Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  “Let us go to your rooms,” urged Lennox. “We need to be alone.”

  He gently fit his hand to her swelling breast, and she felt a delicious cascade of arousal. Her mouth went dry. “If I agree, this cannot happen. Please, give me your word that we will only have conversation.”

  Lennox straightened as if he’d been slapped and stared down at her, his green eyes aswirl with confusion. “Is it something I’ve done that has turned ye against me?”

  Nora led him to her chamber and, once inside, gestured toward the chairs near the windows. “Please, sit,” she said.

  Lennox shook his head, continuing to stand, illuminated by the rosy-gold beams of light that bathed the room. “Do ye imagine I can be moved here and there at your bidding, that ye can direct me as if our lives were a play?”

  “I beg you to listen to me,” Nora said, spreading her hands wide in supplication. “You must not think I don’t want to be in your arms, to kiss you—”

  “Then why won’t ye do it? We are wed!” he shot back. “First ye tell me that we must not tell the duke and duchess that ye are my wife, insisting that ye must have a room alone. Now ye say conversation is all we can share. Did I fall short somehow that night at Duart Castle, when I did all in my power to show how precious ye are to me?”

  Tears swelled in her heart. “Lennox, can you not see? It isn’t as simple as you believe. I want you to complete your quest before we choose a way forward.”

  “My search is nearly ended.” He told her then what he had learned about the man who could be his true father. “I do not yet know his name or circumstances, but Sandhurst says he is a good man.” Nora heard the surge of hope in his voice. “His wife and only son have both died, so he lives with grief.”

  “Perhaps you will soon find that long-sought sense of belonging.”

  “I will confess something to ye alone.” Lennox looked utterly vulnerable, the miniature in his extended hand. “I was worried that this Englishman might not be worth all I have endured to find him. After all, he lay with my mother, knowing she was a married woman! He could well have been without honor, a libertine like Slater.”

  Her heart seemed to stop when he said Slater. “Thank God you know that is not the case. Oh, Lennox, if he is the man you seek, this reunion could transform both your lives.” She ached to put her arms around him, but that would be foolhardy. “Let us see what happens next before we talk about the future. I have dreams and needs of my very own, and if I could not weave, I would never be happy.”

  There was much more Nora could not say: that she was carrying the child of a man he despised, and that fact alone could prevent her from sharing his future. She loved him too much to risk hindering him in the wonderful destiny that waited just around the corner. Lennox might well refuse to accept those reasons, however, so her aspiration to become a master weaver seemed the best argument—at least for now.

  Lennox stood now before the windows, looking out over the River Thames, bathed in the molten hues of twilight. A range of emotions passed over his face, and Nora knew him well enough to read most of them. Finally, Lennox fisted his hands and pressed them against his eyes.

  “Why must ye make this so hard?” he asked, his voice raw. “If we love each other, can we not find our way through the rest?”

  “Perhaps.” It took all her will to resist him. “Let us talk again after you meet this man and learn more about him.”

  “I want ye to be there as well.”

  Her heart twisted. He needs me. “But how will we explain my presence?”

  “I don’t need to explain to anyone.” Turning, his eyes burned through the space that separated them, scorching her heart. “Say ye will come.”

  Nora nodded. “Yes. I will come.”

  * * *

  After a night of fitful sleep, Lennox awoke before dawn to find a message from the Duke of Aylesbury peeking under his door.

  My friend will join us in the garden at nine o’clock this morning. Sandhurst.

  Suddenly Lennox could not bear to stay indoors another moment. He dressed quickly and went outside, walking away from the Thames and into the heart of the city. The grand manor houses of the Strand gave way to twisting streets crowded with carts and horses, shouting vendors, and half-timbered shops, taverns, and chapels. And everywhere he looked, people stared back, clearly intrigued by his Highland garb. As he drew near the Fleet River, the stink of summer filled his nostrils, and Lennox found himself longing for the fresh, misty air of Skye.

