Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  “Why not search for a bride instead of your lost father? Sometimes I suspect you are doing this merely to avoid what is right in front of you… You need someone to share your life with, to give you bairns, to—”

  Lennox held up a hand to silence her. “Leave it alone, Fi. Talk to me about Aunt Tess.”

  “I wouldn’t badger you if I didn’t love you so.” Sighing, Fiona continued, “Aye, I do have word of our aunt.”

  “Word?” Lennox had assumed that, as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Mary, Tess would be present. “Is she not here tonight?” Even as he spoke, his attention firmly returned to the real reason he’d traveled to Stirling Castle. In his mind’s eye, he saw the face of the man in the miniature. Had he not upended his entire existence to embark on this quest? He must be on guard against distractions like the bonny Nora Brodie.

  Fiona was shaking her head. “No, Aunt Tess is not present in the hall. It seems that Her Majesty will soon be delivered of a child, and she has taken a small band of trusted household servants to be with her at Falkland Palace, preparing for the birth. She had a son, Prince John, just last May, and it is very happy news that soon he will have a new brother or sister.” Pausing, Fi smiled to herself, and Lennox recalled that she had become a friend to Mary of Guise when the Frenchwoman was a new bride, in 1538. “As her lady-in-waiting, our aunt was among those who traveled to Falkland rather than coming to Stirling with His Majesty and the rest of the household. They will all be reunited after Easter.”

  “But why did ye not tell me this sooner?” Lennox demanded, his voice rising.

  “Perhaps I only just learned this news myself! Have we not just arrived at Stirling?” She cuffed his arm. “Unlike you, I have been asking questions about Aunt Tess, and unlike you, I have found the answers.”

  He covered his face with both hands. “God save me. What next?”

  “Falkland Palace isn’t very far away. Perhaps you’ll have to travel there to speak to her.” Fiona stared hard at him. “That is, unless you have a better reason to stay right here at Stirling Castle?”

  “Nay.” Even as he denied it, Lennox stole another glance in Nora’s direction. To his surprise, he saw that her place at the table was empty, and for an instant it seemed the candlelight dimmed in the great hall. “As ye say, I will go to Falkland Palace. I have no choice.”

  * * *

  Nora found that she couldn’t walk on her own. The stone floor seemed to spin under her feet and she had to lean against Sir Raymond Slater. What was wrong? If only her father hadn’t gone to sup with the king, she wouldn’t have to rely on the kindness of this imposing Englishman when she began to feel ill.

  “Don’t fret, my dear. I will take you to your rooms,” he was saying, holding her up as they started across the inner close, toward the wing of the old palace where the Brodie rooms were located. “Look, do you see how bright the stars shine tonight? The night sky is like velvet and the stars like diamonds.”

  When she tried to tip her head to look up, it seemed she would fall backward, but Sir Raymond caught her and held her for a long, reassuring moment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Her tongue felt thick. “This has never happened before. Could it have been the sweetmeat?”

  “Nay. I ate two myself! More likely, in the evening’s excitement, you imbibed more wine than you are accustomed to,” he soothed. “I’ll have you in your own rooms soon enough.”

  Though her mind was clouded, Nora was certain her father would be outraged if he knew she was alone with this stranger. “We should call for someone else,” she said. “Another lady.”

  “But which lady would you ask to leave the grand festivities?” he asked, even as he led her across the courtyard. “The music has just commenced. Besides, I have been wanting to see the loom I brought all the way from Flanders for the royal weavers to use. I heard your father has already made great progress in assembling it.”

  He continued on, telling her how difficult it had been to get the loom’s two giant rollers into the hold of the ship, how he had taken care to remind his crew that this was a treasure that would one day produce great pieces of art. As he spoke, they entered the wing where the Brodies had rooms adjoining the workroom. Slater’s tale began to seem tedious to Nora. Why had she imagined she had anything to fear from this man? After all, everyone at the court treated him with great reverence, as if he were a true hero, and he did not appear to be any threat to her innocence.

  When Nora wobbled on the first step of the spiral staircase, the Englishman startled her by swinging her up into his arms and nimbly ascending to the tapestry workrooms. “I beg you, my lady, do not protest,” he said with a debonair smile. “You are as light as air.”

