Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  “You are far too beautiful to live like a nun,” her friend proclaimed. “What happened next?”

  Nora took a painful breath. “An important Englishman came to court—”

  “Indeed? What was his name?”

  A sixth sense stopped her from revealing those details. After all, how well did she really know Cicely? “I would rather not reveal his identity. But everyone was very impressed with this man’s reputation, and he was quite handsome. One night, he insisted on helping me to my rooms after I became ill in the banqueting hall.” She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling Slater on top of her, pushing into her. “I’m not quite certain how it happened. I was suffering from vertigo, and then he was with me in my bed, and now I am going to have a baby.”

  “That is a shocking tale,” Cicely pronounced. “Is it possible that he misunderstood somehow and thought you were willing?”

  Nora shrugged in despair. “Perhaps. I felt so ill I can’t remember anything clearly.”

  “But what about Lennox? How did you two come to be wed?”

  She drew a painful sigh. “After that, I knew I couldn’t stay with my father, especially once my condition became obvious. Lennox was leaving Stirling, setting off to look for the man in the painting, and he agreed to take me with him.”

  “How noble! He is like a hero from a fairy tale.”

  “Indeed.” Nora felt worse by the moment.

  “He didn’t ask why you had to go?” Cicely pressed.

  Guilt stabbed Nora as she realized how many times she had kept important truths from Lennox. “I begged him to trust me. I said only that I was in a desperate situation, which was quite true. It would have been impossible for me to stay there, working alongside my father, growing larger by the month.”

  “Perhaps Lennox was already falling in love with you.”

  “There was a spark between us from the first,” she admitted. Remembering the night at Stirling Castle when she had gone to Lennox’s bed, pleading for his help, Nora’s face grew warm. Those kisses had ignited a flame in her that would not be extinguished. “My father discovered us as we were about to leave before dawn. He was furious, but Lennox insisted he loved me and intended to marry me. Father, in turn, demanded that we take handfasting vows there so that he might witness them.” Nora sighed. “It almost felt real. And, as we traveled together and time passed…” She broke off, uncertain what to say next.

  “You needn’t say more. I can see it in your faces when you are together.” Cicely rose and began to pace to and fro. “But now what do you mean to do?”

  “Lennox is looking for the man in the painting,” Nora replied. “He believes that he will not be whole until he finds him. I fear that, once he fulfills his quest, my condition might become an impediment in his new life. His dream must come first.” She found it hard to speak the words. “I have deep aspirations of my own, as I have told you, so I understand.”

  Cicely slowly shook her head. “I don’t know if you are a saint or a fool.”

  “Certainly not a saint,” Nora replied with a touch of irony. “Now, my lady, I would have your word that you will not repeat anything I have told you. I don’t want the duke and duchess to know that Lennox and I are wed, after a fashion, in case his future should take a dramatic turn.”

  “I promise, but you cannot simply wish away your wedded state,” Cicely protested.

  “It seems I can.” Nora turned her face away, gazing out toward the gardens, and added softly, “When Lennox and I spoke the handfasting vows, I was stunned that he would take such a drastic step simply to set my father’s mind at ease.”

  Her friend was watching her. “No doubt you were secretly thrilled to find yourself wed to such a splendid man.”

  “In all honesty, I suppose I was.” Nora’s smile was bittersweet. “But Lennox lost little time in disabusing me of such illusions. When I asked him why he would bind himself to me simply to ensure my escape from Stirling, he revealed that Scottish tradition decrees that handfasting can be easily undone with just a few words by either party.” She paused. “That fact is never far from my mind.”

  * * *

  When Lennox received a message inviting him to join the Duke of Aylesbury in the library, his heart quickened. Perhaps the moment of reckoning was truly at hand.

  The servants had taken away all his travel-stained clothing, but there was one more clean plaid folded in his satchel. After washing and dressing, Lennox stood before the tall mirror and surveyed his appearance. In Scotland, he might win approving glances, but here in London he was a fish out of water. Sighing, he pinned the sash near the shoulder of his shirt and debated whether to add a jeweled dirk at his belt.

