Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,51

godforsaken place.”

Lennox managed to draw a long breath, forcing his pulse to slow. “I only meant to protect ye, lass.”

Nora was taking slender, polished pieces of wood out of the satchel, setting them on the carved lid of the chest. “You have no understanding of the person I am.” She glanced back at him for a moment, the spill of her hair like molten copper, her expression proud and splendid. “Tonight, I do not need or want your protection. In fact, if I could have left Stirling alone, I would have. It is galling to me that I must depend upon a man for assistance during this difficult time.”

Shocked, he could only stare at her. “That is not what ye said to me at Stirling Castle.”

“Perhaps not, because I was desperate, but it is the way I truly feel. I have aspirations of my own, Lennox MacLeod, and the notion of romance only gets in the way of making them come true.”

Of course, Lennox understood exactly what she meant about matters of the heart, for he felt the same. Why then did he feel a sting of rejection from Nora, a sting that recalled the black moments when he’d felt spurned by his own clan? As his heart squeezed, Lennox reminded himself that the true purpose of this quest was to discover where he truly belonged. Until that was revealed, was it not better to remain alone?

Silence calmed the air as Nora brought out two more carved, slender sticks, the tops wound with brightly colored threads. She arranged the pieces of wood on the carved chest, gradually relaxing.

Lennox was grateful for an opportunity to change the subject. “Now I know why your satchel was so heavy,” he said wryly. “What do ye have there?”

She gave him a luminous smile. “They are a few of my bobbins, wound with silken threads I dyed myself. I use them at the loom.” As she spoke, she reached inside the satchel for a thick piece of cloth, rolled up like a scroll. “Even though I cannot weave during our journey, I had to bring these things with me, or I wouldn’t feel like…myself.”

“I can see it brings ye happiness just to say it.”

“You cannot imagine.” Tears came to her eyes.

He could imagine, of course, because he felt that way about his own sketching tools. Most of them were in his saddlebag, in the Oban stable with Chaucer, but Lennox never went anywhere without a few of his charcoal pencils, just in case he might need them, as he had that day at Falkland Palace when he came upon Queen Mary holding her baby prince.

Nora unfurled the canvas to proudly display the small woven image of a gray rabbit sitting in front of a boxwood bush. “This is the very first tapestry I ever created,” she said proudly. “When I was perhaps four years old, I begged Father to teach me to weave, and he did. He held me to a high standard yet praised and encouraged me every step of the way.”

“No doubt ye miss him,” Lennox said softly.

She nodded, eyes agleam. “Even though he was a gifted master weaver, working in the studio of the great Pieter van Aelst, Father found the time to make the pattern for this tapestry. The subject was my pet rabbit, Hugo. Do you see how the little rogue seems to flirt with us, one ear up and one ear down?” A smile lit her face. “I have always kept this with me. Not only because of the memories, but also because it clearly shows my progress, as my skills developed. Do you see? The weaving is much neater and tighter at the top than it is at the bottom, when I was first beginning.”

Lennox knew an urge to put his arms around her. Compassion for others was an intrinsic part of him, but this was something deeper. He longed to hold her against him and kiss the soft tendrils that brushed her brow, yet he could sense her need for space. “It sounds as if ye found your calling at a very young age.”

Smiling, Nora touched the rabbit’s crooked ear. “It’s as much a part of me as breathing.”

“And your ma? How did she feel about the great gift that you and your da shared?” He watched her, remembering that her mother had stayed behind in Brussels when William Brodie and his ten-year-old daughter traveled to England.

“Mama could not understand. Or perhaps she did understand, and that’s