Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,33

been trying not to think of her and wishing he had the ability to banish her from his dreams as well. Soon he’d be far away from Stirling Castle, which was just as well. Nora Brodie’s aspirations were much grander than simple romance, and it would be folly for Lennox to bring a lass into his life when he didn’t even know who he really was.

Still, he was leaving on the morrow. What harm could come of seeing her one more time? A pleasurable frisson of anticipation crept over him and he sent himself a stern reminder: Only look. Smile, perhaps, but nothing more!

“Grant, will ye take this up to my chamber for me?” Lennox proffered the bundle of his possessions. “I will find Fi, then we’ll all dine together later, one last time. I want to hear what’s been happening in your life this past month.” Raising his eyebrows, he added, “I swear, ye are taller than when I left.”

* * *

Fiona leaned forward and placed the back of her cool hand against Nora’s brow. “My dear, are you unwell? How pale you are.”

They were standing together at the great loom, and Nora had been doing her best to talk about the Prodigal Son tapestry that her father had designed. It was impossible to concentrate, though, and Fiona’s words made her stomach knot.

“Perhaps I am spending too much time indoors,” Nora said, offering a wan smile. “There has been so much work to do.”

Work, yes, but none of it at the loom, unless her father brought her there later in the day, when the men had gone. The problem was that weaving such a treasure required very good light, so by the time Nora sat down at the loom, it was impossible to see each fine detail.

Not that it mattered. Nearly a fortnight had passed without the onset of her monthly courses, and with each day that passed, she slept and ate less. The thought of food made her ill. Her father thought her sad, touchy mood was due to her disappointment at being passed over as a weaver, when in fact Nora was terrified at the prospect of telling him that she was with child.

Lying awake in the middle of the night, the words would go round and round in her mind, but no matter how many ways she planned the speech, it was wrong. No explanation could be sufficient. She was ruined! Her father would stare at her, his own expression reflecting shock and disappointment and shame. He would declare that she had thrown away everything they had ever worked for. Had all her vows to pursue an artistic life, without a husband or children or any other encumbrance, been nothing but fabrications?

The soup Nora had eaten at midday seemed to curdle in her stomach. There was absolutely no way forward, yet how long could she hide her condition? Where could she go? Back to Flanders, to her mother?

Even if a plan were possible, she had no means to carry it out.

“Look at you, my dear,” Fiona whispered. “You are clammy with perspiration. Is it a fever?”

Just then, Nora heard someone entering the outer rooms. She waited for her father to call out to her, but the footsteps came closer. When Nora turned away from the loom, she was surprised to behold Lennox MacLeod, so handsome, his wide shoulders filling the doorway. Was she imagining the golden light surrounding him?

“Dear brother!” exclaimed Fiona, beaming at the sight of him. “How good it is to see you. Did you rescue any maidens in distress while you were away?” Glancing toward Nora, she added lightly, “It is his specialty, you know.”

“Fi,” he warned in a low voice, even as he crossed the room to embrace her. Turning then, he spoke kind words of greeting to Nora.

She managed to smile without blushing. “May I offer you a cup of wine? We have our own, from Flanders.”

“Thank you, but no. I will not stay,” he replied. He looked toward his sister. “I am travel-stained and hungry, but before I go to my chamber I wanted to speak to you about Queen Mary.”

“Only last evening we received word about the baby princes,” Fiona replied in softly anguished tones. “Oh, Lennox, how could this have happened?”

He stood beside the big loom, and Nora saw the genuine sadness in his green eyes. “Only God knows, I fear. First, word came to Falkland Palace that Prince James was gravely ill in St. Andrews, and immediately