  By the time he found his way back to Weston House, it was nearly nine o’clock. The sky was hazy on this warm morning, and, in the distance, the River Thames was dotted with wherries and the white sails of tilt-boats. A tall, broad-shouldered figure waved at him from the knot garden that spread between Weston House and the water. Lennox had imagined he might go inside and wash up, but it seemed he’d run out of time.

  Sandhurst, looking elegant yet relaxed in a buff doublet, walked forward to meet him. “I rather feared you’d changed your mind,” he said with a trace of irony.

  “Nay. My only intention was to explore London for a bit, not run away.” Lennox didn’t know how to explain that setting off on a solitary journey had always been his solution to life’s thornier challenges. “I felt the need to clear my head.”

  “That’s understandable.” Sandhurst gestured toward a small table and chairs in a shady corner of the garden. “I thought we might sit outside, away from the bustle of the household.”

  “I very much want Nora to join us for this meeting,” Lennox said. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” Without waiting for Sandhurst to reply, he went up the steps to the manor house. To his relief, Nora was standing in the hall, under a portrait of Cicely that dominated the far wall. Nora looked so lovely, slim and straight in her favorite simple gown of blue silk, her lustrous coppery locks set off by a French hood edged with pearls. When she looked at him, her eyes were tender.

  “Ye are here,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “Thank God ye are better at following a schedule than I am,” Lennox said, longing to take her in his arms. “I will confess that, after struggling to reach this day, I now dread it.”

  “All will be well.” Nora reached up to touch his cheek. “I can feel it.”

  As they went back outside to the gardens, Lennox stopped at the sight of a fine barge gliding up to steps that led down to the Thames. “Ach,” he muttered.

  Sandhurst was waiting for them at the edge of the gardens. No doubt he was perplexed by Nora’s presence but was too fine a gentleman to say so. “Good morning, Nora. It’s nice to see you,” he said kindly. “Excuse me, won’t you? I will welcome our guest.”

  Lennox was grateful for Nora’s calming presence at his side. Together they walked toward the table, where servants had laid out a bowl of cherries and a plate of cheeses, ham, and savory buns. He had never felt less like eating.

  An older man was disembarking from the barge, accompanied by a stocky servant wearing livery of gold velvet. Lennox stared as Sandhurst went forward to greet his friend, and as soon as they started to walk up the lawn, he knew that the man was indeed his father.

  “It’s him.”

  “Yes.” Nora was nodding soberly. “Without a doubt.”

  Chapter 22

  The man who was walking toward them was so much like Lennox that Nora felt a shiver run down her spine. He held his head slightly cocked to one side as Lennox did when he was assessing a situation. He was the same height and moved like Lennox, if perhaps a bit more slowly. And the smile that spread over his aging face was exactly like Lennox’s.

  The main difference between them, besides age, was that this man wore the garb of a wealthy aristocrat. His doublet of dark blue velvet was slashed and set with gems. He wore a jerkin trimmed with silver braid, and a sapphire-studded pomander hung from a chain round his neck. His velvet cap sported a swan’s feather, just like the man in the miniature made nearly three decades earlier.


  Nora reached for Lennox’s cold hand.

  “He looks very kind,” she whispered.

  His only response was a slow nod.

  Now, with a closer view of the man’s face, Nora felt a wave of emotion. It was like seeing Lennox in the future, decades from now.

  Sandhurst led his friend forward and sought to ease the tension. “This is an awkward moment, I suppose, but I trust you two very fine men will meet the challenge.” He looked at Lennox. “I went to visit my friend late last evening, after discovering that he had not yet left London for the country. I have told him everything you shared with me.”

  Lennox straightened his shoulders, waiting for the page to be turned on his life.

  “Hello, my boy,” said the man, extending his hand. He wore rings set with precious gems. Nora noticed then that his fingers were like Lennox’s: long and artistic yet masculine and strong. The older man studied Lennox, his sea-green eyes moving over his Highland garb then settling on his face as if he might find answers there.

  As they shook hands, Sandhurst spoke. “Lennox MacLeod, it is my honor to present to you His Grace the Duke of Hastings.”

