Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5)

by Cynthia Wright

  “I’m so glad we were able to come and that I could meet Alasdair Crotach before he retires to the Isle of Harris.” Even as she spoke, Nora wondered where they might settle and make their own home. Would Lennox want to remain on the Isle of Skye? Uncertainty squeezed at her heart. Perhaps, with time, she too might feel more connected to this wild, beautiful place.

  “I know tiny Brienne won’t remember what happens today,” Lennox said, “but it will be part of her all the same.”

  She knew he was right. Every person and event that touched them was woven into the fabric of their souls…even a force for evil, like Sir Raymond Slater. Nora would never be able to banish him from her memory, but at least he could never bother them again. Before she and Lennox had left London, Slater finally went to trial. Sandhurst, who had known King Henry for years, spoke to the monarch, and in the end Slater had been beheaded, just as Barnaby foretold.

  Slowly, day by day, Nora was teaching herself not to think of him. She reminded herself that justice had been served in the end, and that she’d grown stronger through the entire ordeal.

  Now, Nora went into Lennox’s arms and they shared a slow kiss that soon caught fire. “People are gathering outside to witness your grandfather’s leavetaking,” she murmured when they paused for breath. “And Violette has her hands full, watching both Brienne and Niall. I suggest we go down to join them.”

  He kissed her again before raising his head with an air of regret. “Have I mentioned that ye are looking especially bonny, wife?”

  “Thank you, but I’d say that you are the bonny one today, husband.” Beaming, Nora thought how true that was. She swept her gaze over his tall, splendid form, from his windblown, tawny-gold hair to his powerful torso to the length of MacLeod tartan wrapped and belted round his hard waist. “Let me straighten your sash.” Reaching up, she fussed with the long end of his plaid so it was draped perfectly over one shoulder.

  As they descended the treacherously narrow steps, the aromas of food and cooking smoke drifted up to them from the hall, lingering after the final feast shared by Alasdair Crotach with his clan.

  “Ah, the scent of haggis. Would ye care for another bite?” Lennox teased. “Old David always makes more than enough.”

  Nora laughed, wrinkling her nose. “Please, no. I did my best to swallow it at the table, when everyone was watching me, but the only thing I want right now is to hold our daughter.”

  They found the baby with her aunts, Violette and Fiona, and cousins Niall and Lucien. Three-year-old Lucien de St. Briac was sitting astride the dozing bulk of Raoul, his family’s great French hound. “Listen,” he commanded his small cousins. “I will tell ye a story! It is about the blue men of the Minch.”

  Nora’s heart leaped, as it always did, at the sight of Brienne. Blessed with deep blue eyes like Nora’s own and a head of red-gold curls, Brienne Brodie MacLeod was nearly six months old. She sat now on a small woven rug, wobbling slightly, and when she saw her parents, she giggled and toppled over.

  Lennox scooped her up effortlessly. “Ah, my wee lass, have ye hurt yourself?”

  The baby cooed as she pressed a damp hand to his cheek. Nora’s heart swelled anew with a love more powerful than she could have ever imagined. Perhaps it was even sweeter to watch them together because Lennox loved Brienne just as if she were his own child. Once, soon after the baby’s birth, Nora had ventured this observation and he had given her a hard stare.

  “What are ye talking about? This babe is my own child.”

  Still, Nora was glad their daughter resembled her rather than Sir Raymond Slater. If she had been born with Slater’s black hair and dark eyes, perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered, but Nora was grateful not to have to find out.

  Just then, Magnus MacLeod strode into the castle hall, filling the space with his energy. “Ah, there ye are!” he boomed, fixing his weathered gaze on Lennox and Nora. “Come and join the others in the gun court. The time has come to bid farewell to our clan chief.”

  * * *

  “Walk with me, lad,” Magnus said to Lennox as they began to leave the hall.

  Lennox glanced at Nora, who smiled and held out her arms for Brienne. As she joined Violette and the others, he kept pace with his da. The air outside was cool and refreshingly damp from the morning’s rain, and cobbles were slick under their boots.

