The MacLean scratched his head. “I couldn’t have been more than a dozen years old. Too young to have an interest in this episode you recount,” he said with a note of finality. “Mull is a favorite stopping point for travelers who are sailing to and from England, so we always had more visitors than I could count.”
“I believe she was here most of the summer,” Lennox pressed. “With her nurse, Isbeil, and my wee, black-haired brother, Ciaran, who would have been barely able to walk.”
Hector stared into the distance. “Aye, I do have a faint memory of your ma and her bairn. She had raven hair? A rare beauty.”
Nora could feel the tightly-leashed power in Lennox’s body as he nodded, leaning forward. She expected him to continue the tale, explaining all of it to the other man, but instead he skipped over the painful parts. Bringing out the leather pouch from his belt, Lennox opened it and withdrew the painted miniature.
“Do ye know this man? He was here as well, I believe.”
As the other clansmen continued to laugh, drink, and eat their stew, time seemed to stop in the center of the table as Hector Mór plucked the miniature from Lennox’s golden-brown fingers.
He stared at it, squinting. “My eyesight is not the best any longer.”
“This matter is more important than ye can imagine,” urged Lennox. “Was he a friend of your da?”
“It could be. He has the look of a titled Englishman,” mused Hector, turning the oval in search of better light. He sighed and shook his head. “I was but a boy. Noblemen and Highland chiefs gathered here often. We were a stopping place on every sea route, it seemed. After a time, they all look the same.”
Tears pricked Nora’s eyes as she felt Lennox’s deep frustration. Where could he turn next if this long journey became yet another blind alley?
“There must be someone here who remembers,” he said. “An older clansman? An aging servant?”
“Ye must stay the night.” Hector rubbed his bearded jaw. “I will sleep on it. Perhaps something will come to me. In any case, ye cannot return to Oban in this storm.”
“We wouldn’t want to impose on your hospitality,” said Nora.
He laughed and shook his head at her. “Lass, ye are now in the Highlands. My Mary liked to say we have raised the practice of hospitality to an art form!”
Lennox caught her hand, squeezing it. “We are grateful for your generosity,” he said.
“It is fortunate that ye two are wed, for there is but one chamber. The only other one fit for guests is already prepared for Robin and Cicely.” There was a twinkle in his eye, as if he somehow guessed the truth of their arrangement.
“Aye,” Lennox said firmly. “We are indeed wed.”
Chapter 14
When the time came for them to retire for the night, Hector Mór led the way up an exceptionally precarious circular staircase. His candle flame wavered eerily in the gloom, and once Nora lost her footing on a broken stone step. She cried out in surprise, but Lennox caught her and held her close until she regained her balance.
When they reached the top step and emerged into a stone corridor, Hector stopped in front of a heavy door. Pushing it open, he bent his head to enter, gesturing for them to follow. Candles were newly lit, and a peat fire burned low in the brazier, sending its welcome glow into the drafty bedchamber.
“If ye should need anything at all, just call for me.” Pointing across the corridor, Hector added, “My own chamber is there, just steps away.”
“You have been very kind,” Nora told him.
“Aye,” Lennox interjected. Stepping behind her, he patted her hip. “And now we must bid ye goodnight.”
He felt a strong urge to demonstrate to the older man that the beautiful Nora belonged to him, but the reasons for this were a mystery to Lennox. He’d always had his pick of lasses, and though he was a kind and thoughtful lover, he’d been careful not to become entangled, usually departing on a journey when a moment of truth was at hand. Certainly none of them had kept his heart knotted up like Nora Brodie.
No sooner had the door closed behind their host than Nora turned to face Lennox. “What ails you?”
Although he wished he knew the answer to that question himself, he feigned surprise. “What do ye mean?”
“You are behaving like an overbearing…” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced away.
“Husband?” he supplied coolly. “I thought that the arrangement was one ye begged me to undertake.”
“But we both know it isn’t real.”