  * * *

  Lennox went pale but did not flinch. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” he said.

  “But that sounds much too formal,” the duke protested, a smile softening his handsome countenance. “I believe you are my son. Perhaps, after we have an opportunity to learn more about one another, you will do me the honor of addressing me as ‘Father.’”

  Nora’s heart swelled as she watched Lennox, sensing the powerful emotions that must be rising up inside him. Thank God she had not divulged anything to him that might disrupt this moment. After waiting a lifetime, Lennox needed to be free to forge a relationship with his true father, without any outside obligations holding him back.

  Lennox turned toward Nora. “Sir, I would have ye know Nora Brodie. This lass has helped me more than anyone else to stand here today.” He looked hard at her, clearly wanting to say more.

  Nora dipped a curtsy, relaxing under the duke’s friendly regard. “Your Grace, Lennox made it possible for me to travel from Scotland to London. He has told me his story, so I know how much this day means to him.”

  “I suggest that we all be seated,” Sandhurst said, pouring cups of weak ale for all of them from a silver pitcher.

  Soon Lennox and the Duke of Hastings were leaning toward each other, deep in conversation. Nora cut herself a small wedge of cheese and watched them talk as if they had always known one another.

  “You will never know what profound meaning this day holds for me,” Hastings was saying. “How did you manage to find me?”

  Lennox took out the miniature and handed it to him. “Ma left this behind, hidden in the false bottom of a jeweled casket, trusting I would eventually discover it.”

  “By God, she kept it.” The duke’s voice thickened as he stared at the small painting of a younger version of himself. “I will confess I never forgot your mother. Perhaps, if I had known she was with child, I would have been more courageous…and everything would have been different.”

  Nora could see the pain in Lennox’s eyes and knew those words, “Everything would have been different,” held more weight than the duke could have imagined.

  “Perhaps I risk causing offense by speaking plainly, sir,” Lennox said. “But if ye knew she was unhappy with my da, and she loved you, why did ye let her return to Skye?”

  Nora held her breath, waiting for the duke to turn frosty. She had spent enough time among nobility to know that they were used to being treated with respectful deference, and if one deviated from that code of conduct, a barrier of aristocratic reserve appeared.

  Hastings glanced away for a moment before meeting Lennox’s even stare. “I am not proud to admit this, but I was unhappy in my marriage to my duchess. I became fond of going away on journeys, and that year I escaped to the distant Isle of Mull to purchase sheep from Laird MacLean.” He paused to sigh deeply. “I arrived at the forbidding Duart Castle to find another guest: your extraordinary mother, Eleanor, with her bold little son, Ciaran. I think we fell in love the moment we met.”

  Nora sensed the acceleration of Lennox’s heartbeat as he listened to his true father supply the missing pieces that connected their two lives.

  “I wished with all my heart that I could change my circumstances…and those of your mother,” the duke continued. “But we were both wed to others. We had children born of those marriages, and I carried the weight of my obligations as a duke.” He paused, looking off as if he could see something the others could not. “So, you see, Eleanor and I stole those summer days, and nights, knowing we would have to make them last a lifetime. It was as if we had found another world, outside of time.”

  Lennox lifted a hand to rub his eyes, perhaps hoping that would help him to see more clearly. “Ye could be speaking of someone I never knew. When I was growing up on the Isle of Skye, my mother seemed content enough with her lot.”

  The duke shrugged, looking pained. “I surmise your parents worked through their differences, as I endeavored to do with my own wife. But I never forgot Eleanor. I sent her letters.”

  “Aye,” Lennox said. “Da told me that’s how he uncovered the truth when I was four. He found a letter from her lover, signed with an R.”

  The duke colored slightly. “My Christian name is Richard. Except for my close family, your mother was the only person who ever called me Richard.”

  “So, if ye signed an R, no one would suspect the writer could be the Duke of Hastings,” said Lennox. Nora could guess how hard this must be for Lennox, yet she saw compassion in his gaze.