  Nay, he thought with a faint arch of one brow, his host might fear Lennox meant him harm.

  After scooping up the leather pouch with the miniature of an unknown nobleman, he went out into the corridor.

  A door opened as he passed and Lady Cicely emerged, nearly bumping into him. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “How clumsy I am.”

  “Not at all.” He tried to see past her, into the bedchamber. “Is Nora there?”

  Cicely flushed, and he wondered what she thought about them having separate rooms. “I have just spoken to her. She is well but resting.” Her dark-brown eyes softened. “I think that your lady will feel more at ease when your own future is resolved.”

  He suppressed an urge to simply go into the room and take Nora in his arms. “Your brother has asked me to join him in the library, so perhaps I will soon know more.”

  “I sincerely hope your conversation is fruitful,” Cicely replied. In the next instant, she closed the door, ending his hopes of seeing or speaking to Nora. “Godspeed, my friend.”

  * * *

  Expecting the library to be formal and austere, Lennox was surprised to enter and see three little girls holding out a ragged sock to an elderly spaniel.

  “Do look, Percy, this is your favorite!” cried the oldest, a slim red-haired child of perhaps eight.

  “Yes!” The littlest one, whose head was covered with golden curls, piped up, “Wouldn’t you like to pull on it?”

  The middle girl, a calmer beauty with a long auburn braid, held out both hands and looked from one sister to the other, clearly used to being the voice of reason. “Mama says Percy is becoming quite an elderly gentleman. We mustn’t force him.” She crouched down beside the liver-spotted dog and stroked his silky ears. “You need not frolic with us, dear boy, unless it suits you to do so.”

  Sandhurst was seated at his desk in front of a large window. Although an unopened ledger waited at his elbow, he was otherwise occupied, making sketches of the little girls and Percy the spaniel on a large sheet of paper.

  “Ah, MacLeod, come in.” Rising, he set down his charcoal pencil and looked to each of his daughters in descending order of age. “Susan, Tessa, Alison, will you not welcome Master MacLeod?”

  The trio faced Lennox, and Percy obediently got into a sitting position beside them. The girls chorused, “Welcome to our home, sir.”

  “It is a pleasure to be here, my ladies,” he said with a smile intended to charm. “How kind ye are.”

  The sisters stared at the sound of Lennox’s Scots accent, before scanning his belted plaid, golden brooch, and tousled hair. Clearly uncertain whether she might be in danger, the smallest child hid partway behind her siblings.

  “Pardon me,” the auburn-braided girl said in a confident voice, “My name is Tessa. I am fairly bursting to know: Are you a true Highlander?”

  Her words pinched at his heart. Lennox wanted to tell her that was the question that had brought him on a weekslong quest from Scotland to London, but instead he only nodded. “Aye, Lady Tessa. I’ve been a Highlander my entire life. I hope ye are not alarmed by my appearance.”

  It was Percy who responded first, coming forward to offer a gentle greeting. Lennox knelt and ran his big hand over the spaniel’s head, causing Percy to close his eyes with pleasure. Little Alison came out from
behind her sisters, beaming.

  The duke came around the desk and Lennox straightened to clasp his outstretched hand. “This gentleman is our honored friend,” Sandhurst assured the trio. “Now, then, my girls, will you kindly take Percy downstairs to the kitchen for his dinner? I must speak to our guest alone.”

  After bidding their father and Lennox goodbye, the trio rushed off, with Percy the spaniel following in their wake. The two men exchanged smiles as Sandhurst poured two goblets of garnet-red wine.

  “Thank you for your kindness to my daughters,” he said, lifting his glass in a silent toast.

  “They are charming, sir. I must confess, I did not imagine I would find your ducal library filled with children and a dog.”

  “I beg you not to refer to this library as ducal.” Sandhurst arched a brow. “I purchased Weston House long before I acquired my rather burdensome new title. As for the children, I love them fiercely. I want them to grow up surrounded by books,” he said, gesturing toward the priceless volumes that filled the shelves. “Reading them, rather than admiring their leatherbound spines.”

