Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts Book 5) Page 8

  He looked deflated. “But ye must wed someone. It’s the only way.”

  “Why must a man be the solution to every problem in life?” she demanded. “I will think of something, all by myself. And meanwhile, perhaps this terrible fear will prove unfounded.”

  Looking thoughtful, Grant tore off another chunk of bread. “When we lived in Edinburgh, Ma had a friend with a problem just like yours. Her name was Bess.” He paused to chew slowly. “Bess was telling Ma about it one night and I overheard from my bed. The man she had lain with had disappeared, much like Sir Raymond Slater, but Bess found a solution.”

  Now that Nora had brought her dark secret out into the light, she found that she felt better. “What did Bess do?”

  “As I understood it, she lay with another man, a craftsman who owned property. She then told him she was with child, and they were wed.”

  As he spoke, Grant offered her another piece of bread, but Nora could only stare at it, aghast. “That is deceitful!”

  He shrugged. “I thought so, too, but Bess declared that it was no worse that the tricks men play on women every single day.”

  “I could never do such a thing.”

  “Of course not.” Grant patted her hand. “I wouldn’t even suggest it.”

  “I must go. Father is waiting for me.” Rising from the bench, it came to Nora that perhaps her own father had tricked her with empty promises. Her heart hurt. Impulsively, she turned back to embrace Grant. “Thank you for your friendship.”

  His arms tightened around her for an instant. “It is my honor.”

  Nora left him then, lifting her skirts as she hurried out of the lion’s den. She felt an urge to run faster, faster, as if her slippered feet might know a secret route that would carry her to freedom from her problems.

  Chapter 8

  The weather was fine in the orchards behind Falkland Palace, where a small table and two stools had been placed among the trees. Plum blossoms swirled down like snowflakes, a few of them landing on the gold-and-silver royal chessboard.

  Lennox bit back a yawn as he watched his opponent, King James V, stare at the board. After a moment, the monarch lifted first a rook then the queen. Another long pause followed as he frowned.

  “I fear ye have trapped me,” the young king lamented, stroking his reddish beard with white, bejeweled fingers. He was so fair that even his lashes were pale.

  “Nay, sire.” Lennox managed a casual smile. It was a dull business, playing chess with someone you were not permitted to best. “Ye are a much finer player than I.”

  “Hmm.” The king returned his attention to the royal chess pieces, made for him of jasper and rock crystal.

  It seemed impossible that a full fortnight could have passed since Lennox had arrived at Falkland Palace, intending to speak to his aunt immediately so that he might carry on with his quest. Instead, Queen Mary had begun laboring that very night, surrounded by all her ladies, all of whom were French except for Tess. His aunt had been needed to communicate with the Scots castle staff, and Lennox had been forgotten.

  Soon enough, King James had arrived from Stirling, overcome with joy by the birth of his second son, Arthur. Two more weeks had followed. The queen had her “upsitting” when the baby was three days old, but she was not permitted to leave her chamber for the christening. Lennox had attended, hoping to see Aunt Tess there, but she merely lifted a hand to him at the end, on her way back to the queen’s bedside.

  To Lennox’s surprise, it was the king himself who sought him out each day. His Majesty’s favorite companion, Sir James Hamilton of Finnart had fallen out of favor and been executed only a few months ago, and now the monarch was missing someone to join him in a game of chess or tennis. Lennox had become his new comrade, and one did not refuse the king.

  “Do ye Highlanders hunt on the Isle of Skye, young MacLeod? I don’t recall seeing a forest there, let alone a proper deer park,” James said, toying with the pomander that hung from a chain round his neck. “The queen and I like to hunt fallow deer in spring. I am also in the process of bringing boar from France. My gamekeeper is building a special fold for them.”

  Lennox tried to appear interested. “I am at your service, Your Majesty, if ye should desire to hunt with me.”

  Suddenly, the moody young monarch got to his feet and looked around for the lackey who waited nearby. “I am thirsty. I shall return to the castle now.”

