Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5) Read online

  QUEST OF THE HIGHLANDER

  Crowns & Kilts: The St. Briac Family, Book 5

  Cynthia Wright

  ~ Book Description ~

  “Cynthia Wright is a true gem among writers!”

  ~ Literary Times

  Lennox MacLeod was raised on the Isle of Skye as the grandson of the powerful chief of Clan MacLeod, yet his kind heart and artistic talent set him apart from other Highland warriors. When Lennox uncovers a shocking secret, he angrily sets out on a quest to discover where he truly belongs.

  Beautiful, strong-willed Nora Brodie has devoted her life to becoming a master weaver of royal tapestries, even though men scoff at a woman achieving such a goal. At Stirling Castle, Nora is determined to make her dreams come true, until the night a dissolute Englishman steals something she can never replace.

  Hiding a shameful secret, Nora must leave Stirling, and the only person who can help her is the splendid Highlander, Lennox MacLeod. Traveling together, Lennox and Nora forge a passionate bond as lovers and soulmates. But upon arriving in Tudor London, secrets are uncovered, and each begins to find long-sought fulfillment. Does love stand a chance against the powerful winds of fate?

  Crowns & Kilts: The St. Briac Family

  1526 – YOU AND NO OTHER (Thomas & Aimée)

  1532 – OF ONE HEART (Andrew & Micheline)

  1538 – ABDUCTED AT THE ALTAR (Christophe & Fiona)

  1539 – RETURN OF THE LOST BRIDE (Ciaran & Violette)

  1541 – QUEST OF THE HIGHLANDER (Lennox & Nora)

  The St. Briac Family in the 19th century

  THE SECRET OF LOVE (Gabriel & Isabella)

  HIS MAKE-BELIEVE BRIDE (Justin & Mouette)

  Welcome to the magical world of Cynthia Wright historical romance novels!

  You’re invited to sign up for Cynthia’s newsletter here: www.cynthiawrightauthor.com to hear first about new releases, sales, and other news. If you’d like to see images to go with this story, view the special Pinterest board for QUEST OF THE HIGHLANDER. Thank you for your interest!

  Quest of the Highlander

  Crowns & Kilts: The St. Briac Family, Book 5

  Copyright © 2020 by Cynthia Challed

  Excerpt of Of One Heart

  Crowns & Kilts: The St. Briac Family, Book 2

  Copyright © 1986, 2011 by Cynthia Challed

  (Originally published by Ballantine Books as A Battle for Love)

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright(s) reserved above and below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  Please Note:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Thank You.

  Digital Edition published by Boxwood Manor Books

  ISBN: 9781948053303

  The cover image: Period Images

  Cover artist: Teresa Spreckelmeyer

  ~ Table of Contents ~

  Book Description

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from ONE OF HEART

  Meet Cynthia Wright

  Books by Cynthia Wright

  Final Word

  ~ Dedication ~

  For all the wonderful members of my Rakes & Readers Group on Facebook! I appreciate all of you and am very grateful for your friendship, support, and cheerful posts.

  Chapter 1

  Spirit Tower

  The Isle of Skye, Scotland

  March 1541

  “Oh, Lennox. How splendid!”

  At the sound of Violette’s soft, French-accented voice, Lennox MacLeod straightened, his blue-tipped paintbrush stilled in mid-air. He glanced back at his sister-in-law then followed her gaze to the mural he was painting in the tower house entry. After a moment’s reflection, he gave a tentative nod.

  “It’s nearly finished,” he said. “Do ye approve?”

  “Approve? It is utterly magical.” Lifting her skirts, Violette descended the tier of shallow stone steps until she was beside him. Together they studied the mural of a birlinn sailing on the wave-tossed Minch, bound for Duntulm Castle, the clifftop stronghold that had once been their family home. “It reminds me of the day two years ago, when Ciaran and I sailed back to the Isle of Skye after our unexpected marriage in Edinburgh.” She turned her delicate face up to him, smiling wistfully. “You were waiting for us outside Duntulm Castle’s sea gate, looking just like an ancient Viking warrior.”

  “It seems much longer, so much has happened.” He raked a hand through his tawny-gold hair and sighed. “I know Ciaran requested this mural, but I can’t help wondering if it will serve as a painful reminder of the night the MacDonalds attacked and stole the castle away from us.”

  “I think he has come to understand that pain is part of life, especially for you Highlanders.” She paused to rest a hand on the curve of her belly, as if reminding herself of the babe who would join their family in the summer. “Loss can give way to new beginnings, if we allow it.”