  “I’ve something to say.” Magnus’s voice was gruff. “To ye alone. I need to tell ye again how deeply I regret the mistakes that were made when ye were young. The secrets we kept…”

  Looking over at Da, Lennox felt a tide of emotion. In that moment, surrounded by walls of their clan stronghold, he was more certain than ever of his identity. “I know, Da.” He patted Magnus’s thick shoulder, thinking of his own Brienne. Would he one day reveal that he was not her natural father? It was a question Lennox could not yet answer. “No doubt you meant to do what was best for me.”

  “Aye! How can it be that ye have gained that understanding?”

  Lennox searched for the right words. “When I was away, I discovered that the destiny I searched for had been inside me all the while, and I came to appreciate the love ye gave me all through my life.”

  “Ah, lad.” Pausing, Magnus cleared his throat, watching him. “I suppose that man must’ve disappointed ye in some way?”

  “Nay.” Lennox squinted out at Loch Dunvegan, where a handful of galleys and birlinns bobbed near the sea-gate. “I could see how he and I are connected too. But Skye is my true home, with our clan, even if it’s not MacLeod blood in my veins. I suppose I had to undertake that quest before I could fully understand.”

  “Can ye forgive me, then? I’ve suffered every day since ye came here with that cursed portrait, demanding the truth.” Magnus’s bloodshot eyes grew wet.

  “Oh, aye. Of course I forgive ye.” Lennox felt his heart open. “Ye will always be my da.”

  They embraced then, Da squeezing with all his might. What Lennox didn’t say aloud was that he’d discovered there were no easy answers. No heroes or villains, just a lot folk who were flawed yet tried to love him all the same. The truth was all of that mattered less now that he was forging a path of his own, with Nora and the family they were creating together.

  Ciaran’s shout reached them from the gun court. “Da, Lennox, come on, then!”

  The others were gathered below, near the stone-lined tunnel of steps that led down to the sea-gate. There, supported on either side by his legitimate sons, William and Tormod, stood Alasdair Crotach, the great MacLeod himself. Bent and frail, his flowing white hair covered by a tartan bonnet, he had ruled over their clan for seven decades.

  “’Tis hard to believe he is truly going,” muttered Magnus.

  Lennox nodded. For years, the old man had dreamed of sailing away to the Isle of Harris to live out his remaining days at the monastery there, but he had been unwilling to relinquish his leadership of the clan…until today.

  Now, as dozens of clan members gathered in the gun court, Alasdair Crotach formally proclaimed that, henceforth, his eldest legitimate son, William, would be the ninth chief of clan MacLeod. With that, the old chief put his own massive claymore in William’s hands.

  Lennox was about to move back in the crowd to stand with Nora and Brienne when his grandfather suddenly raised his voice.

  “Lennox MacLeod! Come here, lad. There is one more act I would perform as chief.”

  All eyes were on Lennox as he walked forward to stand in front of the old man. Wounded many years ago by a battle axe, Alasdair Crotach had lived most of his adult life with a hunched back. His legend was about more than his injury, however, because the grievously wounded MacLeod had found the strength to wield his own dirk. After killing his attacker, young Alasdair had cut off his head as a trophy.

  Now, looking down at his frail grandfather, Lennox felt a tide of affection for the old warrior. “How may I serve ye, Grandfather?” he asked.

  “I am pleased to see ye back among your own people,” Alasdair Cro
tach rasped. “There is something I have been keeping for ye, waiting for this day.”

  With that, the old man opened his hand to reveal a gleaming clan brooch. Crowned by a gold bull’s head, it featured the MacLeod clan motto: Hold Fast.

  Lennox’s heart began to pound. His eyes stung. For so long, he had believed his grandfather withheld this honor because Lennox didn’t meet Alasdair Crotach’s standards for a fierce clan warrior. Later, upon learning the secret of his parentage, Lennox had assumed it was his illegitimacy that prevented him from receiving this sign that he was a true MacLeod.

  Yet now, Alasdair Crotach was reaching up to pin the MacLeod clan brooch to Lennox’s sash. At last. For a moment their eyes met in silent understanding.

  “That bull’s head looks very fine on ye, lad.” A smile flickered at the corners of his grandfather’s thin, dry mouth. “Ye have always been a MacLeod. But, as I said before ye went away, ’twas a discovery ye had to make for yourself.”

  “Aye.” Lennox’s voice was hoarse. “I’ll wear this brooch all my days, Grandfather. I am grateful to be a MacLeod.”

