Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  “Lennox is a painter,” Grant announced. “He is artistic, as ye are.”

  “How nice,” Nora replied. Yet, in spite of her resolve to hold him at arm’s length, she wanted to know more.

  “I am very interested in the art of weaving,” said Lennox. “And I’ve always wanted to see the sorts of priceless tapestries I’ve heard about all my life. Ye have seen them with your own eyes?”

  Nora couldn’t help smiling. “I have. I was raised in Flanders, where the most magnificent tapestries of all are made.” She was gratified to see a bright glint of interest in his eyes. “My father has given his life to creating cartoons and weaving tapestries. It has been my privilege to join him in that world.”

  “I’d be grateful if ye would show me some of the tapestries that are in your care here at Stirling Castle,” he said.

  “We do have some truly splendid new works that have recently arrived by ship from France,” she said, as enthusiasm bubbled up inside. “The Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries.”

  “The unicorn has virtually become the symbol of Scotland, it seems.”

  “It is true!” She felt drawn to the Highlander by an invisible thread. “My father says the unicorn is a metaphor for Christ himself.”

  “Fascinating.” Lennox gave her a smile that dazzled like the sun itself. “I hope ye will be good enough to enlighten me further, Mistress Brodie.”

  “Perhaps. But please call me Nora.”

  “Agreed.” He looked into her eyes. “And I am Lennox.”

  Nora suddenly found it hard to breathe, and an inner alarm sounded within her. Ever since she’d grown old enough to experience even twinges of amorous desire, she had learned to tamp them down as quickly as possible. Once again, she reminded herself that if she meant to achieve her aspiration to become a female weaver, there could be no room for romance in her life, not even at a distance.

  And so, with a polite nod to Lennox MacLeod, Nora turned away. “And now, I really must return to our workroom. Good day.”

  She smiled and made farewells to the others, but avoided the Highlander’s questing gaze. So quickly did Nora turn and hurry off, she felt the low heal on her shoe come off, but the last thing she wanted to do was call attention to herself by stopping to retrieve it. Perhaps Grant, who followed in her wake, would pick it up.

  “What’s amiss?” the youth whispered as he drew alongside, taking her arm. “Are ye ill?”

  “I merely realized the time. Father will be looking for me.”

  “But,” teased Grant, “I thought ye resisted such confinements.”

  “I wish I could.” Nora didn’t understand why she had felt so warm, even breathless, in the company of Lennox MacLeod, but she knew she could not allow it. “Unfortunately, I live in Father’s world, and I must find ways to achieve my goals without being singled out as a rebel.”

  Quickly, she traversed the inner close, weaving among the noisy clusters of stone masons and carpenters who were building the new palace. Just before she stepped inside to climb the tower steps, she felt that someone was watching her. Turning to scan the courtyard, she saw a tall, slender man with curly dark hair and a rakish beard. He was openly staring at her, grinning, and when their eyes met, he swept off his plumed cap and bowed low.

  Nora hurried inside, feeling unusually precarious as she lifted her skirts and rushed up the turnpike stairway, back to the safety of the tapestry-filled workroom.

  * * *

  Sitting beside her father in the castle’s magnificent great hall, Nora watched as servants entered with platters of roasted swans in full plumage, their beaks artfully gilded. A harpist played an ethereal tune near the high table, where the king was now being seated in a carved wooden throne, flanked by a dozen trusted courtiers.

  “I thought it was your great desire to attend these festivities,” said William Brodie, nearly shouting to be heard above the other voices, laughter, and music. “Are ye not impressed?”

  Looking over at her father, Nora realized that she’d been chewing at her lower lip. It had always been a sign to those who knew her best that she was ill-at-ease. “I am impressed indeed.” She gestured toward the splendid hammer-beam ceiling high above them. “I did not realize anything quite so grand existed in Scotland.”

  “Aye, that’s part of the reason I wanted to bring ye here to Stirling. Ye know little of your true heritage, lass, and the rest of the world seems to think Scotland is a wild and backward place.”

  “I suppose I always had the idea you left here for that very reason,” she said.

