Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  Slater suddenly broke out in a sickening sweat. “MacLeod! How—”

  “Get up,” ordered Lennox.

  “Don’t kill me, I beg you.” Slater’s words were garbled.

  Leaning down, Lennox grabbed Slater’s arm and easily pulled him over, freeing Nora to roll away. Lennox quickly lifted her to her feet, and she buried her face in the tartan sash covering his chest. He smelled wonderful. As familiar as her own breath.

  “Are ye hurt?” Lennox asked. He kept one arm firmly around her while he continued to hold the claymore inches from Slater’s throat. “What’s happened here?”

  “He ate one of the poison sweetmeats,” Nora said in a rush. “Just like the one he gave me that night at Stirling Castle, when he took my innocence. It is rendering him insensible, I think.” She clung to Lennox in disbelief. “Can you be real? How did you get in here?”

  He laughed. “I have my ways. Grant and I were arriving when we saw Slater through the window and realized what must be happening. I decided it would be better to enter through the upstairs window. ’Twas easy enough for a Highlander like me, trained from the time I was a bairn to scale cliffs and castle walls.”

  Slater gave a low moan, and Nora whirled to look at him. He was lying on his back on the floor, arms at his sides, eyes nearly shut. Was he watching them, waiting for a chance to leap up and turn Lennox’s claymore against them? As if reading her thoughts, Lennox shook his head.

  “He isn’t getting up, but I’ll take no chances.” He looked down at her with the sea-green eyes she’d dreamed about every night since their parting in June. “Nora, can ye go to the door and lift the bar? Grant is waiting outside.”

  She did as he bade, and moments later Grant was rushing into the parlor, brandishing his own dirk.

  “Mistress Farthing, the housekeeper, returned from her errands a few minutes ago. I asked her to summon Lord Fairhaven and the authorities,” Grant exclaimed as he bound Slater’s wrists together. “They should be here at any moment!”

  Love swelled inside Nora as she watched Lennox and Grant stand together over their captive, boldly united in their Clan MacLeod plaids. Neither was a MacLeod by birth, but really, what did that matter? It was all so much deeper than that.

  She walked over to look down at Sir Raymond Slater, who was now as incapacitated as she had been that night at Stirling Castle. Nora felt satisfaction in seeing him open his mouth as if to speak yet be unable to make a sound. She remembered that terrible feeling all too well, when she had wanted to cry out in protest against what he was doing to her.

  “He’s not worth another moment of your pain, lass,” Lennox said in a low voice. “We can begin now to put it all behind us and look to the future.”

  The feeling of his strong arm around her meant more to Nora than she could have imagined. Us, Lennox had said. She let herself smile. At that moment, Samuel the cat emerged from hiding and walked soundlessly over to the prostrate Sir Raymond Slater, sniffing his face with a moist nose. For an instant, their captive seemed to focus, and an expression of horror crossed his face.

  Nora couldn’t help smiling. “He is doubtless afraid of cats,” she observed. “Joan told me that some of our neighbors think cats like Samuel are possessed by the devil.”

  Samuel purred loudly then flicked his whiskers over Slater’s mouth. When Nora looked up to share her amusement with Lennox, she could see that his thoughts were far away.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  He drew a short breath. “We know this man is a criminal, and the authorities should arrest him, but what crime can he be charged with tonight? There must not be a possibility that they will release him.”

  Even as he spoke, the front door opened, and Joan Farthing appeared, with Lord Fairhaven at her side. Following them was a burly fellow carrying a lantern, a bell, and a pike slung over one shoulder. Nora recognized him as Barnaby, the night watchman who patrolled the area surrounding Cockspur Court. Barnaby held out his lantern, scanning the small room, and scowled.

  “What’s all this?” he shouted, indicating Sir Raymond Slater.

  Slater, who seemed to be reviving, mumbled, “Help! I am a…nobleman!”

  Barnaby glared at Robin and the others. “Is that true?”

  “Sir Raymond Slater may indeed be a knight,” Lennox allowed, “but he’s also a thief—and worse. When the king learns of his crimes, even he will agree the man must be punished.”

