Quest of the Highlander by Cynthia Wright

Author:Cynthia Wright [Wright, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-18T18:30:00+00:00

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.”

“Ah, but a very handsome thistle, sir.”

Lennox had no patience for her banter. Glancing away, he felt the tightening in his chest that had been coming more and more often of late. It was a sort of grief, he sensed, the prospect of trading his Highland identity to become a different person. Did he truly want this?

Swans glided over to the side of the barge, seeming to recognize Cicely. “They hope for a treat,” she remarked. “I used to try to pet them when I was a child, but my brother forbade it, claiming to know someone who had a finger bitten off by a swan.” She glanced back to the cushioned bench where Nora reclined next to Fairhaven, looking pale and dispirited. “Your lovely wife has not been herself for days. Do you fear for her health?”

It was true that Nora had suffered from what she called mal de mer, ever since they’d left the Isle of Mull. The seas were often rough, and Lennox had found himself on deck much of the time, working alongside the crew of Lord Fairhaven’s sloop. And once they had neared London, he had been distracted by the realization that his whole life might be about to change.

Yet, looking back at Nora now, he felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt.

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