“I’m not a lord,” Lennox replied dryly. “Just Lennox MacLeod.” The act of saying his own name suddenly filled him with energy.
After Burley led Chaucer away to the stables, Lennox turned back to Grant. It seemed he had never been so glad to see a familiar face. Reaching out, he put an arm around the lad’s shoulders. They were nearly the same height.
“Look at ye. So tall!”
Grant flushed. He was grimy and sunburned from the road, but a smile lit his face as he returned Lennox’s grin. “It’s not so long since we last met,” he said. “Though Ma does say I am growing by the week.”
“We’ll go inside soon, where ye can have a cup of ale and some food, but first tell me how ye found me. And why did ye come all this distance?”
Grant’s expression sobered. “When that MacLean from Mull fellow brought Chaucer back to Stirling Castle, I could barely contain myself. I read your message, and Stirling suddenly felt like the dullest place in the world!” He paused, grinning at Lennox. “Fiona bade me find out what fate had befallen ye. What a tale I will have to tell when I return to Scotland! How ye have changed!” He swept a hand through the air to indicate Lennox’s silver-and-green doublet, soft hose, and breeches. “Ye are living the life of a prince, in this grand palace!”
He frowned, annoyed. “I can assure you I am no prince. I am still the same person you knew before.”
“Ah, well, that’s not the only reason I came. I was worried for Nora. She is one of the finest lasses I know, and I am honored to count her as a friend.”
“Ye must know I would not let any harm come to her,” Lennox protested.
“Perhaps not, but ye have left her behind in London all the same.”
Lennox stared, his breath frozen in his chest. “Ye have seen her.” He was aching to know more, yet half fearing what he might hear.
“Aye! How else could I know to come here? I sought out Lord and Lady Fairhaven, and her ladyship took me to Nora. She was in the midst of moving to a small house of her own.”
“And did Nora send you here?” The possibility that she might have changed her mind and had sent Grant to fetch him lit a bright flame of hope in Lennox.
“She did send me, so I might bring Chaucer here.” Lifting his brows, Grant gave a rueful smile. “She has never been more beautiful. Heartbroken, yet so determined.”
The lad’s words were like a dagger in the center of his chest. “She is truly making a new life, then?”
Grant nodded. “Already Nora has found a position at court, thanks to her friend, Lady Fairhaven. She’s a lass of great resolve and I do not doubt she’ll find her way forward.”
“Alone.”
“Aye, alone, though she’ll have her babe, of course.” Grant then brought out a small bundle he’d been carrying under his arm and opened it. “She sent ye something. She said she finished this on the Duchess of Aylesbury’s loom, after ye left with your father.”
Lennox took the rolled-up canvas that Grant proffered. Reluctantly, he unfurled it and beheld the tapestry they had conceived of together, combining his design with her weaving. There was the birlinn on the richly layered blue sea, with two small figures inside.
Tears burned his eyes, and for a moment he was back with Nora in the tiny room at Duart Castle, as she beheld his drawing for the first time: “This is us, isn’t it?”
It might be, he realized, a gift that said farewell more eloquently than any words she could have written…
Chapter 26
Whitehall Palace, London
August 1541
“I’d forgotten how terrible the summers can be here in London,” Nora remarked, glancing toward Master Jan Mostinck. He was in charge of all of King Henry VIII’s royal tapestries, and she knew he had hoped to escape the city when the monarch began his Northern Progress at the end of June. Instead, a fever had held him back during the court’s departure, and now it was too late. Trapped in London, he frequently showed his displeasure to those like Nora, who had stayed behind.
Mostinck walked over to stand behind Nora at her loom, where she was repairing a small, frayed tapestry that depicted the Royal Arms of Tudor England.
“It is one of the worst summers I have ever known. So hot! All of London stinks like the open sewers.” He pointed a long, reddened finger at one of the heraldic lions. “Do you see the torn stitch here, on the beast’s eye? I thought I could depend upon you, Widow Lovejoy, to do careful work!”
