graceful line of her neck and jaw, the animation in her gestures as she conversed with her father. What was she saying? What brought that radiant smile to her lips? She was, Lennox decided, the most beautiful woman in the entire great hall.
Nay, he corrected himself. Nora Brodie was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Anywhere. A strange desire came over him to go and sit beside her. Did he not have a perfect excuse to do so? Earlier that day, he had retrieved the broken heel of her shoe in the courtyard, and now it was concealed in the pouch at his belt, along with the miniature of his true father.
Aye, he could join her at the table, return the heel, and then they would find themselves engaged in easy conversation. Lennox felt a rush of euphoria as he imagined divulging the story of his quest with an openness he could not grant even to his family members. Deep inside, he sensed that Nora would listen and understand, and then she would share her own life story…
A hand cuffed his arm. “Have ye heard one word I’ve said?” cried Grant. The youth followed his gaze and gave a low snort. “Ach, I see ye are taken with Nora.”
“I needn’t be taken with a lass to admire her.” Although Lennox’s tone was casual, he felt his face warm. By the saints, was he blushing? Before Grant could call him out, he added, “Perhaps ye are the one who fancies her?”
The youth sat up straighter, brightening. “I won’t deny it. I confess, if I were older, I would do battle to win Nora’s hand.”
Just then, Lennox was rescued when Fiona gestured from the other side of the table. “Come and sit with me,” his sister invited softly. “I have news.”
Remembering that Fi had pledged to discover if their Aunt Tess had come to Stirling with the king and queen, Lennox pushed to his feet.
“We will continue this fascinating discussion at a later time.” With a smile, Lennox leaned down to pat Grant’s thin shoulder, then started around the table. The great hall felt stifling to him, warmed by the bodies of countless perfumed courtiers and their ladies. How could these people live this way, day in and day out?
“Do sit with me,” Fiona greeted him. Reaching up, she caught his hand and drew him down on the bench beside her. “The king has summoned Christophe to meet William Brodie, the master weaver, to discuss the plans for placement of the tapestries in the new palace. It seemed a perfect time for us to talk.”
Lennox saw that Lucien, his little nephew, was occupied by Bayard, who sat nearby with his wife, Judith. The robust French mason held the boy on his lap and showed him a little carved wooden lion. Beaming, Lucien brandished the toy and growled, showing his tiny teeth.
“It’s nice that the wee lad is allowed to join you in this formal setting,” Lennox remarked.
“Oh, I believe they are so happy to have Christophe here to oversee the last stages of the new palace, he can do as he pleases.” She reached out, still smiling, to touch Lennox’s face. “How handsome you are, brother. You put these other fancy courtiers to shame.”
“Ye view me in a favored light, sister,” he laughed. “The rest of the court stares as if I have escaped from that lion’s den the king wants to build.”
“You’re mad.” Fiona shook her head fondly and speared a bite of marchpane tart with her eating knife.
“Did ye summon me only to say that? I was expecting news of our aunt.”
“As it happens, I do have news.” She held another morsel of the tart up to him. “You must try this. I can promise, you’ve never tasted anything like it on the Isle of Skye.” She waited, then pretended to frown. “Do open your mouth!”
Lennox obeyed with a sigh, allowing his sister to feed him. “I agree, it is delicious. But what about Aunt Tess?” Even as he spoke, his attention wandered briefly back to Nora Brodie, and he allowed himself a brief look in her direction. To his surprise, her father had disappeared from her side, replaced by a richly garbed courtier with black hair and a pointed beard who leaned forward, as if intending to block Lennox’s view.
“Are you listening?” Fiona demanded, nudging him.
He gave himself a mental shake. If he kept glancing toward Nora, Fiona would quickly pinpoint his weakness and proclaim it aloud.