“I avoided my father because I believed he had rejected me,” Claudine's voice said coldly into the silence behind him. “Because I believed you, Uncle. And now I want to see if I was right.”
Francis felt his heart sink. She was here.
The look into the eyes of the duke, suddenly and inexplicably filled with tears, twisted his own heart.
“My daughter,” he said softly. “My beloved daughter. Why did you leave me for so long?”
“Father!” Claudine sobbed. “Oh! Father. I missed you.”
Francis stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor, a guard on either side of him. Utterly forgotten, rendered temporarily invisible, he could not have been happier or more content.
***
Later, after a lot of talking, with just Claudine and her father present, they sat down to a delicious dinner. She, her father and Francis.
The scent of delicious cooking wafted up to Claudine's nose: roast fish and fennel. It made her mouth water. She hadn't eaten such fare since the palace ball: that had been the last time she could find the energy to go downstairs.
“My daughter,” her father said. “It is...remarkable...to have you back with us. And in such wonderful health.”
“Thank you, Father.” She smiled shyly at him and then looked down at her plate. She had told him everything, and he had told her a lot too. Like the fact that he loved her, and would never have sent her away. He thought it was for her health. That the air at Pavot had sickened her.
It felt strange, to look into his face now, Claudine thought wonderingly. She had not seen him for two years. She could barely drag her gaze away now.
Everything about him – from the soft outline of his face to the big blue eyes to the tender way he smiled, cheeks lifting, eyes kindling, when he looked at her – was indescribable and precious. And now that she knew he had never despised her, never rejected her, so much more so.
A cough from across the table brought Claudine back to the present. She caught the look from across the table and grinned at Francis.
“You wish to ride tomorrow?” he asked. “Your father was telling me about his stables.”
Claudine felt her cheeks color. “Mayhap,” she said softly. Just to think of the fact that she could ride now was yet another wonder in a day that already had so many wonders to offer.
Claudine felt as if her heart would melt.
“Claudine?” her father said softly.
“Mm?” she frowned. “Sorry, Father. I was lost in thought.”
“I remember you getting lost in thought,” her father smiled fondly. “It happened often. So many thoughts in that pretty head of yours. I missed that. But enough reminiscing, for now. More later. I wanted to ask about these people that helped you? The nuns at Bois?”
Claudine nodded and swallowed a mouthful of delicate grilled perch. “I think they helped save my life, Father,” she said in a small voice. “Well, them, and Bernadette. And Francis.”
She blushed when she said his name.
“I hope I can speak to you later, sir,” Francis said to her father, surprising both of them. Claudine saw her father's eyes widen and then return quickly to their normal tranquil shape.
“Of course, my son. I am easy to find...just go to my office in the turret. I'll be in there pretending to work while actually I rest after this ample dinner.”
Claudine giggled. Across the table from her, Francis smiled.
Claudine leaned forward and her knee, quite by accident, touched Francis' where it rested under the table. She jumped and he smiled as she withdrew her knee. He pressed forward, so their knees touched. His leg slipped between hers.
Claudine gasped.
Her father looked sideways. She went red.
“Sorry, Father,” she murmured softly. “The stew is hot.”
Her father nodded. “I suppose it is, Daughter. It's these carrots. Peculiar things. They hold the heat.” If he didn't believe that was the source of her discomfort, he hid it remarkably well.
Claudine flushed and nodded. “Yes, it's that.”
Francis was grinning and she felt the urge to laugh. She forced herself to keep a neutral face even though she was shaking with laughter inside. She could feel his knee pressing between her own and somewhere his toe stroked her foot, making her jump again.
“It is hot, isn't it?” her father mused. “I should talk to the head cook. Encourage him to cut these carrots a bit smaller. What do you say, hey?”
“You keep an excellent chef,” Francis said gravely. “I would feel doltish suggesting he did anything different on my account.”
Claudine saw her father's face soften. “Thank you, Lord Francis. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to hear the story of your escape. In full. Leave nothing out.”
Claudine felt her stomach tighten.
“Cannot we just forget, Father?” she asked, hopeful. She didn't want to think about it, much less have to hear about it any more than she already had.