  Lennox sent her a sidelong glance. “It is difficult to imagine my brother indulging in such tender emotions.”

  “Perhaps, but Ciaran has learned to soften his heart, at least with me.” Violette gently touched his arm. “And what of you, Lennox? Your grandfather is chief of Clan MacLeod, yet you do not seem very concerned about fitting into the mold of a Highland warrior.”

  “Because I enjoy artistic pursuits more than dreams of battle?” He shrugged. “’Tis who I am. When Grandfather begins to lecture me, I simply nod and go on about my life. It helps to wander, away from the Isle of Skye.”

  “But do you think you’ll ever find true happiness here, among your clan?”

  “I cannot say.” Lennox had learned, long ago, to deflect such penetrating questions with a light-hearted smile. “I sometimes suspect the faeries must have left me at Dunvegan’s sea gate, in a basket, when I was newly born.”

  Just then, the heavy door to the tower ho
use swung open, and Ciaran MacLeod appeared, bringing with him a damp gust of wind. The two brothers had always been opposites, not only in physical appearance but also in their natures. Since they were young, Ciaran had been dark and cynical, while Lennox had been born with the coloring and heart of a lion.

  “Put your paints and brushes away, brother,” Ciaran said. “Have ye forgotten that we must go to help our sister today?”

  “Oh, aye. I did forget Fiona will journey to Stirling on the morrow.”

  “But first, you both must pause for a bowl of mutton stew,” Violette said. “It is nearly ready. Can you not smell it?”

  “And who prepared this stew?” Ciaran sniffed the air suspiciously. “You—or Old David?”

  It was, Lennox knew, a familiar jest in their family. Old David had long been employed as a MacLeod cook, but when Violette first came to Skye, they realized his food paled in comparison to the French-flavored dishes she prepared.

  Violette laughed and went into her husband’s arms. “What if I tell you that I dispensed advice as he cooked?”

  Leaving them to their banter, Lennox packed up his supplies and went outside to clean his brushes. It would be good to get away for a few hours, he told himself. To sail with Ciaran to the island’s Waternish peninsula and spend some time with their sister and her tiny bairn, Lucien. Tomorrow, mother and child would leave Skye, traveling several days to reach Stirling Castle. There they would join Fiona’s husband, Christophe, a master mason who was now overseeing the great building project undertaken by King James V.

  Lennox paused outside on the grassy slope overlooking Loch Dunvegan. Through a veil of misty clouds, he could see the imposing shape of the clan MacLeod stronghold, Dunvegan Castle. It was the home of Alasdair Crotach, his grandfather and the clan chief, and most of his relatives.

  In his heart, Lennox asked the questions he had just evaded with Violette. Why was it that, even as a lad, he had never quite felt part of this powerful clan? And now, as the mural was nearly finished, Lennox felt the familiar urge to roam.

  An urge to go far away from the Isle of Skye…in search of a part of himself that always felt just out of reach.

  * * *

  Lennox and Ciaran walked side by side over the brow of a hill overlooking the Cottage of Dreams, the home Christophe de St. Briac had built for their sister, Fiona. They paused for a moment, the wind catching the edges of their belted plaids as they surveyed the scene below. Smoke curled from the chimney, baby lambs frolicked near their mothers, and just then, little Lucien came through the doorway, closely followed by Fiona.

  Lennox had been haunted for hours by a strange sense of unease. It tugged inside his chest, like an itch he could not scratch, but the sight of Fiona and Lucien brought a smile to his face. He took a slow, deep breath.

  “Our sister grows more bonny by the day,” he remarked. “Even with her husband far away at Stirling Castle.”

  “Aye, Fi is a strong lass.” As Ciaran spoke, she began to wave, beaming, and Lucien gave a squeal of excitement. “No doubt she has a long list of chores for us.”

  Soon enough, they were inside the light-filled cottage, and Fiona was giving them directions. As Lennox worked, he looked around at the cozy environment Fi and Christophe had created for their home. Other cottages on the Isle of Skye were dim and dreary, with tiny windows, walls of turf blocks, and a hole cut in the thatched roof to let out cooking smoke. Most people lived like that, except for the fortunate few who resided in a castle or tower house.

  But Christophe, an architect, had created a different vision. Under a vaulted ceiling, the whitewashed walls of this cottage were lined with jewel-like paintings and sturdy shelves filled with books. Fiona loved books better than anything except her family, and thanks to her aristocratic French husband, she now had more than she could count. Lennox knew she had already begun reading aloud to baby Lucien, who was not yet two years of age.

  As Ciaran dragged a big carved chest across the stone floor, he pretended to complain, “Fi, do ye mean to take every single possession in this cottage?”