  Lennox turned away then and went to stand with Ciaran, Fiona, and their families. They stood together, watching as William, Tormod, and Da guided Alasdair Crotach to the sea-gate and then half-carried him down the winding path to the birlinn that would bear the ancient clan chief away from the Isle of Skye. Gray clouds scudded over the sun and a misty rain blew in from the Minch.

  “Remember the day Ma died, when we still lived at Duntulm Castle?” Ciaran asked, looking from Fiona to Lennox. “We three have come a long way since we joined at her bedside to bid her farewell.”

  As Fi leaned against him, sighing, Lennox saw that she was wearing the serpent brooch Ma had given to her on the day she died. It had been stored inside the same case where Lennox had later discovered the miniature of the Duke of Hastings.

  “Ye were a rogue through and through, Ciaran MacLeod,” Lennox replied to his brother. Laughing, he added, “Praise the saints for sending this magnificent woman who tolerates your shortcomings.”

  Violette wrapped an arm around Ciaran, who held a sleeping Niall in his strong arms. “Let’s go inside,” she said with a smile. “This is a conversation best served with wine.”

  The birlinn holding Alasdair Crotach and his sons pushed out into the loch, followed by other assorted galleys filled with his servants and an array of possessions. When it had been rowed out of sight, passing behind a wooded bend in the coastline, Lennox and Nora followed the others back to the castle. Brienne cuddled close in her mother’s arms.

  As they walked, Christophe St. Briac fell into step beside Lennox. “I have been waiting for an opportunity to speak to you,” the Frenchman said. He sent Nora a smile and added, “Both of you.”

  The hall quickly grew crowded with MacLeod clansfolk, hounds, and children, so Lennox found a corner where they could sit together on a bench and talk. He was filled with affection for St. Briac, who had brought Fiona home to Skye to see her grandfather one more time before his departure.

  “You are looking quite splendid in that clan brooch,” St. Briac remarked, leaning back against the stone wall. “Yet I cannot help wondering what this means for your future. Do you and Nora intend to make a life here on Skye? Will you now become a warrior against the MacDonalds?” He glanced toward Nora, devils dancing in his blue eyes. “Perhaps our fair Nora wishes merely to weave here in the castle, surrounded by her new relatives? No doubt Old David can teach her to make haggis.”

  It came to Lennox that although Skye would always be his home, he couldn’t imagine living there with Nora. One look at her told him she felt the same. Turning back to Christophe, he said, “Do ye truly have a message to deliver, or are ye merely toying with us?”

  Christophe laughed. “I do have a message. Everyone at Stirling Castle misses you both.” He turned to Nora. “Your papa has not been the same since you went away. He yearns to meet his new granddaughter.”

  “What sort of villain do ye take me for?” protested Lennox. “We intend to return to Stirling for a visit. Soon.”

  “And then what?” The Frenchman pushed lightly at his chest. “I suggest that you come back to stay. In fact, I have a proposal to make to you.”

  Nora tightened her grip on Lennox’s hand, and suddenly it became clear that this was what she wanted.

  “Tell us, please,” she said. “I confess to missing Father more than I have been able to admit, even to myself.”

  “Nora, your papa needs you. I think he regrets not elevating you sooner to the position that you deserved.” St. Briac arched a brow at Lennox. “And I have an important offer for you, MacLeod. Perhaps you remember the portrait medallions we had begun making for the outer hall at Stirling Castle? Each is the head of a different person who plays a role in the king’s life. I want you to oversee the design and painting of the remaining medallions. Bayard and Grant have worked closely on the carving, so you would be collaborating with them.”

  “Oh, what an inspired idea!” exclaimed Nora. Her voice caused Brienne to stir, looking around. Lennox held out a finger to her. She grasped it with both pudgy hands and gnawed on it with her gums.

  Christophe stood, looking pleased with himself. “You two must talk in peace. I look forward to your decision.”

  Lennox felt a stirring in his soul, as if the future were opening before him like the yellow gorse flowers along Loch Dunvegan. He met Nora’s eyes. “Tell me, love, how do ye feel about St. Briac’s proposal?”

