Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  Finally, feeling the damp chill through her cloak, Nora spoke. “Do you never intend that we should travel on a real road?”

  Chaucer had slowed to negotiate a rocky stretch in front of them, and Lennox took that opportunity to look back, his face inches away from Nora’s. “What did ye have in mind?”

  He sounded almost amused, which irked her. “I’m certain you must know what I mean! A road! A proper thoroughfare that passes through villages, where we might find an inn to offer us a warm meal and a clean bed.” Nora paused and widened her eyes for emphasis.

  Lennox laughed as a gust of wet wind nearly took off his cap of tartan wool. “Do ye imagine there is such a thing nearby? This is Scotland, lass. In the Highlands, there are neither roads nor inns.” He spoke the two words as if they were vastly amusing to him.

  She gave a soft gasp of disbelief. “A tavern, then, with a meager chamber for let.”

  “Nay. None of those either, at least not between Stirling and Oban.”

  “But where, then, shall we sleep?”

  “Oh, I will think of something.” Lennox smiled in a way that made her feel warm. His eyes rested on her mouth and she flushed.

  “What is it?” Nora put a hand up to her lower lip. “A blemish?”

  He merely gave a soft laugh and shook his head, urging Chaucer forward. “I know ye have enjoyed a life of comforts that doubtless did not include sleeping outdoors, but it may well happen tonight.”

  She held onto him, feeling his back muscles against her cheek. “But it is raining!”

  “Perhaps ye prefer to return to Stirling Castle?”

  Nora thought of the babe that must be growing inside her, so tiny that there was no sign of it yet. Reminding herself that Lennox was doing her a favor, she resolved to endure whatever trials lay in store for them.

  At least, if they were going to sleep in a ditch during a storm, he would be unlikely to claim his rights as her new husband…

  * * *

  Thankfully, the rain had stopped by the time Lennox turned onto a path leading into the woods. Before long, they came upon a snug little clearing, and Chaucer halted of his own accord. Smiling, Lennox patted the horse’s flank, dismounted, and reached up for Nora.

  “We’ll rest here,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t protest.

  Nora wrinkled her nose doubtfully, but came down into his arms all the same. Holding her, Lennox realized that he didn’t want to let go. Desire rose up from his core, mingling with something new and sweet. Affection, perhaps? Her hair was fragrant against his face, and he wanted to bring her closer, to fit her body to his.

  Chaucer broke the moment by nudging them with his nose.

  “There is a burn nearby,” Lennox murmured. “Listen. Can ye hear it?”

  He thought he could sense her heartbeat slowing as she nodded. “That’s your Scots word for a stream, is it not? Chaucer must be thirsty.”

  “Aye. We’ll camp here for the night.” Reluctantly, he let her go and turned his attention to the chestnut stallion.

  When they had all seen to their needs, Lennox filled a jug with water from the burn and brought it back to the little clearing. Darkness was gathering as silvery clouds scudded across the sky. Chaucer had found a patch of grass on which to graze, and Lennox suddenly realized that he was painfully hungry. He spread out his blanket and hunkered down, sitting back on his heels as he brought out the same food they had eaten at midday.

  “Will ye not you join me, lass?” He glanced toward Nora, who was standing off to one side, watching.

  She bit her lower lip before approaching and tentatively lowering herself to the blanket.

  “I regret that I cannot provide a fire, since the wood is wet. Otherwise, I would gladly hunt some wild game to cook for our wedding supper.” He kept his tone light, and Nora rewarded him with a faintly nervous smile.

  “I will confess, it’s not the sort of wedding day I could have ever imagined,” she said.

  The bannocks were now dry as stones, but Lennox broke one in two and handed half to her. “Nor would I.”

  “I apologize for drawing you into my…problems. And for my father, who made everything worse.”

  “I don’t suppose ye want to tell me yet what this is really all about?”

  Panic flared in her eyes. “Please do not ask me to say more about it.”

  Lennox uncorked a flagon of wine and drank, then offered it to Nora, who copied him. He heard the tender note in his own voice when next he spoke. “I have already vowed that I am not a man who would force ye in any way. I merely thought ye might be relieved to share the secret that troubles ye so deeply, lass.”

