Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  Yet, he knew his feelings for this lass were real. Feelings that he hardly trusted himself to name. It was a complicated business, for this coupling was something far more serious than their stormy, wordless union in the woods.

  Her mass of curls lay over his chest, deliciously fragrant. He ran his free hand down the creamy line of her back, over her hip, and cupped her lovely bottom.

  “How do ye feel?” he asked.

  She turned a glowing face up to him. “I feel as if I could fly away, like an angel.”

  Her words dispelled most of his doubts. “Aye, ye are an angel indeed. And now ye can fly away from the memory of that villain.” He kissed her, savoring the sweetness of her mouth. “Together, we have burned away what he did to you. It’s gone.”

  A shadow seemed to pass over her face before she whispered, “For now.”

  Lennox hated the thought of Sir Raymond Slater lurking in a hidden corner of Nora’s soul. “Now is all that matters, love. This very moment.” He felt himself begin to harden again inside her, and her answering, intimate response. “We’ll find a way through whatever lies ahead.”

  Nora made no reply but kissed him instead. As the real world slipped away, Lennox told himself that was answer enough.

  * * *

  Hours later, Nora disengaged from Lennox’s sleeping body and rose from the bed. She found her discarded smock in a pool on the floor and slipped it over her head. Her naked body was tender, almost bruised from so much lovemaking, yet she had never felt more like a woman.

  Leaning into the deep stone sill below the narrow window, Nora glimpsed the full moon that silvered the nearby Sound of Mull. What time was it? Midnight at least, she supposed. Lennox slumbered, one brown arm thrown back over his head, but she could not find such peace.

  It was a relief to have told him so much of the truth, to share the burden of her secret about Slater, to bring it out in the open where Lennox had done his best to destroy its power over her. Nora closed her eyes and pondered all they had said and the past hours she had spent in his arms, discovering the utter splendor of what could exist between a man and woman.

  It meant so much that he had professed to care, to want to make their handfasting a true marriage, no matter what lay ahead for him in London. Yet Nora knew it was not so simple for Lennox. Who knew what lay waiting for him around the next corner?

  Her hand went to her abdomen. She splayed her slim fingers, searching for a sign of the baby who was growing inside her, and tonight it seemed that the curve of her belly was a bit firmer. If she had told Lennox tonight about this baby, they never could have shared these stolen hours of passion and raw intimacy. Didn’t they both deserve this interlude? Perhaps it would be all Nora would have to warm her heart in the years ahead.

  Soon, I will tell him the truth.

  A muffled groan of complaint came from the big bed. “Where have ye gone, lass?”

  Turning, Nora pulled off the smock. Moments later, she was back in bed, molding herself to Lennox’s lean, muscular body. He was warm, smiling sleepily as he rolled her over into the pillows and kissed her.

  Nora let the waves of exquisite, deep happiness flow through her body and spirit. Opening her mouth to his, she reminded herself of his words: This moment is all that matters…

  Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  Chapter 19

  London, England

  June 1541

  Lennox found it impossible to stay seated as the Earl of Fairhaven’s barge glided up the sun-spangled River Thames, surrounded by countless other vessels. It was as if he were in another world entirely, one that bore no resemblance to the Isle of Skye or even Edinburgh.

  The legendary city of London that spread beyond the banks of the river was a jumbled maze of gabled rooftops, chimneys, and spires, filled with people of every description who moved about wherever he looked. Of course, there were no Highlanders among them and Lennox suddenly was conscious of his belted plaid, the sash fastened to his shoulder with a brooch. Some of these men wore soft plumed caps, quite unlike Lennox’s tartan bonnet with its clan MacLeod badge.

  Of course, he thought ruefully, envisioning the man in the miniature with the swan’s feather in his velvet cap. What did I expect?

  The voices that reached his ears, including the shouts of the watermen on Fairhaven’s barge, did not sound like his Scots brogue, and certainly none of these Englishmen carried a giant claymore or wore a dirk at his belt.