  Lennox wore a bemused smile as he watched him go. How convenient to be the king and be able to simply walk away from a game ye cannot win. After a moment, he rose. He had brought a roll of paper and case of tinted chalks to the orchard, hoping he might have an opportunity to sketch, and now he took them up. On his way back to the castle, Lennox passed by a long open gallery that adjoined the royal apartments.

  “Monsieur!” a female voice called softly.

  He looked over, shocked to see the queen herself sitting on a bench under the sheltering half-roof. In her arms, she held a swaddled infant. Only one of her ladies was with her, a young French girl who gazed shyly at Lennox.

  “Your Majesty,” Lennox said, approaching the edge of the gallery. He bowed to her. “I am surprised to see you…and this very handsome young prince.”

  She gazed down at the tiny baby as if he were a treasure. “They like to keep my son from me, swaddled so tightly, in a darkened room,” confided the queen. “But my cousin has brought him to me, and we are stealing these moments together.” After a pause, she tilted her head to one side, observing him. “How do you find Falkland Palace, m’sieur? Your brother-in-law, Christophe, was instrumental in making it so beautiful.”

  Lennox smiled, relaxing. “I think the palace is splendid, Your Majesty, but I am more taken with the sight of ye holding your new son. I must be bold and ask, would it be possible for me to make a sketch of ye two together?”

  She blinked in surprise. “You are bold indeed, m’sieur. Others would be shocked that you are speaking to me at a time when I am supposed to still be hidden from the world.”

  He noticed that she hadn’t refused. “Shall I leave you?”

  Queen Mary laughed softly. “Au contraire! Please, do make the sketch, but with all possible speed. If your tante should appear, we would both receive a scolding.”

  And so, Lennox stood at the edge of the gallery, using the stone ledge as his table. Filled with a familiar sense of pleasure, he opened his wooden case of charcoals. His fingers moved quickly. Perhaps, he thought, if she liked the sketch, she would invite him to paint them.

  When he had finished, he handed the paper to the queen, who stared at it in wonder. “Mon Dieu, you have captured our likenesses perfectly in so short a time.”

  Lennox leaned against a pillar and smiled. He had centered the drawing of mother and child on the paper, but the baby’s face was so sweet that he had also made a sketch of Prince Arthur’s tiny face in one corner.

  “I am very happy that ye are pleased,” he told the queen.

  “How can I thank you, m’sieur?”

  Lennox took a breath. Of course he was not expected to actually request anything in return, yet had he not waited more than a fortnight for just such an opportunity? “Your Majesty, I traveled to Falkland Palace to have an important conversation with my aunt, Lady Tess Lindsay, wife of Sir Stephen MacFarlane. Circumstances have made that impossible…”

  “Ah, I see! Oui, I shall gladly intervene.” Marie de Guise beamed. “Someone will bring you word of a time and place where you can meet with my dear lady. But now you must go, before anyone else sees you. I am not supposed to be outdoors, especially with my tiny babe—let alone in the company of a man! But should not a queen be permitted to break a rule or two?” She gave him a tiny wink before returning her attention to the sketch. “Au revoir!”

  * * *

  Two mornings later, Lennox was on his way to meet with Aunt Tess.

  At last! he thought. All the long days of waiting now were paying off. He strode quickly through the spacious galle
ry that fronted the south range of the palace, the loose folds of his belted plaid moving against his thighs. As he walked, Lennox found that his attention was drawn to the large tapestries displayed in a continuous line along the inner wall of the gallery.

  Pausing, he studied the hunting scenes that covered the wall, noting the way each colorful stitch blended with others to become part of the grander scene. His thoughts soon turned to Nora Brodie, to the animation that showed on her lovely face as she spoke about weaving and the sadness he’d sensed in her that last morning, when she had avoided his gaze in the courtyard at Stirling Castle. When he returned, Lennox would ask to visit William Brodie’s workroom. Perhaps Nora would even give him a weaving lesson.

  He felt a sharp twinge of arousal as he remembered the dream that had awakened him in the middle of the night. Nora had been in his bed, her full breasts and long legs pale in the moonlight, her burnished hair spread across his pillow.

  “Ah, nephew!” called a woman’s voice in tones of amusement. “You must be thinking of a lass.”