“Is it not? We were bound in a ceremony that seemed to satisfy even your own da.” They were standing so close together Lennox could smell meadow grass and the sea breeze in Nora’s hair. Her breasts were rising and falling as if she’d run up the steps, and he realized it was because of his effect on her.
“But it’s not like that!” Color rose in her cheeks, heightened by the firelight.
“Most would say that what we did under the stars a few nights ago seals this as a true marriage,” Lennox countered.
Nora did not take the bait. She stepped back, allowing the chilly air to waft between them. “Do not pretend to misunderstand me, sir. You act the devoted husband in front of our host, yet you know full well that we are not bound to one another in that way.”
For reasons he didn’t understand, her words pricked him. “Do not tell me ye didn’t see the gleam in Hector’s eyes! He would want ye for himself if I did not assert my claim.” Even as he spoke, Lennox realized how absurd he sounded.
“Your claim?” Nora echoed hotly, turning away to open the satchel Lennox had placed on a bench near the fire. “I see it all quite differently. It’s obvious that he is lonely, poor man, missing his dead wife. He doubtless longs for someone else to share his life in this godforsaken place.”
Lennox managed to draw a long breath, forcing his pulse to slow. “I only meant to protect ye, lass.”
Nora was taking slender, polished pieces of wood out of the satchel, setting them on the carved lid of the chest. “You have no understanding of the person I am.” She glanced back at him for a moment, the spill of her hair like molten copper, her expression proud and splendid. “Tonight, I do not need or want your protection. In fact, if I could have left Stirling alone, I would have. It is galling to me that I must depend upon a man for assistance during this difficult time.”
Shocked, he could only stare at her. “That is not what ye said to me at Stirling Castle.”
“Perhaps not, because I was desperate, but it is the way I truly feel. I have aspirations of my own, Lennox MacLeod, and the notion of romance only gets in the way of making them come true.”
Of course, Lennox understood exactly what she meant about matters of the heart, for he felt the same. Why then did he feel a sting of rejection from Nora, a sting that recalled the black moments when he’d felt spurned by his own clan? As his heart squeezed, Lennox reminded himself that the true purpose of this quest was to discover where he truly belonged. Until that was revealed, was it not better to remain alone?
Silence calmed the air as Nora brought out two more carved, slender sticks, the tops wound with brightly colored threads. She arranged the pieces of wood on the carved chest, gradually relaxing.
Lennox was grateful for an opportunity to change the subject. “Now I know why your satchel was so heavy,” he said wryly. “What do ye have there?”
She gave him a luminous smile. “They are a few of my bobbins, wound with silken threads I dyed myself. I use them at the loom.” As she spoke, she reached inside the satchel for a thick piece of cloth, rolled up like a scroll. “Even though I cannot weave during our journey, I had to bring these things with me, or I wouldn’t feel like…myself.”
“I can see it brings ye happiness just to say it.”
“You cannot imagine.” Tears came to her eyes.
He could imagine, of course, because he felt that way about his own sketching tools. Most of them were in his saddlebag, in the Oban stable with Chaucer,
but Lennox never went anywhere without a few of his charcoal pencils, just in case he might need them, as he had that day at Falkland Palace when he came upon Queen Mary holding her baby prince.
Nora unfurled the canvas to proudly display the small woven image of a gray rabbit sitting in front of a boxwood bush. “This is the very first tapestry I ever created,” she said proudly. “When I was perhaps four years old, I begged Father to teach me to weave, and he did. He held me to a high standard yet praised and encouraged me every step of the way.”
“No doubt ye miss him,” Lennox said softly.
She nodded, eyes agleam. “Even though he was a gifted master weaver, working in the studio of the great Pieter van Aelst, Father found the time to make the pattern for this tapestry. The subject was my pet rabbit, Hugo. Do you see how the little rogue seems to flirt with us, one ear up and one ear down?” A smile lit her face. “I have always kept this with me. Not only because of the memories, but also because it clearly shows my progress, as my skills developed. Do you see? The weaving is much neater and tighter at the top than it is at the bottom, when I was first beginning.”