  The night air was growing chilly, and she moved closer to him. “I am grateful for your kindness, sir, more grateful than words can express.”

  “Even though it means eating cold bannocks and sleeping on the ground?” he teased lightly.

  Smiling, Nora accepted the wedge of cheese he held out. “I will no doubt look back on this night as a great adventure.”

  Lennox wanted to offer to make it a much greater adventure than she could imagine, but he held his tongue. Still, he allowed himself a brief fantasy of Nora, wrapped in his blanket with him, letting him undress her, opening her mouth to his kisses, moaning as he explored her body with his fingers…

  “I almost forgot.” Nora broke into his thoughts, sounding excited. “I picked some berries near the stream. Won’t they be delicious?” She brought the plump brambleberries out of a pocket sewn into her cloak.

  “Aye. Delicious.” He couldn’t keep the ragged edge of desire from his own voice.

  Nora put one of the berries in her mouth and closed her eyes, sighing. “Oh, but it is sublime. Especially after a day of only bannocks and cheese. Let me give you some.”

  He watched as she took his hand, opening his long fingers to reveal the rough surface of his palm. “Your hands are so large,” she observed, her own fingers slim and pale against his.

  “Aye,” murmured Lennox. He let her see the heat in his gaze before adding. “I am a man, after all.”

  Her cheeks went pink. “I am aware of that.” Nora put several of the brambleberries into his hand, yet it seemed that her fingertips lingered over his. She licked her lips. “Is there more wine? I find I am still thirsty.”

  “Drink, lass. Ye need the warmth.” He passed the flagon to her, waiting until she had finished to ask, “I know very little about your life before Stirling Castle. Tell me about the finest meal ye have ever eaten. Perhaps it will take our minds off the ways this one is lacking.” For Lennox’s own part, he hoped her tale would distract his cock, which was hard and aching even though they had scarcely touched.

  Not yet, at least.

  Nora leaned back against a tree trunk and brushed errant curls from her brow. “When I was about ten years old, and still living with my parents in Brussels, we three traveled to Paris. Papa had been the master weaver on a magnificent tapestry that was purchased for the Palais du Louvre. What a great adventure that was! The night before we returned to Flanders, we dined at the palace with King François I. For a girl my age, it was as if we had been transported into a fairyland. I had never been in such sumptuous surroundings, and they served more food, more courses, than I had ever imagined, each one announced with a trumpet fanfare!”

  Lennox had a dozen questions about her childhood in Flanders, but they would have to wait. Instead, he prompted, “What was your favorite?”

  “The liveried servants carried platters overhead with peacocks in full plumage, their beaks gilded. I thought perhaps it was merely paint, but Mama assured me they had actually melted gold.” Nora paused to sigh, beaming at the memory. “It was also the first time I had ever seen a fork.”

  “Were the sweets delicious?” he asked, enjoying the sight of her smiling face.

  “Oh, yes. The thing I remember most was the amazing array of confections that were made to look like something else. Animals, birds, even fish!” She laughed before smoothly
moving the subject to him. “And what of your best memory of a feast? I know nothing about the Highlands apart from the rumors that all of you are a bit rough.”

  “Perhaps ye believe them now that ye see we lack such civilized comforts as roads and inns,” Lennox parried lightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “You are teasing me, I know.” Her gaze moved to the sharpened dirk, sheathed at his waist. “Yet your weapons look rather savage. And you don’t wear a doublet…”

  He felt torn between defending the splendid place where he had lived all his life and revealing that he was not truly a Highlander at all. “Would ye think more highly of me if I wore a doublet instead of a belted plaid?”

  “Of course not. I want to learn about this isle called Skye.” Coming closer, Nora put her hand on his forearm. “It must be a magical place.”

  “Aye.” His heart began to ache.

  “No doubt you enjoyed many meals that linger in your memory.”