  “What crimes, then?”

  Nora intervened. Stepping close to Slater, she reached into his jerkin pocket and drew out her tapestry purse. “I made this purse myself. You can see my mark on it.” She crossed to the watchman and pointed to her small N, woven into one corner. “All my savings are contained inside this purse, and Sir Raymond Slater stole it. Not only that, he attempted to force himself on me, much against my will.”

  Barnaby looked around at Robin. “Lord Fairhaven, do you support the accusations of Widow Lovejoy?”

  All of Nora’s friends joined to stand beside her. “Every one of us does,” Robin asserted.

  “Then this is a matter for the courts,” declared Barnaby. “I’ll summon the authorities to take Sir Raymond to Newgate, where he will await trial.”

  “What will happen then?” Nora asked.

  Barnaby shrugged. “Stealing is often punishable by death. As a nobleman, Sir Raymond might mercifully be beheaded rather than hanged.” The watchman glanced toward the prisoner before adding, “Many thieves’ heads are displayed on pikes along London Bridge.”

  Amidst the general commotion in the room, Lennox drew Nora off to one side. “We have wasted enough time with that villain. I want to be alone with ye, love. Come away with me to Weston House.”

  “Oh, yes, please.” His nearness kindled a flame inside Nora, casting out all the dark moments of that day. “When can we leave?”

  “Now.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his eyes full of promise. “Is that soon enough?”

  Chapter 31

  In the dead of night, Weston House was still. Only Lennox was awake.

  When he and Nora had fallen into bed, they hadn’t bothered to close the draperies, and now moonbeams streamed through the mullioned windows overlooking the River Thames.

  The light silvered her naked body as she lay in his arms. His nose grazed the back of her neck, still damp from their lovemaking. Was she sleeping at last? His own emotions consumed him.

  His gaze swept over her, lingering on the increased swell of her belly. When he thought about the babe growing inside her, Lennox was filled with wonder and a tangle of more conflicted emotions. He loved her, and loved her babe, yet his heart instinctively fisted whenever he remembered that the villainous Sir Raymond Slater was the father. When Lennox and Nora were able to make babes of their own, would he love this one any less?

  As he considered this, Lennox recalled something he had said to the Duke of Hastings, his own birth father:

  “I don’t think any less of myself for being born a bastard. In fact, I had nothing to do with it.”

  It came to him that this babe inside Nora was as innocent as he himself had been. He thought of Magnus, the man he had called Da all his life, who had carried him on his shoulders when he was a bairn and taught him how to sail a galley. Da, who had talked to him about the right way to be with a lass, no matter what other lads might suggest. Da, who learned along the way that he hadn’t fathered Lennox after all yet had continued to do his best to love him anyway.

  Tears burned his eyes and he drew a painful breath.

  “What is it?” whispered Nora. She turned halfway in his embrace, looking up at him with luminous blue eyes.

  “’Tis nothing. Ye need sleep, lass.”

  “There will be other nights to sleep.” She smiled, and it seemed to Lennox that God had never created a more inviting mouth than hers.

  When he thought of how they had loved that night, arousal coursed through him again and he felt himself stiffen, hot and u
rgent, against the curve of her bottom. “Aye, we’ll have a lifetime of other nights to sleep,” he agreed softly. “So let me show ye again how much I’ve missed ye.”

  She had turned toward him, enough so that her breasts were close enough for him to bend his head and kiss. Already that night, he had lingered for long minutes over her nipples, savoring them, making them harden under his questing tongue. Now, Lennox cupped one of her full breasts in his free hand and gave a low groan. In that moment, it seemed that he had slept alone for years rather than months. He made his fingertips like feathers, grazing her nipple and the underside of her breast, then slowly moved over her belly, down to the wet, aching core of her desire.

  He could feel her breathing change, her thighs open ever so slightly. As he angled her toward him, Nora put a hand on his chest.

  “Wait. Please, I want to talk.”