  “There is so much more for us to talk about,” said the duke, leaning forward. “My son, I hope you will agree to come with me to Greythorne Manor, my country estate in Surrey. I only ask for your time, long enough for us to become better acquainted…and discuss the future.” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you have heard that I lost my only child, Charles, just a few months ago. I’ve been lost in a sea of grief. As you may imagine, your unexpected appearance in my life feels akin to a gift from God.”

  Lennox nodded slowly. “Aye. I would like to go with ye to Surrey. But—” He looked toward Nora.

  “Of course, Mistress Brodie is welcome to come with us,” the duke hastened to say, every inch a gentleman as he sent Nora a polite smile. She could feel the man’s questions in the air between them.

  A shadow passed over her heart. “You are very kind, sir, and I deeply appreciate your invitation. However, I have business to attend to here in London. And in truth, I would not want to intrude on your time with your son.”

  From Weston House came the sound of Percy barking, followed by the happy voices of Susan, Tessa, and Alison. Nora looked over to see them emerging from the manor, hurrying out across the lawn. Seconds later, Micheline came into view behind the girls, utterly lovely in a jonquil-yellow gown.

  Everyone began to rise, and Sandhurst went to join his family. Watching them move about on the clipped lawn with the River Thames as a backdrop, Nora reflected on the rarefied, often idyllic world of the English aristocracy. Was it possible that Lennox might find a place among these people, enjoying such pleasures on a regular basis? She imagined him traveling to Europe, studying painting with some of the gifted artists the Duke of Hastings would know. It was not a world Lennox would have chosen for himself, but perhaps he might find himself fitting in better than he could now imagine. And clearly, the duke had a great void in his life that only a son could fill.

  The two men were standing close together, still conversing, clearly sculpted from the same block of marble despite the differences in their garb.

  “How pensive you look,” a feminine voice said near her shoulder.

  Nora turned to find Cicely standing there, enchanting in a leaf-green gown and a fashionable French hood set with topaz. “I didn’t see you.”

  “No doubt because your entire future is passing in f
ront of your eyes,” her friend said. “I’m so eager to know, now that Lennox has discovered he is the son of a duke, do you intend to reveal your wedded state?”

  Nora shook her head. “I can’t say yet.” Even if she had settled on an answer to Cicely’s bold question, she wouldn’t share it with anyone but Lennox.

  * * *

  Very soon, everyone will leave Weston House, Nora thought with a sigh.

  During supper, she heard Micheline and Sandhurst telling their daughters to begin choosing the special belongings they wished to take to Gloucestershire, where they would spend the rest of the summer at the family’s country estate. Susan, the oldest, was especially excited at the prospect of riding her favorite horse again.

  Meanwhile, Lennox admitted that he would indeed be visiting the Duke of Hastings’s manor house in Surrey. Over a dessert of plum tart sprinkled with sugar, the others peppered him with questions about his plans. Lennox had looked uncomfortable as he replied, casting frequent glances toward Nora.

  It was Cicely, however, who delivered the news that most shook Nora’s world. “I had a visit from Robin today. He insists I must return home tomorrow, or he will arrive here to take me by force.” She pushed back her trencher and sighed. “Robin also brought some exceedingly sad news. Andrew, have you heard? Sir Raymond Slater’s ship, Hercules, was lost in a storm off the coast of Spain. There were no survivors. How tragic, for such a man to die in the very prime of his life!”

  Hearing these words, Nora felt shock ripple through her. Slater was lost. Dead! Trying to keep her expression calm, she leaned forward, eager to hear every word.

  “Indeed?” Sandhurst was saying, brow arched. “I hardly think he’ll be missed by anyone, except perhaps his trading patrons.”

  Cicely frowned. “Why do you say so? I always found Sir Raymond to be very charming, in a rather wicked way. In fact, before my Robin proposed marriage, Sir Raymond showed quite an interest in me, and I was tempted to reciprocate.”

  “Well, that would have never happened as long as you were living under my roof.” Sandhurst’s face darkened. “Sir Raymond Slater always struck me as unscrupulous, to put it politely.”