Lennox knew an urge to put his arms around her. Compassion for others was an intrinsic part of him, but this was something deeper. He longed to hold her against him and kiss the soft tendrils that brushed her brow, yet he could sense her need for space. “It sounds as if ye found your calling at a very young age.”
Smiling, Nora touched the rabbit’s crooked ear. “It’s as much a part of me as breathing.”
“And your ma? How did she feel about the great gift that you and your da shared?” He watched her, remembering that her mother had stayed behind in Brussels when William Brodie and his ten-year-old daughter traveled to England.
“Mama could not understand. Or perhaps she did understand, and that’s why she resisted so strongly.” Nora’s lovely smile turned sad. “When I first began to weave this little tapestry, Mama praised me every day. She was happy, until she began to realize that each stitch bound me closer to Father. As my passion for weaving grew, I went deeper into his world, where she could not follow.”
Lennox felt a chill at her words. “And that is exactly what happened, it seems. Why didn’t she travel to England with you and your da?”
“Her family and friends were all in Flanders. As Father became more and more absorbed in the world of tapestry weaving, Mama retreated to her own circle.” Her eyes shone as she paused to sigh. “She is a strong woman, but I do not think she imagined she might lose us both.”
“Do ye miss her?”
“I used to, but I had to remember that it was impossible for me to stay behind in Flanders, unable to weave. Father has always reminded me that it was my mother’s choice not to come with us.” Nora gave a great sigh and shook her head as if putting those thoughts from her mind. She picked up one of the bobbins, stroking the glossy wood. “It’s calming for me to hold these things, but I won’t feel complete until I have a loom and can truly weave again.”
“When we left Stirling,” Lennox murmured, feeling a twinge in his chest, “did ye have a notion of where ye might go to find that loom?” He still didn’t know why she had begged him to take her away or what she meant to do in the future since she claimed not to want a marriage with him.
Nora looked up, her blue eyes filled with emotions he couldn’t read. “London, perhaps? It’s familiar to me, since we lived there before Father was invited to be master weaver at Stirling. King Henry VIII is intent on acquiring a collection of tapestries to equal those of the great rulers of Europe. If a permanent workroom could be established within the royal court, I believe my dream would be within reach.”
It came to Lennox that fate seemed destined to separate them. In spite of everything, his chest felt tight. Raking a hand through his hair, he said, “I am very tired. Let us go to bed, lass. It is your chance to enjoy the comforts of the bed ye have been longing for.”
* * *
Weak, gray light filtered through the bedchamber’s single arrow-slit window. As Nora came slowly awake, she remembered that she and Lennox were sharing a real bed, in the shelter of a castle rather than a wet grove of trees.
If only things could be different. Lying there in her simple linen smock, a stirring memory returned of a moment during the night. She had been awake, turned on her side away from him, when she had felt him roll toward her and shape his strong hand to the curve of her hip. Heat and longing had blossomed under his touch, sending currents of need to every intimate part of her. Holding her breath in the darkness, Nora had remembered the intensely blissful sensation of his mouth on her nipple, and it came to her that perhaps he would make love to her again. She imagined him slipping his hand under her smock, touching her, and the very thought made her wet. If it could happen in the middle of the night, without a word spoken, perhaps they could pretend later nothing had happened…
But even as Nora had waited, Lennox had moved away from her. He was doubtless sleeping, dreaming perhaps of someone else.
“Lennox?” she whispered now. When he made no reply, she rolled over and found that she was alone. The only signs that he had been there were the rumpled covers and the crease in his pillow. Disappointment pricked her, but it was no surprise. Nora was growing accustomed to conflicting feelings when it came to Lennox MacLeod, and she knew he must think her slightly mad. One moment she was giving her body to him in the moonlight, and the next she was insisting on pursuing her dreams alone. Again, she thought of telling him the truth of her situation. She owed him that much, didn’t she? And yet the thought of saying the words out loud terrified her.