  Their eyes met in the moonlight. “Soon,” he coaxed, nudging her close enough to feel his urgent need at the apex of her thighs. “But first…”

  “Lennox!” Nora caught his dark hand and brought it to her heart. “Must I cover myself? We have loved already tonight, and now we must talk.”

  He gave a sigh but smiled as she held his hand to keep it from wandering. “I suppose ye wonder what happened while I was away.”

  “I do. You have seen the house where I now live, you met Joan Farthing, you know I was weaving at Whitehall Palace. And you can see that I am hardly in a state to embark on any new romance.”

  Lennox lifted both brows. “Are ye suggesting that’s what I was doing?”

  “Tell me about life with the duke. You went with him because you thought you might find the place you finally felt you belonged, the world you were born to. Have you truly decided against that?”

  “I missed ye so much,” he said, aching to kiss her again. He wanted to press every inch of his naked body to hers, to be inside her, to stay like that, in this bed for days. But Nora’s gaze demanded an answer. “I missed ye, but there’s more to it, of course.”

  “I assumed as much. I beg you to be honest.” She was still watching him. “You were unhappy there?”

  “Aye.” He started to nod, then shook his head. “Nay. There is no plain answer. Father did everything he could to make me feel comfortable. He hoped I would slip into a new role, as the son of a duke.”

  “You were to have a title?”

  “That was the duke’s intention. He meant to petition the king. His legitimate son, Charles, died not long ago, and he yearned that I might be heir to his title.”

  “I can only imagine what it was like for him, to find a son who so closely resembled him and then to hope that you would be with him forever.” She paused. “Did you come back because you knew I could not live in that rarefied world, even if I were not carrying this child?”

  “In part, but it was more complicated. My father meant well, but the longer I was there, the more I realized I did not fit in his world. The more plans he made for me, the more uneasy I felt.”

  “What sort of plans?”

  Lennox really didn’t want to talk about it, especially now, but her eyes told him he must. “It was assumed I would wear the clothing of an Englishman, made for me by the duke’s pretentious tailor. He wanted me to ride Charles’s horse, to sleep in his room, to sit in his chair at the table. Before I left, my father even made plans to acquire a nearby monastery that was abandoned during the dissolution. He thought we could renovate it, and that would be my estate.”

  “And who would live there with you?” she asked softly.

  “I can see that ye suspect I was with someone else during these past months.” As he spoke, Lennox wondered at the spark of indignation he felt. Perhaps it was because he had indulged in a fantasy or two of a future with Betsy, including fleeting images of her in his bed. But that did not mean he had been unfaithful to Nora! Just the opposite, for those thoughts of Betsy had given him no pleasure, only a sense of loss for the woman he truly loved. “I will say that Father had a plan for that as well, but I could not do it. None of it felt right, no matter how sorry I felt for Father’s empty life or how rewarding it was to make him smile again. In the end, it wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”

  “You have told him how you feel?”

  “Aye. I was plain with him.” Lennox felt anew the pain of disappointing the duke, whose hopes had been so poignantly high. “He assures me he understands. I know we will see each other again. I care for him.”

  Nora’s eyes shone. “Do you know, now, where you belong?”

  “Aye.” He traced the delicate line of her jaw with his fingers. “I belong right here, love, with ye in my arms. My identity doesn’t rest on the name of my father, whether it’s MacLeod or Hastings. I can take a bit from both of them and make a new family.”

  “You are a splendid man, Lennox MacLeod.” Eyes shining, Nora moved closer so that they could embrace. “But…what of my baby?” She rested a protective hand on the curve of her belly.

  “With all my heart, I will be a father to this babe. I’ve learned well enough that what matters is not who plants the seed, but who loves and nurtures the child. I love ye, Nora Brodie, and I want us to make a life together.”

  Tears spilled from Nora’s eyes. She pressed her face to his chest, and he held her so tightly he could feel their heartbeats mingle.

  “I believe you,” she murmured at last. “And I love you, too.”