  Nora started to laugh and caught a whiff of his heavy scent: a mixture of ambergris and musk. “I am taller than most, good sir.” Glancing down, she saw that he could not manage to open the door. “Perhaps I could just sit here and wait for Father…”

  “Did you know your own queen is as tall as most men?” Without waiting for her response, he continued to speak in conversational tones while persistently working at the door latch. “I met Mary of Guise once, when I visited France to receive a cargo from her uncle, King François. In those days, she was the Duchess of Longueville. Had you heard that, after she was widowed, King Henry VIII sought her hand in marriage? They said he simply couldn’t bear to think of James V claiming her.”

  Nora sagged against his shoulder, feeling dizzy and grateful for his strong free arm around her waist. “Nay, I did not know that.” She was surprised to hear that her words were slightly slurred.

  He replied as if nothing at all were amiss. “When your queen refused Henry’s offer, she said, ‘I may be a big woman, but I have a very little neck.’ ’Twould seem she had no wish to follow Anne Boleyn to the block.” Sir Raymond gave a bark of laughter and arched a dark brow at this reminder of the English queen’s gory death.

  Nora was so distracted by this odd tale that she scarcely noticed that he had finally gotten the door open. Still, a part of her was alert enough to remember he should not be alone with her inside this private space. “I thank you for bringing me this far, and now…” With a careful effort, she finished, “I must bid you good evening, sir.”

  “Ah, but you promised to show me the loom!”

  “Did I?” Nora blinked, trying to remember. “In truth, I do not feel well.”

  Slater firmly led her to sit in a low, mahogany chair before lighting a single candle with a taper from the fireplace. “I will bring you a cup of wine. It will do wonders to revive you.”

  No sooner had he started toward the shelf where her father kept their spirits than Nora closed her eyes. She felt as if she were sinking into a cool, deep pool of water. It was lovely…as long as she didn’t let her head drop below the surface.

  “Here you go.”

  He was lifting her head, and a cup was poised at her lips. With difficulty, Nora opened her eyes. “I—I am not really thirsty.”

  “Do you not wish to feel better? Of course you do.”

  His deep voice seemed to purr beside her. Had he just touched her ear with the tip of his tongue? “But…”

  “I must insist that you drink. I cannot leave you alone until I know you are feeling better.”

  She tried to sip the wine and discovered that she was much thirstier than she had realized. As he tipped the cup higher and higher, Nora drank more. A dark heat spread through her limbs, rendering her unable to move even before her mind had formed the thought.

  “Fear not. I will put you in your bed, and then you’ll rest, pet.”

  In her bed? Nay, not there. She tried to protest, but could not make a sound. Slater was lifting her up, carrying her through the shadowed room. He peered first into her father’s chamber, then turned to the other door and pushed it open. The gown she had worn earlier that day was spread over a stool, identifying the space as hers.

  “Such a sheltered life you lead. Like a nun!” He clucked his t
ongue, dropped her down on the bed, and straightened to his full height. “But it needn’t be a permanent condition. I have just the remedy. You want that, don’t you?”

  Nora stared up at him through a blur of moonbeams. She attempted to shake her head, but could not move even her toes. Suddenly, he was kneeling on the edge of her mattress, and she saw him fumbling with the padded protrusion of his striped codpiece. The scene felt like a nightmare. Aye, perhaps it truly was but a dream! Bile rose in her throat, and tears trickled down the sides of her face. Please, go away, she tried to shout. Perhaps she had spoken but simply couldn’t hear, just as she was unable to move.

  Slater tugged at her bodice, but thankfully her breasts were covered by layered undergarments that could only be removed one at a time. The room began to spin as he pushed her skirts up, pried her thighs open, and climbed on top of her.

  “Sorry, pet, no time for pleasantries,” he grunted.

  Nora managed to turn her face away from him, only dimly sensing what he was doing. She tried not to inhale his musky scent. Her body was numb. After a few moments, she was aware of a searing pain, as if something had given way deep inside her, and then it was over.

