Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,30

permitted to break a rule or two?” She gave him a tiny wink before returning her attention to the sketch. “Au revoir!”

* * *

Two mornings later, Lennox was on his way to meet with Aunt Tess.

At last! he thought. All the long days of waiting now were paying off. He strode quickly through the spacious gallery that fronted the south range of the palace, the loose folds of his belted plaid moving against his thighs. As he walked, Lennox found that his attention was drawn to the large tapestries displayed in a continuous line along the inner wall of the gallery.

Pausing, he studied the hunting scenes that covered the wall, noting the way each colorful stitch blended with others to become part of the grander scene. His thoughts soon turned to Nora Brodie, to the animation that showed on her lovely face as she spoke about weaving and the sadness he’d sensed in her that last morning, when she had avoided his gaze in the courtyard at Stirling Castle. When he returned, Lennox would ask to visit William Brodie’s workroom. Perhaps Nora would even give him a weaving lesson.

He felt a sharp twinge of arousal as he remembered the dream that had awakened him in the middle of the night. Nora had been in his bed, her full breasts and long legs pale in the moonlight, her burnished hair spread across his pillow.

“Ah, nephew!” called a woman’s voice in tones of amusement. “You must be thinking of a lass.”

Startled, Lennox looked over to see his Aunt Tess standing in the doorway to the royal chapel. “I was merely admiring the tapestries,” he protested, but felt his face grow warm.

“Indeed?” She teased, coming closer, and he noticed again how much bigger a woman she was than his mother. Clearly, she enjoyed good food, and her eyes gleamed in a way that put him at ease. “Let us go outside and take a turn around the gardens while you explain what has brought you to Falkland Palace, so persistent in your need to speak to me.”

When they had emerged from the courtyard into the gardens, Tess slipped a hand through his arm. “How good it is to see you, Lennox MacLeod. Your ma was so proud of you.” She looked him up and down as she spoke. “All three of Eleanor’s children are bonny indeed, but you are truly splendid. As Her Majesty said, you appear to have sprung from one of the Norsemen who invaded the Isle of Skye.”

Her tone was warm, even light, but Lennox stiffened. “Ye speak as if I do not share the same da as Fiona and Ciaran.”

“Ah, well, perhaps the faeries intervened during your conception,” Tess chuckled. “As I recall, the folk on Skye believe in that sort of thing.”

They had come upon a narrow path leading into the bluebell wood. After they had walked a bit farther, Lennox spied a lichen-crusted bench under a great oak tree and gestured to invite his aunt to sit with him.

“I did not seek this interview with you so that we might jest about the faeries,” he said plainly. “I have come on a quest of real importance. It involves the very essence of my life.”

“By my troth,” she exclaimed with a nervous laugh. “I am surprised to find you so serious. My sister always said that you were her golden, caring son, while your brother Ciaran was the dark one.”

He rubbed a hand over the tense planes of his face. “Aunt, I must be very frank. There is no time to spare, for I fear that someone will call ye away, and I may not have another chance to ask ye these questions.”

“All right.” Tess folded her hands in her lap and straightened her spine. “I am listening.”

“I have always felt…different from the rest of my family. Cared for, aye, but different.” He felt the miniature through the folds of his plaid, and now his hand curved around it. “Do ye understand?”

“What exactly do you mean?” Her cheeks seemed to pinken, though perhaps that was simply the deepening afternoon light.

Lennox felt as if he stood on the edge of a great black chasm, his future calling to him from the other side. Suddenly, a part of him wished that he’d never felt discontented with clan MacLeod, never gone to Fi’s house to help her pack, never accidentally bumped the little casket with the enameled lid. Why couldn’t he have been happy with the life he had, the one