With a sigh, Nora rose. Pouring water from a pottery jug into a basin, she washed as best she could. The morning air was chilly and damp, and she was eager to dry off and dress. The few garments in her satchel were travel-stained, but perhaps the castle housekeeper, Tilly, would let her do washing today.
After donning a simple long-sleeved gown of cornflower-blue wool, Nora stood looking outside as she tried with limited success to tame her mass of curls under a simple headdress. The view through the deep, narrow window was limited to a rocky green outcropping above the turbulent sea, yet she found it stunning. A wild, misty rain swirled once again, and the Sound of Mull was wave-tossed. Far away, Nora imagined she could see a flash of white sail. Thank heaven she and Lennox had not dared to cross from Oban in such perilous weather!
She was eager to go downstairs and discover what memories, if any, had come to Hector Mór during the night. Would he have an idea about the identity of the man in the miniature? Perhaps they soon would know where they would travel next. It had been easy enough to pretend calm last night, in the face of Lennox’s questions about her own plans for the future, but the truth was that Nora had no idea what lay ahead for her…and her baby.
Chapter 15
When Nora reached the foot of the stairs and emerged into the hall, she was met by a gust of cold wind and saw that the heavy doors were open to the courtyard. The big room had been scrubbed, fresh rushes were strewn on the stone floor, and Hector’s aging wolfhound, Fergus, lay snoring near the fire. As she watched, servants, clad in the sort of fine livery she hadn’t seen since leaving London, hurried in with bundles, satchels, and two small trunks.
Looking through the doorway, Nora glimpsed Hector Mór standing outside in the cobbled courtyard, wet with rain, surrounded by a mixture of rough Highlanders and more of the visiting servants clad in forest-green livery. The English couple Hector had been expecting must have arrived! What should she do? Go out to join them?
Before she could decide, a hand fit itself to the side of her waist, and she whirled around to find Lennox gazing down at her. He looked especially splendid, a blaze of gold in the dank, gray morning. “Hello, wife,” he murmured with faint irony. “I believe the MacLean’s noble guests have returned from Tobermory.”
Remembering the moments when he had touched her in the middle of the night, Nora blushed. She was about to ask where he had b
een when a striking female appeared in the doorway.
“At last we have arrived!” exclaimed the young woman, drawing back the hood on her scarlet cloak. “Does it never stop raining in Scotland?”
The Countess of Fairhaven was not only beautiful, Nora observed, but also possessed a captivating aura that drew all eyes to her. In her wake trailed a tall, slender man with a long face. He was accompanied by a similarly tall, thin dog that Nora recognized as a greyhound.
Tilly and her housekeeping staff had quickly assembled, and now they curtseyed awkwardly.
“Welcome back, my lady!” exclaimed Tilly as she gestured for one of the girls to take the countess’s sodden cloak. “Your chamber is ready. Would ye care for something hot to eat?”
“Thank you. How kind,” the woman replied, smiling. “Nothing at this time. I’m going to change these garments for dry clothing and rest for a bit.” Turning then, her gaze fell on Nora and Lennox. “It’s quite difficult to believe the season is truly summer.”
Before Nora could reply, Hector Mór rushed up to them, dripping with rain. No sooner had he made formal introductions than the countess smiled warmly and extended a hand to Nora.
“You must call me Cicely. How lovely to meet someone near my own age!” She turned her attention to Lennox, sable-brown eyes agleam with interest. “And you, sir, are the most attractive Highlander I have seen during our endless journey through the wilds of Scotland!”
The Earl of Fairhaven, Cicely’s husband, appeared next to her, the look-alike greyhound at his side. “Fondling, do curb your tongue. You will give this fellow the wrong idea about your intentions,” he scolded.
“Don’t be absurd, Robin.” Cicely merely laughed in his direction.
“Pay no attention to my lovely wife,” said the earl. “My mother was born here in Tobermory, and we brought her north for a visit. In a fortnight’s time, we shall fetch her and return to London.”
Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5) Page 13