  She stood, hands on hips, her glossy black hair coiled softly at the base of her neck. “It could be a year before this project is finished at Stirling, Christophe says. Maybe longer! Something keeps happening to cause a delay.”

  “No doubt your husband will remedy that,” said Lennox. “I’m surprised he wasn’t called in long ago to take over as master mason at Stirling Castle.”

  “The king has been asking for him through intermediaries, I think, but we were both reluctant to make such a commitment. In the end, it was our old friend Bayard who begged Christophe to join him at Stirling. We were both unable to resist his coaxing.”

  “I will always have a special place in my heart for Bayard,” Ciaran said with an ironic smile. “He has been a true friend to me.”

  “So true. We all love Bayard. He’s like a great bear.” Fi turned then, pointing to a shelf on the wall near the bed. “Lennox, I nearly forgot that book, the one bound in garnet leather. It’s one of my very favorites. Can you reach it?”

  Lennox nodded. He stepped around Lucien, who sat on the floor with Raoul, the big family hound. Just as Lennox reached up for the leather-bound volume, Raoul unexpectedly let out a bark, and Lennox’s hand bumped a silvery casket, knocking it from the shelf. One glance told him that the ornamental box was on course to strike Lucien. Without another thought, Lennox flung himself forward and managed to deflect the silver missile in mid-air, saving his nephew from harm. As he fell hard against the stone floor, he heard a metallic crash.

  Little Lucien stared, wide-eyed, a bite of bannock in his pudgy hand. Raoul clambered up onto his long legs and began to howl. Fiona rushed over to where Lennox lay sprawled, the decorative case cracked open beside him.

  “Are you all right?” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, aye.” He laughed ruefully and rolled onto one shoulder, looking for the broken casket. As he focused on the case and noticed the lid’s distinctive enamel inlay, a chill crept over Lennox.

  “I can see you remember,” Fiona said softly, looking first at Lennox, then at Ciaran.

  “Aye,” said Ciaran. “Ma called for this on her deathbed. Inside was that ancient Viking brooch she wanted ye to have.”

  Lennox looked from the shattered silver box to his sister’s face. “It’s ruined. Can ye ever forgive me?”

  “’Twas only a mishap,” Fiona assured him. “There is nothing to forgive, for you saved Lucien from harm.”

  Bits of the enamel from the lid were strewn on the floor. As Lennox bent to pick them up, he noticed that the bottom of the casket had broken apart, revealing what appeared to be a hidden compartment, its contents sealed away inside until this moment.

  Gradually, he focused on a miniature of a man, framed in gold. It was painted on porcelain, the likeness standing out against a background of cerulean blue. Next to the miniature, Lennox realized, was a lock of hair secured with a bit of black riband.

  No one spoke. Time seemed to stop as a strange, airless fog descended on them. Lennox couldn’t explain what he was feeling, but the back of his neck prickled and he realized he had stopped breathing. He looked at Ciaran. The utterly stricken expression on his older brother’s face caused his heart to clench.

  Suddenly, Fiona spoke. “I’ll just clean this up before Lucien swallows something he shouldn’t.”

  “Right,” Ciaran put in. “I’ll help.”

  Lennox was all too aware of the tension in the air. “Wait.” He reached for the miniature, brushing Ciaran’s hand aside as he snatched it up.

  “’Tis nothing,” cautioned his brother.

  “If it is indeed nothing, ye won’t mind me having a look.”

  With that, he rose lightly to his feet and went to a window, where the light was better. He felt his family watching him, but he ignored them. Slowly, Lennox opened his sun-darkened hand and stared at the miniature.

  “Jesu.” The word came out in a gust of breath. He bli
nked. “It’s me!”

  * * *

  Although Lennox felt he was looking at his own reflection, the man staring back at him was no Highlander. He was clad in a fine black doublet sewn with rubies. The stranger’s fair hair was neatly tamed, unlike his own wild locks, and crowned by a plumed cap of soft velvet.

  After scanning these details, Lennox drew a deep breath and looked more closely. He noticed that the man’s hair waved beside his right ear, in just the way Lennox’s did. The man was turned slightly, yet his striking, sea-green eyes gazed out from the miniature in a way that felt calm and faintly amused, even affectionate. There was something about him that felt hauntingly familiar.

  Lennox raised a hand to his chest, as if to banish the raw emotions that tangled inside him. “I don’t understand,” he said at length, his voice choked. Walking toward Fiona and Ciaran, he thrust the miniature toward them. “We three plainly know this is not me, but who the devil is it?”