Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,67
lurking in a hidden corner of Nora’s soul. “Now is all that matters, love. This very moment.” He felt himself begin to harden again inside her, and her answering, intimate response. “We’ll find a way through whatever lies ahead.”
Nora made no reply but kissed him instead. As the real world slipped away, Lennox told himself that was answer enough.
* * *
Hours later, Nora disengaged from Lennox’s sleeping body and rose from the bed. She found her discarded smock in a pool on the floor and slipped it over her head. Her naked body was tender, almost bruised from so much lovemaking, yet she had never felt more like a woman.
Leaning into the deep stone sill below the narrow window, Nora glimpsed the full moon that silvered the nearby Sound of Mull. What time was it? Midnight at least, she supposed. Lennox slumbered, one brown arm thrown back over his head, but she could not find such peace.
It was a relief to have told him so much of the truth, to share the burden of her secret about Slater, to bring it out in the open where Lennox had done his best to destroy its power over her. Nora closed her eyes and pondered all they had said and the past hours she had spent in his arms, discovering the utter splendor of what could exist between a man and woman.
It meant so much that he had professed to care, to want to make their handfasting a true marriage, no matter what lay ahead for him in London. Yet Nora knew it was not so simple for Lennox. Who knew what lay waiting for him around the next corner?
Her hand went to her abdomen. She splayed her slim fingers, searching for a sign of the baby who was growing inside her, and tonight it seemed that the curve of her belly was a bit firmer. If she had told Lennox tonight about this baby, they never could have shared these stolen hours of passion and raw intimacy. Didn’t they both deserve this interlude? Perhaps it would be all Nora would have to warm her heart in the years ahead.
Soon, I will tell him the truth.
A muffled groan of complaint came from the big bed. “Where have ye gone, lass?”
Turning, Nora pulled off the smock. Moments later, she was back in bed, molding herself to Lennox’s lean, muscular body. He was warm, smiling sleepily as he rolled her over into the pillows and kissed her.
Nora let the waves of exquisite, deep happiness flow through her body and spirit. Opening her mouth to his, she reminded herself of his words: This moment is all that matters…
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Chapter 19
London, England
June 1541
Lennox found it impossible to stay seated as the Earl of Fairhaven’s barge glided up the sun-spangled River Thames, surrounded by countless other vessels. It was as if he were in another world entirely, one that bore no resemblance to the Isle of Skye or even Edinburgh.
The legendary city of London that spread beyond the banks of the river was a jumbled maze of gabled rooftops, chimneys, and spires, filled with people of every description who moved about wherever he looked. Of course, there were no Highlanders among them and Lennox suddenly was conscious of his belted plaid, the sash fastened to his shoulder with a brooch. Some of these men wore soft plumed caps, quite unlike Lennox’s tartan bonnet with its clan MacLeod badge.
Of course, he thought ruefully, envisioning the man in the miniature with the swan’s feather in his velvet cap. What did I expect?
The voices that reached his ears, including the shouts of the watermen on Fairhaven’s barge, did not sound like his Scots brogue, and certainly none of these Englishmen carried a giant claymore or wore a dirk at his belt.
“Are you looking forward to this adventure in London?” asked Cicely. She had come to stand at his elbow without Lennox even noticing.
“I cannot truly say,” he admitted. “If I can solve the riddle of the man in the painting, I will be glad to have come. Do I expect to enjoy myself in London?” He gave a wry shrug, surveying the outline of the bustling city. “It is very foreign to me. I feel…”
“Wary?” Cicely supplied.
“Aye.” He paused, gesturing from his windblown locks to the folds of his belted plaid before adding, “And, as ye can see, I am a Scots thistle among these English roses.”