  “Are you looking forward to this adventure in London?” asked Cicely. She had come to stand at his elbow without Lennox even noticing.

  “I cannot truly say,” he admitted. “If I can solve the riddle of the man in the painting, I will be glad to have come. Do I expect to enjoy myself in London?” He gave a wry shrug, surveying the outline of the bustling city. “It is very foreign to me. I feel…”

  “Wary?” Cicely supplied.

  “Aye.” He paused, gesturing from his windblown locks to the folds of his belted plaid before adding, “And, as ye can see, I am a Scots thistle among these English roses.”

  “Ah, but a very handsome thistle, sir.”

  Lennox had no patience for her banter. Glancing away, he felt the tightening in his chest that had been coming more and more often of late. It was a sort of grief, he sensed, the prospect of trading his Highland identity to become a different person. Did he truly want this?

  Swans glided over to the side of the barge, seeming to recognize Cicely. “They hope for a treat,” she remarked. “I used to try to pet them when I was a child, but my brother forbade it, claiming to know someone who had a finger bitten off by a swan.” She glanced back to the cushioned bench where Nora reclined next to Fairhaven, looking pale and dispirited. “Your lovely wife has not been herself for days. Do you fear for her health?”

  It was true that Nora had suffered from what she called mal de mer, ever since they’d left the Isle of Mull. The seas were often rough, and Lennox had found himself on deck much of the time, working alongside the crew of Lord Fairhaven’s sloop. And once they had neared London, he had been distracted by the realization that his whole life might be about to change.

  Yet, looking back at Nora now, he felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt. How could he be so focused by his own concerns that he had not kept a closer watch on her?

  “Nora assures me that she has always been plagued by seasickness,” Lennox said. He was about to go to her when Cicely put a hand on his arm.

  “She has told me the same, and I know she also understands all that weighs on your mind. You are seeing this city for the first time. And you have come a very long way on an important quest for your…relative?” Cicely’s voice trailed off expectantly.

  “Ye will know more soon enough, when I speak to your brother,” he replied.

  He was relieved when she stepped back. “I think that meeting is at hand, but meanwhile, I will go to Nora and leave you to your thoughts.”

  * * *

  Nora looked up as Cicely took a seat beside her, the yellow silk of her skirts billowing around her.

  “Your splendid Highlander is very concerned about you,” said Cicely.

  She managed a weak smile. “I know that he is, but other matters must come first today for Lennox.” Feeling the Englishwoman’s watchful gaze, she added a small falsehood. “I am fine. No doubt my queasiness will be cured when we are back on dry land.”

  “Hmm. Do you think so?”

  Nora was spared from thinking of a reply as Lord Fairhaven, who had been dozing on some nearby cushions, clambered to his feet. Shading his eyes to survey the shoreline, he exclaimed, “There it is. What a welcome sight!”

  Cicely clapped her hands, beaming. “Andrew will be so surprised to see us.”

  They were drawing up before a water-gate that opened onto a series of wide stone steps. In the distance stood a grand home of rose-salmon brick, its diamond-paned windows agleam in the late-afternoon sunlight.

  “Whose house is this?” asked Nora as
the arched doors opened and an old man tottered out, followed by several other liveried servants. “Who is Andrew?”

  “Have I not told you? Andrew is my brother, the Duke of Aylesbury.”

  Even as the waterman brought them alongside the steps, water lapping at the sides of the barge, Lennox turned in surprise to look at the Fairhavens. “Are we not going to your home?”

  “Oh, no,” said Lord Fairhaven with a shake of his head. He started forward, his greyhound obediently at his side. “Our home is not nearly so grand, and besides, it’s the duke who will help you find the fellow in the miniature, whomever he might be.”

  Nora sat up straight, feeling the tension in Lennox’s body even from a distance. “I didn’t expect to be presented to a duke and duchess, let alone become a guest in their home,” she protested. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Because you doubtless would have refused,” Cicely returned brightly. “And now you cannot.”