Her father smiled. “As you will, my dear. I have already made up my mind what I will do.”
“Thank you, Father. I appreciate that.”
“I understand. We want to put this unpleasantness behind us. I certainly do. What's for dessert, eh?”
“My lord?” a footman looked up at the mention of dessert. “Oh. Stewed fruits, sir.”
“Ah. Just the thing. Well, we'll get onto that soon. And then the cheese. Always good here.”
They all smiled. Claudine found herself feeling comfortably full for the first time in a long, long time.
Her father caught her eye and grinned. “Well, we didn't know in advance of your arrival...If I had, then I would have planned a more lavish dinner to celebrate it!”
Claudine grinned at him, her face flushed. “Father, this was lavish enough, I promise you.”
“Good, good.” He patted her hand fondly. “Oh! Roncelles?”
“Yes, sir?” the gaunt steward paused in the door.
“Have those accounts laid out for me after dinner, would you? I need to check them.”
“Yes, my lord.”
When the last of the cheeses had been sampled, and Claudine was almost asleep at the table, her father stood and pushed in his chair.
“Well, excuse me. Lord Francis, Daughter. I will go and retire to my office awhile. I will see you soon, sir?” he added to Francis.
Francis nodded. “Yes, your grace.” He left shortly after, leaving Claudine alone by the fire.
She watched the flames.
I can barely believe this is possible, she thought, her cheeks flushed with warmth. After years of believing she was destined for a slow death, that she would never wed, that she was a burden so noxious her own father rejected her, her life had suddenly transformed.
It's so wonderful.
“Claudine?”
“Yes?” she smiled fondly at Francis.
“Your uncle is banished,” he explained. “He will return to Corron and relinquish his lands in all other places.”
“I am glad,” she said softly. “I think Father made the right choice.”“Bernadette was to be rewarded, too,” she mentioned.
“Good,” Francis agreed.
“I know.”
“Though it seemed to me that he doesn't know what to give her. He also wants the nuns to receive some thanks.” Francis looked up at her, green eyes almost tawny in the firelight.
“I think a gift of land to the abbey would please them most,” Claudine said softly.
Francis nodded. “I think so too.”
Later, they told her father. He seemed pleased to have their suggestions.
“Lady Claudine proposed you give a gift of land to the abbey at Bois,” Francis said.
“Mm. A grand notion,” her father nodded.
The abbey would receive part of the land at Evreux. That made it simple, since it was so close. And it was the nearest of her uncle's relinquished holdings
“And the rest?” Claudine asked softly. The fire had bu
rned down in the grate, the soft crackle of it barely audible below their voices, the light red and intense where it flowed out over the room.
“Well,” her father smiled, “I think Evereux will undeniably benefit from having the first female sole proprietor of any estate I know.”
Francis and Claudine looked at each other. Claudine felt her heart swell with joy.
“Oh, Papa! She'll be delighted.” He meant to give the land to Bernadette, it was clear. She grinned happily. She'd be delighted!
Her father merely smiled.
“Well, then,I should retire early. I'm tired. Lots of excitement today, eh?” He smiled fondly at Claudine.
“Indeed, Father,” Claudine murmured.
She smiled at Francis, who sat opposite the fireplace.
They were finally alone.
“I can't believe it,” Claudine whispered. He smiled at her.
“I can. I do.”
They kissed. His kiss was slow and tender, his tongue probing into her mouth. He moved so that he sat beside her on the settee and she sighed as she felt her body mold to his, his lips soft and tender on her own.
He stroked her gently, his hands moving down her back in slow, gentle touches that sent shivers down her back. She leaned into him, hungrily, her breasts pressed flat against his chest and his arms came round her in a stiff embrace that crushed her to him.
“Oh, Francis,” she gasped as he moved away. He leaned back and looked into her eyes. She could feel a fine tremor running through him. It matched the shiver in her own limbs.
“Claudine,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. “I...I think mayhap I should retire to my chamber now. Before I do something we might both regret.”
Claudine's mouth quirked. She knew what he meant. He means forestalling vows. It was such a lovely thought that it made her body throb with longing even though she knew how utterly shocking it would be.
“Yes. You are right.”
He smiled. “I am. Much as I wish not to be. We should wait. We won't wait long.”