  Lennox closed his eyes and let himself go back in time. “The stronghold of Clan MacLeod is an ancient stone castle with views of a sea called The Minch.” He heard Nora draw a breath and felt her sense of wonder. “Nearby, in plain sight, are two immense, flat-topped plateaus. They have Gaelic names, but most simply call them the MacLeod Tables. Not so long ago, King James V sailed around Scotland to pay a visit to the Western Isles, and our clan chief, Alasdair Crotach, wanted to impress him with a feast he would never forget.” Lennox paused. “Our chief had boasted, during a visit to Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh, that he could offer a more impressive banquet hall on Skye. So, as the sun set, we led His Majesty and the royal party, by horseback, up to the top of the nearest plateau. There, a long table had been set. Instead of magnificent chandeliers, this setting offered a star-strewn sky, and the candles were replaced by clansmen standing all around the long table, holding flaming torches aloft. ’Twas a sight I will never forget.”

  “How splendid it must have been,” sighed Nora. “Like a dream.”

  “Aye.” It had been like a dream then, but now the memory was stained by the knowledge that he hadn’t really belonged. Lennox opened his eyes. Although the little clearing was nearly dark, behind the clouds a luminous full moon shone. When he spoke again, his voice was husky. “The Isle of Skye is a mystical place.”

  “And the clan chief you mentioned, Alasdair Crotach—is he not your grandfather?”

  He gave a harsh sigh. “Aye. He was.”

  “Was?”

  Tears burned the back of Lennox’s throat as he continued to look away. “’Tis not a subject I wish to discuss.”

  “Oh, I am sorry.” Her hand touched his. “I’ve probed too far.”

  Slowly, he met her searching eyes and became aware of an emotional pull toward this lass. He felt she might even understand the conflict inside him. Before Lennox could even think about what he was saying, the words came out. “Ye should know, I’m no MacLeod. Not even a Highlander, I fear.” His heart clenched, hard. “In truth, I don’t know who the devil I really am.”

  Chapter 12

  Nora blinked, confused. What could Lennox possibly mean? “Not a Highlander? I don’t understand.”

  He raised one of his strong, elegant hands and rubbed his brow. “I forget how much pain this brings me until I must say the words aloud. Yet it is real.”

  “Whatever it is, you can say it to me,” Nora said gently. Her arms went around his chest of their own accord, and Lennox leaned slightly against her as he spoke.

  “This journey is actually a quest to discover who I really am. All my life, I have felt that I didn’t quite belong among Clan MacLeod. I looked different, and my nature and interests were different. I thought that might be why my grandfather seemed to favor me less than my brother, Ciaran, but now I know the truth.”

  Nora listened in silence to the story about the day, only a few weeks ago, when Lennox had gone with Ciaran to Fiona’s cottage. When he described the moment he’d accidentally knocked the silver casket from its shelf, dislodging the hidden panel on the back of the box, she held her breath.

  “I have it with me.”

  In the shadows, Nora felt him reaching into the folds of his belted plaid. He brought out a leather pouch and opened it to reveal a small gold-framed oval portrait of a man. When Nora tilted it to catch more of the silvery moonlight, a shiver ran down her spine. The man looked exactly like Lennox. “Oh, my! It could be you but for his garb.”

  He gave a grim nod. “There was a lock of his hair as well that could have been cut from my head. The only difference, as ye can plainly see, is that this fellow is clearly no Highlander.”

  Nora’s heart beat faster as she stared at the miniature. The striking green eyes looking back at her were identical to Lennox’s. In fact, everything about him was identical to Lennox except his jeweled doublet, plumed cap, and the neat grooming of his hair and beard.

  “What does this mean?” she asked.

  In a hard, angry voice, Lennox said, “It means this fancy fellow is my da, not Magnus MacLeod. Since the day I found this, I’ve been tracking the pieces of this great secret. My mother ran away from Skye after a quarrel, nay—a betrayal by Da. Or, I should say, the man I believed to be my da for nine-and-twenty years. When I traveled to Falkland Palace, I learned from my Aunt Tess that Ma spent most of the time she was away at Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull. When she returned to Skye, I was already growing in her belly, but Da didn’t know the truth until four years later, when he found a letter from her lover.”