  Startled, Lennox looked over to see his Aunt Tess standing in the doorway to the royal chapel. “I was merely admiring the tapestries,” he protested, but felt his face grow warm.

  “Indeed?” She teased, coming closer, and he noticed again how much bigger a woman she was than his mother. Clearly, she enjoyed good food, and her eyes gleamed in a way that put him at ease. “Let us go outside and take a turn around the gardens while you explain what has brought you to Falkland Palace, so persistent in your need to speak to me.”

  When they had emerged from the courtyard into the gardens, Tess slipped a hand through his arm. “How good it is to see you, Lennox MacLeod. Your ma was so proud of you.” She looked him up and down as she spoke. “All three of Eleanor’s children are bonny indeed, but you are truly splendid. As Her Majesty said, you appear to have sprung from one of the Norsemen who invaded the Isle of Skye.”

  Her tone was warm, even light, but Lennox stiffened. “Ye speak as if I do not share the same da as Fiona and Ciaran.”

  “Ah, well, perhaps the faeries intervened during your conception,” Tess chuckled. “As I recall, the folk on Skye believe in that sort of thing.”

  They had come upon a narrow path leading into the bluebell wood. After they had walked a bit farther, Lennox spied a lichen-crusted bench under a great oak tree and gestured to invite his aunt to sit with him.

  “I did not seek this interview with you so that we might jest about the faeries,” he said plainly. “I have come on a quest of real importance. It involves the very essence of my life.”

  “By my troth,” she exclaimed with a nervous laugh. “I am surprised to find you so serious. My sister always said that you were her golden, caring son, while your brother Ciaran was the dark one.”

  He rubbed a hand over the tense planes of his face. “Aunt, I must be very frank. There is no time to spare, for I fear that someone will call ye away, and I may not have another chance to ask ye these questions.”

  “All right.” Tess folded her hands in her lap and straightened her spine. “I am listening.”

  “I have always felt…different from the rest of my family. Cared for, aye, but different.” He felt the miniature through the folds of his plaid, and now his hand curved around it. “Do ye understand?”

  “What exactly do you mean?” Her cheeks seemed to pinken, though perhaps that was simply the deepening afternoon light.

  Lennox felt as if he stood on the edge of a great black chasm, his future calling to him from the other side. Suddenly, a part of him wished that he’d never felt discontented with clan MacLeod, never gone to Fi’s house to help her pack, never accidentally bumped the little casket with the enameled lid. Why couldn’t he have been happy with the life he had, the one he’d known since birth?

  In this moment, sitting beside Aunt Tess, his chest hurt and his eyes stung. “I have learned at last that Magnus is not my real da. I’m no MacLeod at all,” he said, hearing the catch in his own voice. “I’ve been told that Ma left Skye with little Ciaran and her nurse, Isbeil. They sailed south, to you. When she returned to Skye, months later, it seems I had been conceived.” He paused, hearing his own heartbeat. “No one else can help me but you, Aunt Tess.”

  After drawing a deep sigh, she nodded. “Aye, I remember that summer well. I had gone to stay in the tower house of an old family friend, to help him through his last illness.” Misty-eyed, Tess added, “’Twas Ian MacDougall. Such a fine man. But you would not remember him.”

  “Aunt, I implore you.” Lennox had an irrational fear that, at any moment, someone would appear to summon Tess back to the queen, and he would have missed his one chance. Deftly, he reached in the folds of his plaid and brought out the pouch containing the miniature. “Look at this face.”

  Seeing the man’s image again here in the sunlight was rather startling to him as well. Lennox hadn’t taken a good look at it for more than a fortnight, and now he was struck by how much his true father resembled a high-born member of the royal court. It wasn’t just the rich, gem-encrusted clothing he wore, but also something in his face. One brow was slightly arched, as if he had been amused, and there was a knowing, intelligent spark in his green eyes.

  It came to Lennox that the man looked civilized.

  “Why, nephew,” Tess said in tones of wonder. “This could be you!”