Nora wanted to tell him that this drudgery was an insult to her very real gifts. When she arrived with Cicely at the Great Wardrobe at Whitehall Palace in late June, Nora had been greeted respectfully by Mostinck and readily given a position among the men who labored in his workrooms. The Flemish tapisier remembered Nora’s father, and when he saw the small, exquisite tapestry she had brought to illustrate her abilities, he had seemed genuinely impressed.
Encouraged about the future, Nora had settled into a small house that the Duke and Duchess of Aylesbury had purchased for Throgmorton’s now-deceased parents. Of course, it would take time to ascend to a high position among the Great Wardrobe’s weavers, but once she convinced Master Mostinck of her talent and determination to work hard, surely Nora would reach her goals. Yet, as the weeks passed, London became stiflingly warm and Nora’s size increased. Her lower back began to ache as she sat weaving for hours at Whitehall, and her longing for Lennox became a shadow over her heart. At least her swollen belly was still hidden under her gown. No one knew her secret yet, except those few of her own choosing.
“I regret that I didn’t see that stitch,” she told Master Mostinck in an even tone. Then, looking up from the loom, Nora summoned her courage and asked, “Sir, have you by chance heard whether the queen is interested in purchasing my tapestry?”
“Tapestry?” he repeated absently.
“Yes, the small one of a maiden with a harp and roses. I’ve been told it is an especially exquisite arras.” Nora wanted to remind him that it had been his idea to take it and show it to Her Majesty himself, but she sensed that his temper was already stretched thin.
The Fleming stroked his short beard. “Ah, yes. I did show it to Her Majesty, but she didn’t care for the lady’s expression.”
“I see.” Nora’s heart sank. She had been counting on the sale of the tapestry to fund her quest for independence, but clearly she would have to search for a new buyer. “In that case, I would ask that you return it to me.”
He turned away, distracted. “I’ll do that when I have a moment to look for the thing.”
Nora rose and followed him. “I must request that you search for it now,” she pressed. “It is my only possession of value.”
They went to a large chest filled with small hangings, many of them waiting to be repaired. Master Mostinck rummaged inside before pulling out Nora’s tapestry. “You are very assertive for a female! Did your good father, William Brodie, have no reservations about you coming to London alone?”
“I have told you, sir. In the short time after Father and I went to Stirling, I was married and then widowed. I had to consider my future. I have always wanted to become a master weaver for the royal court, but that wasn’t possible in Scotland, where the tapestry collection is so much smaller.” She took a breath. “I knew, as a widow, I could aspire to a higher position with the Great Wardrobe than I could in Scotland, with only my father to recommend me.”
He stared at her over a pair of tarnished silver spectacles. “Hmm. You have bold dreams, Widow Lovejoy.”
“I believe in myself.” Nora spoke confidently, but she felt the throb in her voice. The days when she had enjoyed a single-minded purpose were behind her. So many things had happened to teach her that the world was not a place she could bend to her own will.
Her innocence had been stolen, and now she was carrying a child, conceived with that thief. She had parted from her father, who had been her anchor in the changing currents of life. But Nora’s biggest lesson in powerlessness was Lennox MacLeod. Loving
a man she could not have filled her with bittersweet longing, more powerful than any other emotion…except her hope that he was finding fulfillment in his new life.
“The heat is oppressive, and you are pale. Go home,” said Master Mostinck, wiping his brow. “But leave your tapestry with me. I may yet find a buyer.”
* * *
A summer storm was brewing as Nora navigated the crowded streets from Whitehall Palace to Cockspur Court. The sight of her modest, half-timbered house always gave her a surge of pride. She was making her own way in the city, honestly employed and determined to take care of her child once he or she was born.
Entering through the low front door, Nora was greeted by Mistress Joan Farthing, who had been sent by Sandhurst to look after the household.
“Ah, mistress, I am so glad you’ve come home ahead of the rain,” the older woman said. Joan’s countenance was pinched and angular, but her kind manner shone through. “If you will sit, I’ll bring you a nice cup of weak ale.”
“You’re very kind. Thank you.”