  Her father shrugged and lifted a cup of wine to his lips, to hide a smile, she suspected. “When I was young, I knew I would have to travel to pursue my dreams. I heard rumors that great art was to be found in Europe. Once I got there and was apprenticed to a fine weaver, I knew I had found my place in the world.”

  “And then you met Mama,” Nora interjected.

  His eyes grew wintry. “Aye. With your birth, I thought we were making a true family, but your ma could not submit to the will of her husband. She—” Her father broke off with a shake of his head. “Pay no attention to me. This wine has loosened my tongue.”

  Farther down their long table, Nora saw Grant sitting with his stepfather and mother, Bayard and Judith de Nieuil. Judith was a beautiful, prickly woman, but Bayard was a warm bear of a man, whom Grant loved like a true father. It seemed Bayard was even able to light a flame inside Judith’s chilly heart.

  Nora had learned from Grant that Bayard had been a master mason laboring here at Stirling to build a new palace in the French style. However, when Christophe de St. Briac had arrived in recent weeks from the Isle of Skye, Bayard had gladly relinquished that position to his mentor.

  Now, Bayard sat with the newly-reunited St. Briac family, conversing animatedly, while Christophe held his baby son on his lap and fed him bites of roasted lamb. Fiona was there too, looking blissfully happy. When Nora caught her eye, the two women exchanged smiles.

  At that moment, Lennox MacLeod entered the hall. Nora saw him immediately. She couldn’t help staring, for he resembled a mythical Norse god come to life. He wore a snow-white linen shirt and a belted plaid, with a sash bisecting his wide, hard chest. A thousand candleflames seemed to illuminate every strand of gold in Lennox’s tousled hair, and the smile he turned her way made her feel lightheaded. Nora dared to smile back as he took a seat next to Grant, though she knew she shouldn’t. Any contact with this man was dangerous, like reaching out to recklessly touch a flame.

  “Ah, at last we meet,” a voice murmured into her ear.

  Startled, Nora came back to reality. She glanced up to see the dark, curly-haired man from the courtyard, bending down to make himself heard. Before she could think of a response, her father spoke.

  “’Tis Sir Raymond Slater, am I right?” William boomed. “’Twas your ship that brought the magnificent unicorn tapestries and our grand new loom to Scotland. My name is William Brodie. My daughter Nora and I are the tapisiers who are charged with caring for those treasures.” He looked expectantly at Nora. “Lass, will ye not give thanks to this fine man?”

  Before she could speak, Slater was sweeping off his peacock-feathered cap. “Mistress Brodie, it is I who must speak words of appreciation. Your exquisite beauty illuminates this entire hall.”

  Nora rose to stand before him, feeling more uncertain than shy. “You are too kind, sir.” Yet she couldn’t help basking in the realization that she looked pretty in this, the single fine gown she owned. Fashioned of pearl-gray velvet and white silk, it had been a gift from a female weaver in London. Nora suspected the lady, named Marianne, had felt sorry for Nora with only William to look after her. Her father had scoffed when Nora unwrapped the gown, saying she would never have good reason to wear such a creation, but tonight when she emerged from her chamber in the pearl-gray gown, he’d beamed.

  “Ye will put the queen to shame, lass,” William had said proudly.

  And she did look pretty. The gown acc
entuated Nora’s rich, coppery locks and striking blue eyes. Usually, her looks were the farthest thing from her mind, but tonight was different.

  “Will ye share a cup of wine with us?” William asked the Englishman.

  Sir Raymond Slater nodded and took a seat beside Nora. He was richly garbed in a jerkin of sapphire-blue velvet trimmed with gold braid, worn over a slashed, blue-and-bronze doublet, and Nora couldn’t help noticing the contrast between Slater’s appearance and the simpler clothing worn by Lennox MacLeod. As her father continued on about the tapestries, explaining why they were so rare, so valuable, Nora sensed that Sir Raymond was scarcely listening. She could feel his gaze on her face, and the sensual part of her that had been ignited today by the presence of Lennox MacLeod began to flicker again.

  “Did ye know,” William was continuing enthusiastically, “a set of tapestries such as this one could cost as much as a great warship?”