  “Perhaps, if I owned a doublet sewn with rubies, but such finery is hard to come by in the Highlands.” He leaned forward, letting her feel the ironic edge of his emotions. “Aunt, I have traveled from Skye to Stirling, and now to Falkland, in search of the truth. I have waited here for a full fortnight to ask the question only ye can answer.” Pointing to the miniature, Lennox demanded, “Who is this man?”

  Tess shook her head. “By my troth,I do not know!”

  Lennox had never been quick to anger, but now he felt a strong urge to grip his aunt by the shoulders and shake her. “I do not believe it!”

  At this, she got to her feet and pointed a finger at him. “You forget yourself, Lennox MacLeod. Do you wish to hear what I have to say, or shall I leave you?”

  “Nay, do not go.” He felt as if his head would explode. “It’s just that… I had such hopes. Accept my apology, please.”

  She perched on the edge of the bench, clearly poised to flee if he misbehaved again. “Your beautiful mother did not raise you to behave in such a manner.”

  As she was speaking, Lennox heard raised voices from the direction of the palace. Heart racing, he sensed that time was running out. “Aunt, I will be grateful for anything ye can tell me.”

  Tess looked into the distance, as if seeing back to a long-ago summer on the western coast of Scotland. “I remember well the day Eleanor arrived, with little Ciaran and her old nurse, Isbeil. The old woman’s brother brought them over the sea from Skye. It isn’t far, as you know.” She smiled wistfully. “I had written Eleanor to tell her I would be with Ian until he passed from this world. He was a great friend of our parents and had been like an uncle to us.”

  Were the voices growing louder? Lennox wanted to hurry his aunt along, but feared the worst if he tried again to force the story from her.

  “Eleanor told me of the trouble with Magnus…” She looked over at him and he nodded to let her know he was privy to this drama. “My heart ached for her. She had made up her mind that she would never go back, but where could she stay? Clearly, Ian’s tower house was not the solution. He was dying, and Eleanor knew that she could not impose upon his small staff.” Tess gave him a rueful smile. “You may imagine what your brother Ciaran was like as a wee lad, chasing Ian’s wolfhound up and down the stone steps.”

  “What did Ma do?” Lennox asked, praying his aunt wouldn’t hear the commotion that seemed to increase with each passing minute. Something was clearly wrong at the palace.

  Seemingly oblivious, Tess continued, “One day, an invitation arrived for a hunting party at Duart Castle, on the Isle of Mull. Of course, Ian
could not attend, but he suggested that Eleanor go in his stead. She was already acquainted with Hector Mór, the chief of clan MacLean, and so she packed up Ciaran and Isbeil. Ian’s squire took them across the Firth of Lorn in his small galley, to Duart Castle.”

  “And then?” he urged, his voice hoarse.

  Tess gave a philosophical shrug. “I never saw her again that summer. Ian passed on, I returned to my own home here in Fife, and when next I had word from Eleanor, she had gone back to Skye. She wrote that she had…reconsidered her marriage.” Tess paused, inclining her head toward the palace, and he knew she now heard the voices. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “And then you were born, Lennox.”

  The sound of twigs cracking and gravel crunching reached their ears. Someone was running along the path, headed in their direction. “Please, Aunt, will you tell me one more thing?”

  Tess struggled up from the bench, waiting and watching, and now she was the one who looked impatient. “Be quick.”

  Lennox rose to face her and held the miniature out so that she could have a second look. “Could this man be Hector Mór, the MacLean?”

  She squinted at it. “I think not, but I only met him once. I suppose it is possible, but still, what Highland chief would wear such clothing?”

  Lennox felt a memory stir and take shape. “Aye, that’s true. I’d almost forgotten, I saw him once too. Ciaran and I sailed to Oban once, perhaps a decade ago. Ma bade us stop at Duart Castle and convey her greetings to the MacLean.” His heart clenched like a fist as he remembered that long-ago day. How innocent and trusting he had been!

  Just then, a page wearing the queen’s black-and-crimson livery burst into the clearing. “Madame, at last I have found you!” he cried in a French accent. “Her Majesty has need of her ladies. Word has come that Prince James is gravely ill, and the king has ridden with all possible speed to reach his side.”

  “Oh, how terrible!” exclaimed Tess. She glanced back at Lennox. “I must go to her at once.”