  * * *

  When they had disembarked and climbed the shallow steps, Lennox felt his heart clench at the sight of the grand house and the servants coming toward them. By the saints, why had he ever embarked on this unlikely quest? For a moment, he envisioned the achingly familiar faces of Magnus, Alasdair Crotach, Ciaran, and Fiona. Had it been a mistake to spurn the fine life he’d been born to on the Isle of Skye in order to chase after the mysterious aristocrat his mother had loved?

  Nora touched his arm, bringing him back to the moment. “You had to come,” she murmured, her beautiful eyes rich with emotion. “We both know it.”

  The clear understanding Lennox felt from her was deeply reassuring. He straightened and took a deep breath. “Aye. Thank God ye are here to set me straight, lass.”

  As more people emerged from the manor house, he perceived that he was about to meet the Duke and Duchess of Aylesbury. The duke, a handsome, fair-haired man with an air of wry charm, embraced Cicely. At his side stood a graceful, lovely woman, her cognac-hued hair partially obscured by a stylish French hood.

  “What plans are you hatching now, child?” the duke was asking his sister in mock dismay.

  “Will you call me child until we are both old and gray?” Cicely parried. Before he could reply, she rushed on. “Andrew, I’ve brought the most wonderful friends to stay here with us. You don’t mind, do you? When you hear their story, you’ll understand completely!”

  “Allow me to greet our visitors,” he said, and walked toward Lennox and Nora.

  Cicely hurried in her brother’s wake, clearly planning to take charge, but before she could speak, the duke extended his hand.

  “Welcome to Weston House.” His tone was affable, but he was staring at Lennox as if trying to place him from a previous meeting. “I am Andrew Weston, Duke of Aylesbury, but you must call me Sandhurst. I’ve only been a duke for a few months, but I’ve answered to Sandhurst all my life.” Smiling, he brought his lady forward. “This is my wife, Micheline.”

  Lennox bowed to the noble couple, feeling more comfortable by the moment. “My name is Lennox MacLeod, of the Isle of Skye, and this is Nora Brodie, my—”

  Before he could say the word wife, Nora spoke up. “I am Nora Brodie, and it is an honor to be with you both.” She curtseyed to them. “You will not remember, Your Grace, but I met you a few years ago, when I was but a girl. My father oversaw the weaving of a new arras, a small hanging tapestry for your baby daughter’s bedchamber. I accompanied the men who delivered it.” She beamed at the duchess. “I have never forgotten the kindness you showed me that day.”

  Cicely interjected, “You already knew Andrew and Micheline, Nora? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because the people I met were the Marquess and Marchioness of Sandhurst,” Nora explained. “I didn’t know of their…change in circumstances.”

  Smiling radiantly, the duchess spoke with a charming French accent, catching one of Nora’s hands in both of hers. “Ah, oui! I do remember you, mademoiselle. You were an aspiring weaver, under the tutelage of your father, the master.” She caught the sleeve of her husband’s dove-gray doublet. “You remember Nora as well, don’t you, Andrew?”

  “I do.” He gave his wife a bemused smile. “I suggest that we all go inside, where we can unravel this conversation at our leisure.”

  “Ye are very kind, Your Grace.” Lennox felt a surge of hope as he smiled at them in turn.

  “Not a bit,” said Micheline. “And do call me Micheline. Titles only get in the way of friendships, we believe.”

  As they walked through the doorway, Sandhurst said dryly, “Later, after you’ve had a chance to rest and refresh yourselves, we’ll regale you with the tale of our first meeting, when I traveled to France in the guise of a humble portrait painter.”

  * * *

  The entry hall of Weston House was as warm and welcoming as their hosts, and Nora was pleased to see that nothing had changed since Lord Sandhurst became the Duke of Aylesbury. Throgmorton, the ancient steward, directed the green-liveried footmen to show the guests to separate chambers. Nora sensed that Lennox was about to protest that they were married, but she put a hand on his arm.

  When they were out of earshot, halfway up the wide, oak-paneled staircase, she paused. “I beg you to leave it for now.”

