Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,69

touched his arm, bringing him back to the moment. “You had to come,” she murmured, her beautiful eyes rich with emotion. “We both know it.”

The clear understanding Lennox felt from her was deeply reassuring. He straightened and took a deep breath. “Aye. Thank God ye are here to set me straight, lass.”

As more people emerged from the manor house, he perceived that he was about to meet the Duke and Duchess of Aylesbury. The duke, a handsome, fair-haired man with an air of wry charm, embraced Cicely. At his side stood a graceful, lovely woman, her cognac-hued hair partially obscured by a stylish French hood.

“What plans are you hatching now, child?” the duke was asking his sister in mock dismay.

“Will you call me child until we are both old and gray?” Cicely parried. Before he could reply, she rushed on. “Andrew, I’ve brought the most wonderful friends to stay here with us. You don’t mind, do you? When you hear their story, you’ll understand completely!”

“Allow me to greet our visitors,” he said, and walked toward Lennox and Nora.

Cicely hurried in her brother’s wake, clearly planning to take charge, but before she could speak, the duke extended his hand.

“Welcome to Weston House.” His tone was affable, but he was staring at Lennox as if trying to place him from a previous meeting. “I am Andrew Weston, Duke of Aylesbury, but you must call me Sandhurst. I’ve only been a duke for a few months, but I’ve answered to Sandhurst all my life.” Smiling, he brought his lady forward. “This is my wife, Micheline.”

Lennox bowed to the noble couple, feeling more comfortable by the moment. “My name is Lennox MacLeod, of the Isle of Skye, and this is Nora Brodie, my—”

Before he could say the word wife, Nora spoke up. “I am Nora Brodie, and it is an honor to be with you both.” She curtseyed to them. “You will not remember, Your Grace, but I met you a few years ago, when I was but a girl. My father oversaw the weaving of a new arras, a small hanging tapestry for your baby daughter’s bedchamber. I accompanied the men who delivered it.” She beamed at the duchess. “I have never forgotten the kindness you showed me that day.”

Cicely interjected, “You already knew Andrew and Micheline, Nora? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because the people I met were the Marquess and Marchioness of Sandhurst,” Nora explained. “I didn’t know of their…change in circumstances.”

Smiling radiantly, the duchess spoke with a charming French accent, catching one of Nora’s hands in both of hers. “Ah, oui! I do remember you, mademoiselle. You were an aspiring weaver, under the tutelage of your father, the master.” She caught the sleeve of her husband’s dove-gray doublet. “You remember Nora as well, don’t you, Andrew?”

“I do.” He gave his wife a bemused smile. “I suggest that we all go inside, where we can unravel this conversation at our leisure.”

“Ye are very kind, Your Grace.” Lennox felt a surge of hope as he smiled at them in turn.

“Not a bit,” said Micheline. “And do call me Micheline. Titles only get in the way of friendships, we believe.”

As they walked through the doorway, Sandhurst said dryly, “Later, after you’ve had a chance to rest and refresh yourselves, we’ll regale you with the tale of our first meeting, when I traveled to France in the guise of a humble portrait painter.”

* * *

The entry hall of Weston House was as warm and welcoming as their hosts, and Nora was pleased to see that nothing had changed since Lord Sandhurst became the Duke of Aylesbury. Throgmorton, the ancient steward, directed the green-liveried footmen to show the guests to separate chambers. Nora sensed that Lennox was about to protest that they were married, but she put a hand on his arm.

When they were out of earshot, halfway up the wide, oak-paneled staircase, she paused. “I beg you to leave it for now.”

He stared at her as the servants continued on ahead of them, carrying their meager belongings. “Why don’t ye want to say that we are wed?”

Nora’s heart hurt, wishing she could tell the world of their handfasting and share her husband’s bed, but she steeled herself and held fast. “Wait until you know more. Trust me, please.”

“Do ye believe anything I learn about my true father could change the way I feel about you?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

“No, of course not.” Although his expression tore at her heart, she started up the