  Lennox glanced back toward the sketches on Sandhurst’s desk. “I see you are an artist.”

  “Ah, well, after a fashion.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly. “I have always loved to paint and draw, much to the displeasure of my father, the last duke.”

  It suddenly made more sense that this Duke of Aylesbury would not be inclined to carry on the grand, haughty ways of his predecessor. “I, too, paint and draw,” Lennox heard himself say.

  “My sister tells me you are very talented. While you are here, perhaps we can sketch something together.” The duke finished his wine and set the glass down on a side table. “First, however, I perceive there is something else you wish to discuss with me?”

  For a moment, Lennox could scarcely breathe, let alone speak. “Aye,” he managed at length, and reached for the leather pouch at his waist. As he drew out the miniature, the duke held up a hand.

  “I must tell you, before you say another word, that when I first saw you at the water-gate, I thought you were someone else, magically made younger.”

  A wave of emotion washed over Lennox. He knows! His heart leaped with hope, yet another barrier might still wait ahead. Holding his breath, he held out the small, oval portrait.

  “Do you know this man? Is he the person you imagined I resemble?”

  Sandhurst leaned forward, took it from him, and studied it. When he looked up, Lennox thought he saw a telltale gleam in his brown eyes. “It is. I knew him, looking just like this, many years ago. Before I tell you his name, will you explain your connection, and how you came to possess this miniature?”

  As Lennox told the story of his parents and the quarrel that caused Eleanor MacLeod to flee from the Isle of Skye to Duart Castle, he was filled with mixed feelings. He longed to know the truth, yet a part of him sensed that a door was about to open that he would be powerless to close, no matter what lay on the other side.

  “Before my mother died three years ago, she gave a jeweled casket to my sister Fiona. The box recently fell from a shelf, and we discovered a false bottom, with this miniature and a lock of golden hair hidden inside. Of course, it was as if I was seeing myself, garbed as an Englishman.” Lennox paused, raking a hand through his hair. “I discovered that my brother Ciaran, who had gone with Ma to Duart Castle as a wee lad, knew the truth, that the man in this portrait was my true father. I then confronted Da, and he admitted he had known as well, after finding letters between Ma and this man.”

  “But they kept the truth from you,” said Sandhurst.

  “Aye. All my life. It seemed no one wanted to upset me, but I always sensed something was amiss.” He met the duke’s compassionate gaze. “And I never felt I completely belonged to clan MacLeod. I was raised to hunt and fight battles with rival clans, but in truth, I’ve always preferred to draw stags than to kill them.”

  Sandhurst nodded thoughtfully as he held up the miniature. “If you are indeed this man’s son, it is no surprise that you felt uneasy as a Highlander.”

  “Are ye prepared now to divulge his name to me?” Lennox asked, unable to hold back another moment.

  “I want very much to do so, but I hesitate to say too much until I have had a chance to speak to him myself. Once we can talk to him and learn whether he visited Duart Castle in the year of your birth, we will know much more.” He paused. “And if all of this is true, he may wish to leave the past where it has been all these years. That would be his right.”

  “Ach.” Lennox drew a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. The waiting was agony, but he had no choice. “I can see that ye are right, sir, and I am grateful for your help.”

  As if realizing that Lennox needed a few crumbs of information to sustain him, the duke said softly, “I will tell you this much: My friend is a fine man. We share a love of art. He is widowed and recently lost his only son to a sudden illness, so he has been grieving. And he is—” Sandhurst broke off. “No. I should say no more for now.”

  Lennox took in all that he had just heard, suddenly envisioning a real person in place of the painting. “I cannot thank you enough,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  “I will do my best to find my friend quickly.” Sandhurst rested a reassuring hand on Lennox’s shoulder. “I’ll send word immediately to his London home. With luck, he will be in residence.”