  Her face lit up. “Oh, Lennox, I think you would be a brilliant choice for that position. You’ll be creating art again! And how happy you would be to work with Bayard and Grant every day.” She paused. “I haven’t known how to say it, in case you felt differently, but I should love to be back at Stirling Castle. I don’t think I realized how comfortable I was there, working with Father, until I went away.”

  “Then that is where we must live.” Lennox felt a frisson of anticipation, already imagining how he might transform the great wooden medallions into unique works of art. Nora came into his arms, her eyes agleam with emotion, and baby Brienne snuggled between them as they embraced.

  “We will create a home of our own in Stirling,” Nora said.

  “Aye.” Embracing his wife and daughter, Lennox leaned back against the wall and drew a deep breath of happiness. His quest had brought him back to the place where he had started, yet everything had changed. “Together, we’ll make the life of our dreams.”

  Epilogue

  Stirling Castle, Scotland

  December 1542

  Nora served the midday meal of cod, boiled carrots, and oatcakes with honey. No matter how busy she and Lennox were at the castle, they made a point each day of meeting in their apartments to eat together, share stories about their work, and play with Brienne.

  “Your food is hot,” Nora reminded him, smiling. “It’s fish again, but that’s the best I can do during Advent.”

  From the wash basin, he sent her a grin that melted her heart. “Aye, love. Brienne and I will be there as soon as she dries my face.”

  It was Lennox’s habit, upon returning from work on the great Stirling medallions, to pour fresh water into a basin and clean away the wood dust and paint drops that clung to him. Brienne loved to watch this ritual, laughing when he splashed his face with water, shook his head, and sent droplets flying her way.

  Now Lennox carried Brienne to the table, tossing her up in the air to make her squeal in delight. Nora laughed too, awash with joy.

  Before they sat down together on the bench, he drew Nora near and kissed her in a way that told her how much he loved and wanted her. “I missed ye today.”

  From her chair, Brienne reached out to tug at his plaid. “Me, Da.”

  “Oh, aye, wee one, I missed ye, too.”

  Nora poured ale for him and put a small cup of fish stew in front of their daughter. As they all began to eat, she told him about the latest developments in the great Prod
igal Son tapestry project she was leading for her father. “Will you come later, to see it? I want you to look at the cartoon for the third panel. I’m not certain if it is quite right. With Father away in Edinburgh, you are the only person I trust to save me from making a mistake.”

  He reached out to touch the side of her face with his strong, elegant fingers. “Of course I will come, but I do not think ye truly need saving.”

  “I will feel better once you look at it.” Nora watched his face as she spoke. “In fact, after the medallions are finished, I wish you could work with me, making the cartoons for our tapestries. I find myself dreaming every day of how wonderful it would be to have you as my partner.” What Nora didn’t say was that she had noticed her father’s eyesight failing, his hands growing gnarled after years of working at the loom, and his attention wandering. Already, she had been sharing the duties of master weaver with her father. The day might not be far away when he would step aside completely.

  Lennox cocked his head at her. “Ye do not doubt your own abilities, I hope.”

  “No! But I do love working side by side with you.” Leaning closer, she kissed him.

  “Why do ye suppose your father went to Edinburgh in the middle of winter?” Lennox mused “He’s been away a full fortnight. Do ye think he has found romance there?”

  “Father? I doubt it,” she scoffed. “Although I can’t remember him ever going off on a journey alone like this. He was quite secretive when I asked him about it.”

  Lennox pushed his empty plate away. Taking an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table, he remarked, “Speaking of mysterious fathers, I received a letter today from the Duke of Hastings.”

  Nora stared. “Indeed! I am surprised a message could get through from England to Scotland since the terrible battle at Solway Moss.”

  Just days had passed since they learned of the shocking English victory over King James V and his Scottish troops. The tenuous relationship between James and his uncle, King Henry VIII, had ruptured in late 1541 with the death of Margaret Tudor. Mother to James and sister to Henry, Margaret had been a link that kept the peace between the two countries, but Henry’s patience snapped completely when the young Scots king refused to break from the Catholic church. The ensuing attack by King Henry’s army at Solway Moss resulted in the capture of more than a thousand Scots, including many prominent figures. Now, according to the latest messages brought to Stirling Castle, James V was in seclusion at Falkland Palace, while the queen awaited the birth of their child at Linlithgow.