  He stared at her as the servants continued on ahead of them, carrying their meager belongings. “Why don’t ye want to say that we are wed?”

  Nora’s heart hurt, wishing she could tell the world of their handfasting and share her husband’s bed, but she steeled herself and held fast. “Wait until you know more. Trust me, please.”

  “Do ye believe anything I learn about my true father could change the way I feel about you?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

  “No, of course not.” Although his expression tore at her heart, she started up the stairs again, leaving him no choice but to join her. “So much is happening today, and you know I have not been feeling well. I will be glad to have a quiet respite to myself.”

  “We had so little time together during the voyage here.” He looked stung. “I’ve missed ye, lass, and I am a stranger here in this city.”

  Nora could have wept. “I have missed you, too. But please, just for now, say nothing—” She broke off when one of the footmen appeared at the top of the stairs, clearly wondering what had happened to them. “There will be time enough later to say we are wed, but for now I long to go to my room and lie down for a bit. I have a feeling it will be an eventful evening.”

  Upstairs, the young footman whom Throgmorton had addressed at Bartholomew opened a heavy oak door and announced, “Your chamber, sir,” to Lennox. The other servant ushered Lennox inside, and Nora followed Bartholomew down the corridor.

  When he stopped before a door and opened it, Nora beheld a lovely chamber decorated in shades of rose and ivory. There were even dried rose petals among the fresh herbs on the floor, and the diamond-paned windows overlooked inviting gardens. She stared at the big bed with its carved posts, longing to crawl beneath the counterpane and stay there indefinitely.

  “It’s lovely. Thank you so much.”

  Bartholomew bowed. “One of the maidservants will soon arrive to attend you, madame.”

  When she was alone, Nora sank into a low chair near the windows. Tears of despair welled up in her. She felt nauseous much of the time these days and knew that her baby was making herself known. Slater’s baby, though that did not change the love that swelled inside her for this tiny new life.

  Could there still be a path forward for her with Lennox? That fragile hope had kept Nora going ever since the nights of bliss they shared at Duart Castle. Perhaps his father’s identity would not be revealed here in London, or the man in the miniature would be lost without a trace. She could imagine Lennox making peace with that and returning to Scotland.

  If they were left to make a life together on their own, Nora had hope he might accept another man’s baby. Had he not made it clear he did not hold Nora responsible for what had happened with
Slater?

  But, before she could tell Lennox about the baby, she had to know what lay in store for him. Whenever she thought of the way the Duke of Aylesbury had gazed searchingly at Lennox, her heart felt heavy with foreboding.

  A light tap came at the door, interrupting Nora’s reverie, and before she could even speak, Cicely peeked in.

  “Are you all right? Where is Lennox?” No sooner were the words out than Cicely seemed to assess Nora’s mood and entered without an invitation. “Oh, I was right. Something is amiss! I can see it in your face. It’s not just mal de mer after all, is it?”

  Nora leaned back and turned her face against the cool oak-paneled wall. In her cloistered life spent mostly with her father, female friends had been few. Now she found herself yearning to open up to someone. “No. It is more.”

  Rushing over, Cicely knelt before her, her sable eyes penetrating. “Are you with child?”

  This question caught Nora so completely by surprise, she couldn’t think of a way to avoid the truth. “If I tell you, you must swear that you will not speak of it to another person.”

  Cicely dramatically made the sign of the cross. “I swear!”

  “It’s true. I am with child.”

  “But is that not a cause for joy? Why are you and Lennox keeping this news a secret?”

  “In truth, it is a secret even Lennox does not know,” Nora replied miserably.

  Cicely blinked in confusion. “I still do not understand.”

  “I have not told Lennox…because he is not the baby’s father.”

  Chapter 20

  Nora had not meant to divulge so much, but now that the words were out, there was no going back. In fact, she felt a surge of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted.

  Cicely was staring in shock. “What on earth can you mean?” she exclaimed.

  The story emerged in fits and starts. “When I was at Stirling Castle, with my father, I was dedicated to my weaving, determined never to marry or even to be distracted by notions of romance.”