  Chapter 21

  That evening, the atmosphere at the supper table was warm and convivial. Because the sun did not set until very late on summer nights, the candles remained unlit, and light streamed through the tall leaded-glass windows.

  Nora had endeavored to sit as far away from Lennox as possible. Their host made this easier, for he seemed to have taken Lennox under his wing, seating him to his left during the meal. The two men conversed quietly, and even from a distance, Nora sensed the shift inside Lennox. Had the Duke of Aylesbury given him information that settled his quest? She was anxious to know, but her inner voice warned that she must create a space between them until he knew more about his real father and the world he might be joining.

  Susan, Tessa, and Alison joined the adults at the table, which delighted Nora. Cicely made introductions and, as they ate roasted lamb flavored with rosemary, she encouraged conversation between her nieces and Nora.

  “Mistress Nora is a weaver of fine tapestries,” she told them. “She may soon join the tapestry workshop of the king’s own Great Wardrobe. Wouldn’t that be thrilling?”

  Soon Nora was chatting with the little girls, promising to show them the nearly complete tapestry she had brought from Duart Castle. When Micheline joined the conversation to say that she herself owned a small loom and would be happy to see it in use again, Nora’s heart lifted. In the midst of so much uncertainty, the notion that she might soon be weaving again felt like she had been thrown a lifeline.

  At the end of the meal, Nora copied the others, who used special spoons to sample green walnuts dipped in hot sugar syrup.

  “It’s called a sucket spoon,” little Tess explained, when she saw Nora’s curious expression.

  Nora put the sweet walnut in her mouth and felt sick all over again. Hiding it in her napkin, Nora looked up to find Cicely gazing at her in concern.

  “Are you all right?” her friend whispered.

  “It’s only more of the same,” Nora replied softly, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass.

  “Micheline claimed that she stopped feeling ill after three months. You must be nearly there if the baby was conceived close to Easter.”

  “Yes. I hope so.”

  As they rose from the table, Lord Fairhaven approached his wife, closely attended by their greyhound. “Shall we depart, my love?”

  “Depart?” echoed Cicely.

  “For our own home.” His tone suggested he questioned her state of mind. “We have not been there for weeks.”

  “You are welcome to go, Robin, but I must remain here for now.” She turned to s
mile at Nora. “Fortunately, I still have a bedchamber of my own here at Weston House. Andrew and Micheline were good enough to take me in after their wedding, when I was young and foolish, so that I would not be forced to live in Yorkshire with our dreadful father.”

  Lord Fairhaven took his wife’s arm. “I must insist, my darling.”

  She removed his hand. “You are welcome to do so, sir, but I must decline.”

  Suddenly, Micheline was there beside them, exuding her own special Gallic charm. “Mes chers, how good it is to all be together! We have missed you during your sojourn in Scotland, and I know Andrew has been longing for a bit of time with Cicely.” She smiled into Lord Fairhaven’s eyes and touched his arm. “Robin, will you not allow your bride to remain with us at least one more night? We will see her home ourselves, as soon as possible.”

  “Hmmph.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how I can refuse.”

  “Ah, how wonderful you are,” Micheline said, sounding quite sincere. “Allow us to walk you outside to the stables.” She darted a tiny glance at Cicely, who obediently took her husband’s arm as they left the dining room.

  When the duke and the three little girls joined the others, Nora found herself alone in the shadowed corridor with Lennox. She thought he had never looked more handsome, his wild Highland looks in appealing contrast to the civilized Englishmen.

  Lennox backed her up against the wall and put his arms around her waist. The nausea that had plagued her at supper was gone, replaced by a surge of desire. She wanted to tip her head back, part her lips, and welcome his burning kiss.

  “Ah, lass, how I have missed ye,” he said, his voice melting her bones.

  He was kissing her sensitive ear, the fragile curve of her jaw, each tender spot on her neck. Nora wanted him so much she ached, but some higher part of her found the will to shake her head. “Lennox,” she breathed. “We must not.”

  As he bent to kiss the first curves of her breasts, Nora yearned for more and made a soft, involuntary sound.