Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,23

tip of his dirk. “Ride away from here. Get out of Scotland and do not return.”

Shoving his flaccid member back into the striped, padded codpiece, Slater glared at Lennox. “Pray that our paths do not cross again, or I will have my revenge.”

Lennox gave a cold laugh and sheathed his dirk. “Ye are the one who should be saying that prayer. If I catch ye mistreating another lass, I’ll have your head on a pike.” Arching both brows, he added, “Ye are a loathsome excuse for a man.”

His heart pounded with anger and revulsion as he watched Sir Raymond Slater saunter off to join his men, laughing as if it had all been a bit of twisted mischief.

* * *

Lennox rode all day to reach Falkland, stopping only to rest and water Chaucer, his chestnut stallion.

Although the roads were more passable than the rough tracks of the Highlands, most people still trudged along by foot, for few owned a proper horse, and only the royal family dared attempt to travel the rutted lanes by coach. The green countryside was lush and liberally dotted with sheep, and though the villages Lennox passed through were charming, he felt none of it could compare to the windy, untamed beauty of Skye. In those moments, he ached for home. He had to remind himself that his mother was born and raised near Falkland, and his real father, dressed as he was in the small portrait, could not have been a Highlander. Perhaps, as the truth of his heritage revealed itself, he would come to see himself in a different light.

Dusk was deepening into night as Lennox came into the burgh of Falkland. Torches were lit outside the palace. He was bone tired as he drew in on Chaucer’s reins and spoke to the guard who emerged from the gatehouse.

“My name is Lennox MacLeod, of the Isle of Skye,” he said in a forceful tone. “I am the grandson of the chief of Clan MacLeod, and I have come a great distance to see my aunt, Lady Tess Lindsay, who attends the Queen.”

The man went off and conferred with someone else inside the guardroom before disappearing into the inner courtyard. Lennox rubbed his weary eyes and spoke quietly to Chaucer. “Soon,” he whispered, “we will both rest.”

A few minutes later, the guard returned and admitted him, and a groom took his horse. A serving maid led him into the old wing of the palace, where he was given a small chamber on the second floor.

“Lady Tess asks that you wait upon her tomorrow,” the servant said before she left him. “Someone from the kitchen will bring food to you.”

Lennox smiled his thanks, but when he was alone, he began to pace, his earlier fatigue replaced by impatience. After coming so far to speak to his aunt, how could he wait another day?

He paused at a small window overlooking the courtyard. Candles glowed at one end of an adjoining wing, and the sound of female laughter drifted out on the spring breeze. Lennox needed but an instant to decide on his course of action. He changed into a fresh shirt, rewrapped his belted plaid, combed his wild golden hair with long fingers, and started off to find his aunt.

The queen, he knew, would soon deliver a child, so doubtless her meals would be confined to a small group of her ladies. Lennox made his way down the torchlit turnpike staircase that connected the two ranges of the palace and emerged into the courtyard, following the light and the voices. When he reached the outer door to the room, which he guessed must be a hall designated for the queen’s private use, a menacing guard appeared. Torchlight flickered over the man’s meaty face as he looked Lennox up and down.

“The queen is dining with her ladies, and no one is allowed inside,” the man announced gruffly, one hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Lennox attempted a winning smile in the style of his brother-in-law, Christophe. “Quite understandable, but my aunt is a lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty, and she has invited me to join them.” He paused, sensing that it hadn’t been quite enough. “I’ve ridden since dawn from Stirling Castle. I have brought word from His Majesty, the King.”

The guard continued to stare, clearly unconvinced. “Who exactly is your aunt?”

“Lady Tess Lindsay. Ye might tell her I am here. Lennox MacLeod, of the Isle of Skye.”

When the guard opened the door and went inside, Lennox stood