The dim parlor with its low ceiling would have been gloomy, but Nora had hung tapestries over the paneled walls. One was the hanging she had made as a child, the second was a hunting scene she found in a chest upstairs, and the third was a duplicate of the tapestry she’d sent with Grant, to Lennox. She had kept his cartoon, and Micheline had sent her own small loom to be set up in one of the Cockspur Court rooms. Since coming here to live on her own, Nora had spent long hours re-weaving the scene of her with Lennox on the Sound of Mull. The galley, with its Viking-style prow, bobbed on the blue waves, and when she looked closely, it almost seemed she could see the golden-haired figure smiling at her.
Looking at it now, Nora felt her throat thicken. It was strange: All her life she had relished the chance to work in solitude, but now she deeply missed human contact. Her father, who had been not only a parent but also a friend and mentor. Friends like Grant, Micheline, and Cicely. Even her mother, whom she had tried to block from her thoughts since leaving Flanders at age ten.
But most of all, she missed Lennox. She wanted to tell him about everything that she experienced and felt. She wanted to feel him draw her into his arms and rest her cheek on his warm, broad chest. Just to look once more into his sea-green eyes, glimpsing the flame of love in their depths, would be a gift beyond price.
Sighing, Nora blinked back tears and rested her hand on the place where her baby grew. Her belly felt hard through the layers of her petticoat and kirtle. Last night, lying in bed, she thought she could feel him move, like a feather brushing inside her. A wave of his tiny hand.
“We are together,” she whispered.
Just as Joan Farthing came back in holding a silver cup, a knock sounded at the door. “Don’t you move, mistress!” The older woman handed Nora the cup and went to the door. “Who’s there?”
A muffled voice replied, “It is I, Lady Fairhaven!”
Nora’s heart lifted. Rising, she hurried to greet her friend as Joan lifted the bar. There was Cicely, looking charming in robins-egg-blue silk. The sight of her animated face was almost like a dream.
“Can it truly be you? Do come in! I thought you and Lord Fairhaven had gone to Kent, to escape the summer heat.” Nora reached out with both hands and they embraced. Glancing toward Joan, she added, “Will you please bring Lady Fairhaven a goblet of wine?”
Cicely came inside but immediately frowned. “It’s horrid in here.”
“I know. It’s almost worse inside than it is out.”
“You should stay at Andrew’s house, on the river. At least it has wonderful views and lots of light, and there is a bit of breeze off the water.”
Nora shook her head. “I prefer having a place I can make my own. I have a loom here. And it’s a short walk to Whitehall, where I am employed in the Great Wardrobe.”
“Oh, all right then.” Cicely took a seat on a bench and accepted a goblet of wine from Mistress Farthing. “I suppose you should be able to decide for yourself.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Nora replied, amused. “But why are you in London?”
“I had to return to town because…” Looking like a cat who has swallowed a canary, Cicely whispered, “I am enceinte. I think.”
“But that’s wonderful news!” Nora nearly exclaimed that their children could grow up as friends before remembering that Cicely was a member of the nobility, while Nora was merely a weaver of tapestries…whose baby would be, in truth, a bastard.
“I know,” Cicely exclaimed. “Is it not thrilling? Robin insisted that we consult with his father’s physician, so we came back to London for a few days.” She paused, her cheeks coloring. “I know my Robin may be less heroic and handsome than other men we know, but he is just right for me. He lets me be myself, yet when the need arises, he can be quite forceful.”
Nora wasn’t certain how to reply to that. “That’s lovely.”
“But enough about me. How are you feeling?” Cicely pressed. “If you have awful stories to share about these past weeks, please do not tell me. I like to imagine that I’ll become more beautiful with each passing day. Everyone will look at me and say how serene I am.”
This made both of them laugh. Nora tried to assume an air of serenity herself, but it was difficult now that she was finally in the company of a caring friend who knew the truth about her baby’s conception.
“I will confess that the past weeks have been a challenge.”
Having swallowed the last of her wine, Cicely set down the goblet and bent close to Nora, clasping her hand. “Tell me, dear friend.”
