a way no one else ever had, not even her father.
“I cannot ever express to you how much it means that you found this loom and created the pattern for”—she paused, her face warm again—“for our tapestry.” She pointed to the small figures that, just this morning, she had woven inside the galley. “Do you see us?”
Lennox took a closer look, a smile lighting his handsome face. “Aye, lass. Ye have even added a touch of russet for your hair, I see.”
“And for yours, I used the same color thread as the sun.” Their eyes met, and her heart melted.
“Let us go to our chamber, shall we?” he suggested softly. “I want to show ye how much you’ve been missed.”