  “Indeed?” Slater replied coolly. “Then perhaps I should have kept them for myself and sailed on, past Scotland.”

  Nora sensed her father’s deep shock at such a notion. He froze beside her then abruptly began to laugh and reached over to clap the Englishman’s shoulder. “Ha, sir! I know ye are in jest, but I must advise that ye not repeat such remarks. I suspect others would not be amused.”

  A thin, liveried servant was approaching and came to a stop beside Nora’s father’s chair.

  “My good sir,” the young man greeted William, “the king requests that you join him at the high table so that he might impart a few words of appreciation.”

  Nora felt a wave of happiness for her father. “Only a few days have passed since the royal court arrived from Linlithgow,” she whispered, “and already His Majesty has heard about you, Father.”

  “Aye.” William colored slightly and rose to his feet. “But I cannot leave you here alone, lass.”

  “Never fear,” Sir Raymond Slater said with a grand gesture. “I shall look after your daughter in your absence, sir. It would be my honor.”

  When William had left them, Nora fell silent, waiting for the next course to arrive.

  “You are a very beautiful woman,” Slater said suddenly. He leaned closer, and she could feel the heat of his scented body and smell the wine on his breath. “I suspect your father has sheltered you from the pleasures of the world, yes?”

  Nora’s stomach jumped. “Certainly our work does keep us apart from the world, but it is also my choice,” she replied.

  “And how old are you, Nora?”

  His use of her Christian name made her feel even more nervous. “Two and twenty,” she replied softly, well aware how many females were wed and mothers many times over by the time they reached her age.

  “Such a shame, for so much beauty to go untasted.” In the next instant, he moved away, and his tone lightened. “My apologies, Mistress Brodie, if I was overfamiliar. I fear I was momentarily overpowered by your charms. Allow me to make amends.”

  Nora softened. After all, he was a very handsome man, and she did not want to be stiff and prim. It was not the way she saw herself at all. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  He reached inside his jerkin, and a moment later he withdrew a small emerald-encrusted box. “In this case I keep something very special: rare sweetmeats from the West Indies.” Slater pushed at a tiny clasp and the case opened. “I only share this delicacy with a few close friends.”

  She wanted to say that the two of them were hardly close friends, but Nora’s mouth watered at the sight of the sweetmeats. Sugar was her weakness, and when was the last time she had eaten such a delicacy? “You’re very kind, sir.”

  The Englishman wore jeweled rings on his long, pale fingers. Nora watched, spellbound, as he reached out to pluck one of the sweetmeats from the case and put it in her hand. “I promise, you will find it sublime.”

  Chapter 4

  Lennox ate the sumptuous meal and listened as Grant excitedly detailed King James V’s plan to confine lions at Stirling Castle.

  “There is a courtyard being constructed in the center of the new palace that the king has named the lion’s den!” Grant shook his head as he spoke. “It’s shocking, don’t ye agree? Lions belong in the wild jungles of Africa, not in a stone enclosure. I intend to find a way to stop this mad scheme.”

  Lennox nodded, listening with half an ear as he cast a sidelong glance at Nora Brodie. She sat with her father at another table, clad in a gown of pearl-gray velvet with lightly slashed sleeves revealing puffs of ivory satin. Her thick curls were swept back in a style that was at once simple yet elegant, set off by a French hood trimmed in silver and pearls. Even from a distance, he could discern the sparkle in the lass’s blue eyes, the graceful line of her neck and jaw, the animation in her gestures as she conversed with her father. What was she saying? What brought that radiant smile to her lips? She was, Lennox decided, the most beautiful woman in the entire great hall.

  Nay, he corrected himself. Nora Brodie was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Anywhere. A strange desire came over him to go and sit beside her. Did he not have a perfect excuse to do so? Earlier that day, he had retrieved the broken heel of her shoe in the courtyard, and now it was concealed in the pouch at his belt, along with the miniature of his true father.