  “I want to take you back to the Isle of Skye, to meet the people of my clan.” Lennox thought of the last time he’d seen Magnus, when he had told Lennox he couldn’t change the past, only try to do better going forward. Love for Da welled up in him, bittersweet with the promise for healing. “I want to find my place among them at last. How they will love ye, lass.”

  “Oh, I want that, too.” Nora lifted her face, gazing at him soberly. “But… I have accepted an assignment with the Great Wardrobe, overseeing a group of weavers who are making a new tapestry. It is an honor to have been selected by Master Mostinck for this project.”

  Their eyes met in the moonlit shadows. Even as Lennox considered asking her to put it aside, to return with him to Scotland where they could begin a new life, he remembered every word she had ever spoken to him about her passion for tapestry-making and her dream to one day become a master weaver.

  “I am deeply proud of ye, lass,” he said, his voice husky with love. “Perhaps we might live together in your little house in Cockspur Court, until your project at Whitehall Palace is finished.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Anything ye desire, lass. I can sketch and paint again. And perhaps we can create new art together during those weeks.”

  “Oh, I would love that! You’ll never know how often I’ve remembered our time at Duart Castle, working on the tapestry you designed.” She was beaming at him in wonder. “I’ve been endeavoring to make something new, for the baby. I still have so much to learn about sketching a pattern. Will you help me?”

  “Aye, of course. What subject have ye chosen?”

  “A lion.” She laughed softly. “With a friendly face, of course.”

  Lennox closed his eyes, holding Nora tightly, remembering his ma’s habit of calling him her golden lion. How happy she would be to see this new path for his life.

  “Clearly, we have many plans to discuss, but it is late.” As he spoke, he turned Nora back into the pillows, his mouth hovering just above hers. “I propose we stop talking for the rest of this night. Starting now.”

  Nora wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders, parting her thighs so that they fit together in a way that was keenly, exquisitely arousing.

  “Mmm,” came her reply, muffled but happy. As his mouth captured hers, an intoxicating heat began to build between them.

  It was, Lennox realized, only the beginning of a lifetime of kisses.

  Chapter 32

  Isle of Skye, Scotland

  May 1542

  Nora followed Lennox up the narrow,
twisting stone steps that took them high into the tower his grandfather, Alasdair Crotach, had added to Dunvegan Castle decades ago.

  “I want ye to see the world from up here,” he explained when they reached the top step. “’Tis a magnificent view.”

  In the days since they had come to Skye, Nora had gained a new understanding of her husband. It was one thing to hear tales of this western isle where he had been raised but quite another to be there herself. The Isle of Skye was tinged with magic, legends, and accounts of faeries that everyone seemed to accept as truth. The gloriously windswept land boasted virtually no roads or other signs of civilization, yet the people Nora had met all seemed to be part of one big family.

  Lennox caught her hand, drawing her forward to an arrow-slit window. “Look!” His voice was hushed with wonder.

  She did as he bade, leaning against him to gaze out over the rooftops and parapets of Dunvegan Castle. The clan MacLeod stronghold crowned a rocky pedestal surrounded by Loch Dunvegan and was only accessible by water. On the far bank of the loch, Nora recognized Ciaran and Violette’s tower house, where they lived with their year-old baby, bold little Niall. Looking westward, Nora drew in her breath at the sight of the azure loch gradually widening until it reached the wilder waters of the Minch.

  “I can only imagine how stirring it must have been to grow up in such a place,” she murmured.

  “Aye. Because my grandfather was also our clan chief, this was where we came to visit him and so many of our people. But I was raised at Duntulm Castle, on the tip of Skye’s Trotternish peninsula.” His voice caught for a moment. “I know I have told ye how we lost Duntulm to the evil MacDonalds, but I confess that it hurts even more now that I have come back to Skye.” Pausing, he wrapped his arms around her. “For too long, I didn’t want to feel the deep bond I have with the Highlands, but it is all different now that I have my own family with me. Thank God I could be here today, with my clan, as Grandfather makes my uncle William our new chief and then sails away to that monastery on the Isle of Harris.”