Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,31

he’d known since birth?

In this moment, sitting beside Aunt Tess, his chest hurt and his eyes stung. “I have learned at last that Magnus is not my real da. I’m no MacLeod at all,” he said, hearing the catch in his own voice. “I’ve been told that Ma left Skye with little Ciaran and her nurse, Isbeil. They sailed south, to you. When she returned to Skye, months later, it seems I had been conceived.” He paused, hearing his own heartbeat. “No one else can help me but you, Aunt Tess.”

After drawing a deep sigh, she nodded. “Aye, I remember that summer well. I had gone to stay in the tower house of an old family friend, to help him through his last illness.” Misty-eyed, Tess added, “’Twas Ian MacDougall. Such a fine man. But you would not remember him.”

“Aunt, I implore you.” Lennox had an irrational fear that, at any moment, someone would appear to summon Tess back to the queen, and he would have missed his one chance. Deftly, he reached in the folds of his plaid and brought out the pouch containing the miniature. “Look at this face.”

Seeing the man’s image again here in the sunlight was rather startling to him as well. Lennox hadn’t taken a good look at it for more than a fortnight, and now he was struck by how much his true father resembled a high-born member of the royal court. It wasn’t just the rich, gem-encrusted clothing he wore, but also something in his face. One brow was slightly arched, as if he had been amused, and there was a knowing, intelligent spark in his green eyes.

It came to Lennox that the man looked civilized.

“Why, nephew,” Tess said in tones of wonder. “This could be you!”

“Perhaps, if I owned a doublet sewn with rubies, but such finery is hard to come by in the Highlands.” He leaned forward, letting her feel the ironic edge of his emotions. “Aunt, I have traveled from Skye to Stirling, and now to Falkland, in search of the truth. I have waited here for a full fortnight to ask the question only ye can answer.” Pointing to the miniature, Lennox demanded, “Who is this man?”

Tess shook her head. “By my troth,I do not know!”

Lennox had never been quick to anger, but now he felt a strong urge to grip his aunt by the shoulders and shake her. “I do not believe it!”

At this, she got to her feet and pointed a finger at him. “You forget yourself, Lennox MacLeod. Do you wish to hear what I have to say, or shall I leave you?”

“Nay, do not go.” He felt as if his head would explode. “It’s just that… I had such hopes. Accept my apology, please.”

She perched on the edge of the bench, clearly poised to flee if he misbehaved again. “Your beautiful mother did not raise you to behave in such a manner.”

As she was speaking, Lennox heard raised voices from the direction of the palace. Heart racing, he sensed that time was running out. “Aunt, I will be grateful for anything ye can tell me.”

Tess looked into the distance, as if seeing back to a long-ago summer on the western coast of Scotland. “I remember well the day Eleanor arrived, with little Ciaran and her old nurse, Isbeil. The old woman’s brother brought them over the sea from Skye. It isn’t far, as you know.” She smiled wistfully. “I had written Eleanor to tell her I would be with Ian until he passed from this world. He was a great friend of our parents and had been like an uncle to us.”

Were the voices growing louder? Lennox wanted to hurry his aunt along, but feared the worst if he tried again to force the story from her.

“Eleanor told me of the trouble with Magnus…” She looked over at him and he nodded to let her know he was privy to this drama. “My heart ached for her. She had made up her mind that she would never go back, but where could she stay? Clearly, Ian’s tower house was not the solution. He was dying, and Eleanor knew that she could not impose upon his small staff.” Tess gave him a rueful smile. “You may imagine what your brother Ciaran was like as a wee lad, chasing Ian’s wolfhound up and down the stone steps.”

“What did Ma do?” Lennox asked, praying his aunt wouldn’t hear the commotion that seemed to increase with each passing minute.