she’d taken pains to keep buried, for female instincts only interfered with her dreams—nay, goals. And so she steeled herself and, with a backward step, gave Lennox MacLeod a polite smile. “I hope you will enjoy your time in Stirling, sir.”
“Lennox is a painter,” Grant announced. “He is artistic, as ye are.”
“How nice,” Nora replied. Yet, in spite of her resolve to hold him at arm’s length, she wanted to know more.
“I am very interested in the art of weaving,” said Lennox. “And I’ve always wanted to see the sorts of priceless tapestries I’ve heard about all my life. Ye have seen them with your own eyes?”
Nora couldn’t help smiling. “I have. I was raised in Flanders, where the most magnificent tapestries of all are made.” She was gratified to see a bright glint of interest in his eyes. “My father has given his life to creating cartoons and weaving tapestries. It has been my privilege to join him in that world.”
“I’d be grateful if ye would show me some of the tapestries that are in your care here at Stirling Castle,” he said.
“We do have some truly splendid new works that have recently arrived by ship from France,” she said, as enthusiasm bubbled up inside. “The Hunt of the Unicorn tapestries.”
“The unicorn has virtually become the symbol of Scotland, it seems.”
“It is true!” She felt drawn to the Highlander by an invisible thread. “My father says the unicorn is a metaphor for Christ himself.”
“Fascinating.” Lennox gave her a smile that dazzled like the sun itself. “I hope ye will be good enough to enlighten me further, Mistress Brodie.”
“Perhaps. But please call me Nora.”
“Agreed.” He looked into her eyes. “And I am Lennox.”
Nora suddenly found it hard to breathe, and an inner alarm sounded within her. Ever since she’d grown old enough to experience even twinges of amorous desire, she had learned to tamp them down as quickly as possible. Once again, she reminded herself that if she meant to achieve her aspiration to become a female weaver, there could be no room for romance in her life, not even at a distance.
And so, with a polite nod to Lennox MacLeod, Nora turned away. “And now, I really must return to our workroom. Good day.”
She smiled and made farewells to the others, but avoided the Highlander’s questing gaze. So quickly did Nora turn and hurry off, she felt the low heal on her shoe come off, but the last thing she wanted to do was call attention to herself by stopping to retrieve it. Perhaps Grant, who followed in her wake, would pick it up.
“What’s amiss?” the youth whispered as he drew alongside, taking her arm. “Are ye ill?”
“I merely realized the time. Father will be looking for me.”
“But,” teased Grant, “I thought ye resisted such confinements.”
“I wish I could.” Nora didn’t understand why she had felt so warm, even breathless, in the company of Lennox MacLeod, but she knew she could not allow it. “Unfortunately, I live in Father’s world, and I must find ways to achieve my goals without being singled out as a rebel.”
Quickly, she traversed the inner close, weaving among the noisy clusters of stone masons and carpenters who were building the new palace. Just before she stepped inside to climb the tower steps, she felt that someone was watching her. Turning to scan the courtyard, she saw a tall, slender man with curly dark hair and a rakish beard. He was openly staring at her, grinning, and when their eyes met, he swept off his plumed cap and bowed low.
Nora hurried inside, feeling unusually precarious as she lifted her skirts and rushed up the turnpike stairway, back to the safety of the tapestry-filled workroom.
* * *
Sitting beside her father in the castle’s magnificent great hall, Nora watched as servants entered with platters of roasted swans in full plumage, their beaks artfully gilded. A harpist played an ethereal tune near the high table, where the king was now being seated in a carved wooden throne, flanked by a dozen trusted courtiers.
“I thought it was your great desire to attend these festivities,” said William Brodie, nearly shouting to be heard above the other voices, laughter, and music. “Are ye not impressed?”
Looking over at her father, Nora realized that she’d been chewing at her lower lip. It had always been a sign to those who knew her best that she was ill-at-ease. “I am impressed indeed.” She gestured toward the splendid hammer-beam ceiling high above them. “I did