“It’s not the baby.” She touched the curve of her belly, irrationally grateful to be able to acknowledge the baby to someone. “He is my greatest comfort.” Slowly then Nora allowed herself to speak about her loneliness, the unfulfilled dreams at the Great Wardrobe, and her mixed emotions about Lennox. “I think he must be happy in Surrey with his father. Our friend from Scotland, Grant Carsewell, came to Weston House with Lennox’s horse. I encouraged him to take Chaucer to Lennox, and I confess I selfishly imagined Grant might return with news that Lennox missed me and wanted to return.” She drew a painful breath. “Instead, weeks have passed, and there is no word from either of them. All must be well.”
“You are not selfish,” Cicely declared. “Not in the least! You could have kept him for yourself, but you wanted him to find his rightful place in the world, and it seems that has come to pass.” She sighed. “And what of your exquisite tapestry, the one of the lady with the harp? Did the queen purchase it from you?”
Nora shook her head. “No. Thank God for the Duke and Duchess of Aylesbury’s generosity, providing me with this house and Joan to look after me.”
“And I take it Master Mostinck is not in any hurry to make you a master weaver?”
“No. Although he does appreciate my talents.” Nora’s eyes stung. “I must be patient. Perhaps I have only been dreaming after all, and now reality is here before me.”
“Well, in any case, you should not be alone. I hate to say it, but it’s a shame Sir Raymond Slater is dead. He could give you and your child a very fine life.”
Nora hesitated to say anything too disparaging about the man Cicely had clearly found so compelling, so she glanced away. “That is neither here nor there, for he is dead, is he not? I must find my own way in the world. What sort of woman would I be if I gave up and looked around for a man whenever challenges appear before me?”
“You would be quite normal.” Cicely rose and smoothed her pale blue skirts. “Let me give this situation some thought. Something should be done.”
That sounded ominous to Nora. Following her friend to the door, she implored, “Please do not worry about me. I’m quite capable of making my way through the months ahead.”
“But what about the baby? He needs a father.”
“Nothing can be done about that.” Nora watched her friend for a moment. What was in her mind? “Believe me, I will find a way. Dear Joan has alr
eady promised to look after the baby when I am away weaving, just as she would one of her own grandchildren.”
Cicely rolled her eyes. “That’s not good enough.” Leaning forward, she embraced Nora and kissed her cheek. “I will try to come again before we leave London. You are the bravest person I know!”
* * *
Outside on Cockspur Court, Cicely set off toward the comfortable home Robin owned a quarter mile away. One day she intended that they would live somewhere truly elegant along the Thames, but for now this cast-off family abode would have to suffice.
Her thoughts whirled as she wound her way through the crush. How could Nora possibly spend her days weaving while her child stayed in that gloomy house with Mistress Farthing? Was it folly to imagine that a suitable husband might appear, believing Nora to be a widow? But where could one be found?
“Watch out!” yelled a boy’s voice.
Startled, Cicely saw that she was about to collide with a packhorse belonging to a young water carrier. The lad, who was going from house to house to sell water, spilled half his bucket. She stepped back, mumbling an apology, but he continued to scowl at her.
“Look where you’re goin’, mistress!” shouted the water carrier.
“See here, I certainly didn’t mean—”
Before Cicely could utter another word, a hand gripped her elbow through the fine silk of her sleeve, and a shadow fell across her vision.
“Do not apologize to this varlet,” a man’s voice warned. Then, to the boy, her rescuer thundered, “How dare you speak to a noblewoman in that manner? Get away from us, this instant!”
Cicely’s heart pounded in disbelief. She tried to focus. It couldn’t be! Yet, looming above her, she saw the darkly handsome face of Sir Raymond Slater.
* * *
“Come into my coach,” Sir Raymond commanded, leading Cicely to his nearby carriage and then lifting her off her feet. Her skirts were caught in the narrow doorway, holding her back, but he reached down and quickly freed her. “I will take you home.”
Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5) Page 23