  When Raymond Slater clambered off the bed and readjusted his clothing, Nora could only stare at him, mute. Her head began to pound and her throat was dry as dust. Every part of her, including her vibrant spirit, was numb.

  “That wasn’t much, but you’ll improve with practice. Are you not grateful to me for introducing you to the ways of womanhood?” His tone was smooth as he pulled her skirts down over her bare legs. “And you needn’t worry, pet. This interlude will be our little secret.”

  Chapter 5

  “Perhaps she has merely gone out for a moment of privacy,” Fiona said.

  Lennox, who was staring pensively across the great hall toward the table where Nora Brodie had been sitting a short while ago, drew a harsh breath. “A moment? It has been much longer than that.”

  “If she needed to relieve herself, it would take time,” Fi whispered. “Lasses have layers of skirts and petticoats to deal with.”

  “I don’t know…” Her absence nagged at him. “I feel that something is amiss.”

  “You feel it? My dear brother, you barely know the lass. All your life, you have rescued those in need…but is it your place to intervene with Nora Brodie?” Fiona lifted a delicate brow. “Even if it were up to you, she does not strike me as the type who wishes to be rescued.”

  She had a point, he knew, but uneasiness stirred in him all the same. As soon as Christophe returned to the table, Lennox found an excuse to slip away. It was easy enough to weave unnoticed through the crush of guests, for some of the boards were being removed, and dancing had begun.

  He passed under the arched, torchlit doorway, into the cool open space of the inner close, a courtyard ringed by magnificent royal buildings. Alone except for guards who blended into the shadows, Lennox paused to scan the indigo sky for familiar starry landmarks. A smile touched his mouth at the sight of Venus and the bright W pattern of Cassiopeia. Even though the stars were at their most dazzling above the Isle of Skye, he found it comforting to see the same ones wherever he traveled.

  The sound of footsteps reached his ears, and Lennox saw the man in the vivid blue jerkin who had been sitting beside Nora, now coming toward him from the other side of the courtyard. It was, he recalled, Sir Raymond Slater. The Englishman glanced right and left as he continued to advance toward the flickering torchlight.

  “Good evening, sir,” Lennox greeted.

  For a moment, it seemed Slater would continue past without speaking, but then he seemed to reconsider. Pausing, he forced a tight smile. “Good evening.”

  Before the man could continue on his way, Lennox said in a strong voice, “We have not met, but your reputation precedes you, sir. My name is Lennox MacLeod, of the Isle of Skye.”

  “Hmm. Well enough.” Moonlight silvered Slater’s sharp features as he gave a distracted nod. “I must go.”

  “Wait, sir. I am in search of Mistress Nora Brodie, the tapisier. Have ye seen her?”

  The sea captain blinked before his manner abruptly turned friendly. “Ah, yes, the bonny Mistress Brodie, as you Scots would say! I did encounter her a short time ago. She mentioned feeling overcome by the crush in the hall and said she was going to her rooms to lie down, so I offered her safe escort to her door.” Slater fingered the fur trimming on his jerkin. “If there is nothing more I can do for you, I must be on my way.”

  “Of course. Good night.” Lennox tensed as he watched the Englishman stride off toward a far wing in the old palace, where he doubtless had been given rooms of honor near the royal apartments. Something about the fellow was unsettling, but before Lennox could ponder this further, he caught sight of the thin, slightly stooped figure of William Brodie emerging from the great hall.

  “Have ye seen my daughter, Nora Brodie?” The master weaver exclaimed without preamble.

  Lennox went to meet him and introduced himself. “I have not seen Mistress Brodie myself, but Sir Raymond Slater mentioned that she retired to your rooms.”

  “Ach! My Nora, retired to her bed?” His thick gray brows lowered in concern. “’Tis hard to believe she would depart before the dancing, yet mayhap she overindulged. Nora is not accustomed to so much rich food and wine. I’ll go up now to see for myself.” Brodie’s expression lightened as he added, “Sir Raymond Slater is an impressive man, is he not? He brought the unicorn tapestries and our magnificent loom all the way from France! How kind he was to see my lass to her door while I supped with His Majesty.”