  “Did he reveal the man’s name to you?”

  “Nay,” Lennox replied harshly. “He swears he does not know it himself, that the letter was signed with only an initial: R.”

  Nora took it all in, more with her heart than her mind. “It must feel so confusing, to learn that the story of your family, of your life…”

  “Is all a bloody lie,” he finished. “I have never truly been part of Clan MacLeod, and my da and grandfather have known it all along, holding me at arm’s length but never telling me the truth! It makes me sick when I remember the pride I once felt when I stood on the battlements of Dunvegan Castle, breathing in the air of the Minch, believing myself a Highlander through and through.”

  Nora wanted to say that his siblings were still blood relations, since they shared a mother, but this was not the time for such reassurances. Lennox was grieving a loss, and she could understand that well enough. It came to her that they were both adrift on the sea of life, unmoored from everything they had once depended upon. She burned with emotion, holding him tighter. His body was twice the size of hers, yet slowly she felt him yield. He turned toward her, returning her embrace, his heartbeat strong against the soft curves of her breasts.

  It all happened so naturally. She reached up to touch the curve of Lennox’s cheekbone then sank her fingers into his wild, golden hair. In the next instant, his mouth was on hers, hungry, insistent. Delicious. Gratefully, she opened to him, her tongue meeting his, her slim form straining against his hard-muscled body.

  Nora lay back on the blanket and drew him to her, dimly aware that something painful was freeing itself inside her, banished by Lennox’s mouth, hands, body. If she had been able to think, she would have remembered Sir Raymond Slater and the terrible night he had taken her innocence, and she would have been afraid. But this was Lennox, and fear was impossible. Everything about him blended strength with caring, power with kindness, and Nora knew in the deepest recesses of her soul that she was safe in his arms.

  He framed her face with both hands and kissed her until a flame burned in her core, hotter by the moment. In the rising storm of their passion, clothing came away, and Nora burned to feel him touch her. Her nipples were taut, aching, and when his warm mouth closed over one of them, she gave an involuntary little cry.

  Lennox touched her everywhere, and it felt so natural and right that soon she was returning his caresses. Nora loved the feeling of his fully aroused manhood against her belly, then p
ressing between her thighs in a way that made her open and arch upward, moaning. Lennox’s fingers moved between their bodies, stroking her sensitized little bud, but Nora could not bear for him to linger. She was wet, aching, impatient. A primitive part of her wanted only him, inside her.

  She reached down to touch the warm, thick length of him, and felt a new surge of arousal. For an instant, their gazes locked in the moonlight, then she raised her head to find his mouth as she brought him to her entrance. This, this, she thought, and then he was inside her, pushing upward. In that instant, it seemed Lennox could erase the past, her terrible mistake with Slater.

  But then, he hesitated. Nora’s heart seemed to stop as well, and she heard him murmur, “I do not want to hurt ye.”

  Of course. He thinks I am a virgin. She shook her head, eyes stinging. “I want this.”

  Lennox kissed her then, cradling her hips as he filled her completely, and the sensation was achingly satisfying. Nora tentatively lifted up to meet his thrusts, finding his rhythm, her soft moans mingling with the hoots of owls from the dark woods.

  As they mated, the world seemed to spin away. All that remained was their mutual need and a white-hot bliss that needed no words.

  * * *

  Lennox held Nora in the moonlight, drawing the rough blanket more closely around them both. The scent of their mating was still in his nostrils, like an aphrodisiac. Just the thought of how it had been between them made him hard again, lusting for her. His eyes lingered on her sleeping face. The smudge of lashes on her cheek, her slightly parted lips, the faint crease in her brow…

  What was she dreaming? Did she regret tonight?

  He still didn’t know why Nora had to flee the life she shared with her father at Stirling Castle. She’d left behind all her grand dreams of becoming the first female master weaver. What had she meant when she said William Brodie might be the one to threaten her in the future? Gently, Lennox brushed back her cloud of curls. He wanted to whisper, “What is your secret, lass? Ye can trust me with it.”