  Aye, he could join her at the table, return the heel, and then they would find themselves engaged in easy conversation. Lennox felt a rush of euphoria as he imagined divulging the story of his quest with an openness he could not grant even to his family members. Deep inside, he sensed that Nora would listen and understand, and then she would share her own life story…

  A hand cuffed his arm. “Have ye heard one word I’ve said?” cried Grant. The youth followed his gaze and gave a low snort. “Ach, I see ye are taken with Nora.”

  “I needn’t be taken with a lass to admire her.” Although Lennox’s tone was casual, he felt his face warm. By the saints, was he blushing? Before Grant could call him out, he added, “Perhaps ye are the one who fancies her?”

  The youth sat up straighter, brightening. “I won’t deny it. I confess, if I were older, I would do battle to win Nora’s hand.”

  Just then, Lennox was rescued when Fiona gestured from the other side of the table. “Come and sit with me,” his sister invited softly. “I have news.”

  Remembering that Fi had pledged to discover if their Aunt Tess had come to Stirling with the king and queen, Lennox pushed to his feet.

  “We will continue this fascinating discussion at a later time.” With a smile, Lennox leaned down to pat Grant’s thin shoulder, then started around the table. The great hall felt stifling to him, warmed by the bodies of countless perfumed courtiers and their ladies. How could these people live this way, day in and day out?

  “Do sit with me,” Fiona greeted him. Reaching up, she caught his hand and drew him down on the bench beside her. “The king has summoned Christophe to meet William Brodie, the master weaver, to discuss the plans for placement of the tapestries in the new palace. It seemed a perfect time for us to talk.”

  Lennox saw that Lucien, his little nephew, was occupied by Bayard, who sat nearby with his wife, Judith. The robust French mason held the boy on his lap and showed him a little carved wooden lion. Beaming, Lucien brandished the toy and growled, showing his tiny teeth.

  “It’s nice that the wee lad is allowed to join you in this formal setting,” Lennox remarked.

  “Oh, I believe they are so happy to have Christophe here to oversee the last stages of the new palace, he can do as he pleases.” She reached out, still smiling, to touch Lennox’s face. “How handsome you are, brother. You put these other fancy courtiers to shame.”

  “Ye view me in a favored light, sister,” he laughed. “The rest of the court stares as if I have escaped from that lion’s den the king wants to build.”

  “You’re mad.” Fiona shook her head fondly and speared a bite of marchpane tart with her eating knife.

  “Did ye summon me only to say that?
I was expecting news of our aunt.”

  “As it happens, I do have news.” She held another morsel of the tart up to him. “You must try this. I can promise, you’ve never tasted anything like it on the Isle of Skye.” She waited, then pretended to frown. “Do open your mouth!”

  Lennox obeyed with a sigh, allowing his sister to feed him. “I agree, it is delicious. But what about Aunt Tess?” Even as he spoke, his attention wandered briefly back to Nora Brodie, and he allowed himself a brief look in her direction. To his surprise, her father had disappeared from her side, replaced by a richly garbed courtier with black hair and a pointed beard who leaned forward, as if intending to block Lennox’s view.

  “Are you listening?” Fiona demanded, nudging him.

  He gave himself a mental shake. If he kept glancing toward Nora, Fiona would quickly pinpoint his weakness and proclaim it aloud. “Of course I’m listening. But who is that man over there with the ridiculous peacock plume in his cap? Do ye know him?”

  “Oh, that is Sir Raymond Slater. He is the captain of Hercules, the ship that brought the grand Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries from France. Ever since the king arrived, His Majesty has been fawning over the Englishman.” She paused to give a disparaging sniff. “Christophe tells me, however, that Sir Raymond is a swaggering knave who basks in the praise that comes his way. He takes so much credit for the tapestries, one would think that he wove them himself!”

  Lennox wanted to rise and make his way to Nora’s table, to find a way to remove Slater and take the Englishman’s place at her side. Should he find out if she needed his assistance?

  “Forget about that man, will you please?” Fiona reached out to lightly tap his cheek. “Honestly, Lennox, sometimes I think you should be on a different sort of quest—one that has to do with your future rather than some secret from the past.”

  “What are ye going on about now?” Of course, he knew well enough. She’d given him this speech several times during their journey from the Isle of Skye to Stirling Castle.