  Lennox tried to relax, to sigh with relief, yet the strange, unsettled feeling persisted. “Indeed,” he agreed politely.

  Nora’s father started off across the uneven, cobbled surface of the torchlit courtyard, but after a few steps, he paused to look back. “Ye said you’re a MacLeod? Brother-in-law to Christophe de St. Briac, the mason I met with tonight?”

  “Aye.”

  “I knew your da, years ago, in Edinburgh.”

  Lennox’s heart leaped like a stag in the forest. “My…da?” No sooner had the words escaped in a choked whisper, than Lennox realized Brodie was, of course, referring to Magnus MacLeod, the man who had raised him.

  “Ye are interested in art? Come round to our workroom, and I’ll show you the Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries. We have great plans for the new loom as well.”

  “I would be pleased to do so.” Lennox drew a breath at the thought of being with Nora in their workroom and talking to her about the tapestries. “My thanks, sir.”

  Brodie stared at him for a long moment. “Our door is open as long as ye do not forget my foremost rule: my daughter is not available to be courted, no matter how pure your intentions may be. Long ago, Nora chose a different, more serious path in life. As an artist, ye must understand what that means.”

  Lennox wanted to continue their conversation. He had so many questions about Nora, about their work, but this was not the time. So, instead, Lennox watched as the older man continued on his way, until he had passed through one of the entrances to the darkened palace.

  As clouds passed overhead, Lennox realized he was standing all alone in the courtyard, bathed in a pool of silvery moonlight. Behind him, the great hall blazed with light, and the air fairly vibrated with the strains of music, laughter, and raised voices, but he stood, unmoving, until he saw a candleflame flicker in one of the upper rooms of the royal building where Nora and her father lodged.

  Lennox drew a harsh sigh. He wished he could have accompanied William Brodie, just to see for himself that Nora was all right. Lowering his head, he paused to rub the side of his jaw, wondering again what caused this sense of disquiet.

  You barely know the lass, Fiona had reminded him. All your life, you have rescued those in need…but is it your place to intervene with Nora Brodie?

  Nay, Fi was right. Lennox inhaled an almost painfully deep breath of night air and realized he must return
to his own rooms. If he planned to travel to Falkland Palace on the morrow, there were preparations to be made.

  * * *

  Nora lay wide awake in the darkness, feeling as if someone had wrapped her entire body in cotton batting and now was attempting to split her skull with a dagger. Her mouth was so dry. Her legs tingled as if tiny pins were pricking her flesh, and she gradually became aware of a raw pain at her very core.

  Bile rose again in her throat as the memories returned in jagged pieces. Sir Raymond kneeling beside her on the mattress, untying the strings of his codpiece. Lying on top of her, groaning, his weight forcing the breath from her lungs, as he pushed and pushed himself into her body.

  Had it truly happened? Sick with dread, Nora drew her skirts up just far enough to touch between her legs. Her tender flesh burned, and a sticky fluid coated her fingers. She could have wept with despair.

  Another memory returned, from the tapestry workroom in London’s Whitehall Palace. Nora’s young body was blossoming and one of the old weavers had noticed how some of the men were looking at her. The elderly woman pulled her aside one day, warning, “Keep your skirts down and your legs closed, young miss! If a man plants his seed in you, you’ll give birth to a bastard!” And in the years since, her father had muttered similar warnings, although no one had offered any clear information.

  My God, Nora thought, what have I done?

  Suddenly she was overcome with a need to wash. Her father might return and come in to check on her. The substance between her legs had a distinctive scent. What if her father should enter, see her rumpled bed, and detect the odor? Shame and panic swept over her as she imagined such a scene.

  It was unthinkable.

  How much time had passed since Sir Raymond Slater left her chamber? Gathering her resolve, Nora managed to sit up and bring her legs over the side of the bed. The room swayed up and down for long moments then gradually righted itself. Reaching out, Nora held on to the back of a chair and came up to a standing position. Nearby the candle beckoned weakly to her, its flame sputtering in a pool of melted tallow. As Nora lifted the candlestick, wax dripped down the sides, and the flame came alive again. She set it on the deep sill of her mullioned window and rested against the stone surface, trying to get her bearings.