“Oh. Francis!” Claudine's heart soared. That meant...it meant everything! Her father had agreed. They had his blessing! They were free to love.
“Yes,” he murmured. “He agreed. I was surprised, I can tell you!” His green eyes were wide and Claudine had to laugh.
“I'm not. Oh, Francis. You are the best, loveliest, bravest, most courageous...”
“...completely lucky and fortunate man in the world,” he finished.
Claudine giggled. “Oh, Francis.”
“My love.”
They kissed.
Francis stood afterward, a big smile on his face. “Really. I need to go.”
Claudine's whole body melted at that statement. She knew what he meant. She could feel it too – a deep, throbbing draw to do exactly what they knew they should not.
“Yes, my dear. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, my sweetling.”
Claudine stayed where she was after he'd departed. She felt as if her heart would melt. She was here with Francis and they loved one another. Soon they would be married.
It was as if all her prayers had been answered. She was well, she was loved. Soon she would find out what all that really meant as well. She was so happy.
A WEDDING IN THE COUNTRY
“Shall I do your hair now, milady?”
Claudine grinned. “Not if you insist on calling me that, chatelaine.”
Bernadette dimpled. Wearing a beautiful blue gown, her hair covered by a veil of Belgian lace, she looked ladylike and lovely. “Madame, you are too kind. Let me do this last thing for you? It is an honor.”
“Bernadette! You shouldn't call me Madame yet,” Claudine smiled. “And you call me 'too kind'? You are the best friend anyone ever dreamed of!”
Bernadette blinked, stopping the tears that were flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, milady. No, wait...Madame. You do talk sweet nonsense.” She giggled
Claudine laughed. “I speak the truth. Now please help me arrange these braids, or I'll look a fright, and it is my wedding day.”
Bernadette sighed. “You look so lovely. You'd never look a fright.”
“I might yet,” Claudine teased, and sat down so that Bernadette could finish styling her hair.
“Ah. There. Now. Stand up, dear, do, and let me add the veil.”
Bernadette reached across and draped the whisper of gauze over Claudine's back, where it trailed down to the floor, blending with the train of her gown.
Claudine stared. The gown itself was green and with a long, wide skirt that was set into a “v” shaped waist, the waist itself encircled with a silver kirtle that complemented her curvy form. The neck of the gown was low enough to show a little pale cleavage and she wore flowers in her hair. She looked elegant and more than a little ethereal. It surprised her.
“My lady,” Bernadette sighed. “You really do look lovely.” She was really crying now, the words catching in her throat.
Claudine embraced her quickly and then, before the tears welled up in her own eyes, she was heading quickly past her to the stairwell.
Her father met her at the bottom of the long, sweeping stairs and escorted her to the coach. They would hold the ceremony at the chapel at Pavot where, long ago, her own parents had married, and theirs before that.
Then I will go to stay with Francis.
She couldn't stop smiling.
The chapel was cool and green-toned, the only light washing down from the high clerestory windows. The congregation was large, as was to be expected for the daughter of a duke. Claudine looked demurely down at the floor as she walked along the aisle, the ethereal sound of the choir echoing high in the roof above her.
She blinked rapidly, her tears starting to flow.
Francis.
She was beside him and she could look nowhere else. He wore a soft green tunic and dark trews; the color of the tunic almost the exact color of his eyes. Claudine felt her heart leap happily.
This handsome man is becoming my husband.
She flushed and drew her attention back to the priest. He was addressing Francis. Then, she knew, he would address her.
“Francis Blaine McNeil, vis accípere Claudine Jocelynne Poitiers, hic præséntern in tuum legítimum uxorum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?”
“Volo,” Francis said, low and distinctly. I do. The words moved her so much with their sincerity.
“Claudine Jocelynne Poitiers, vis accípere Francis Blaine MacNeil. Hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?”
“Volo,” she said. She voiced it was soft but firmly. I do.
More Latin followed, flowing around Claudine's ears with the soft familiarity of childhood prayers. Then they were wed. She was quite surprised when Francis turned to her, taking her hands in both his own.
She looked into his eyes and he leaned forward. Gently, tenderly, he lifted her veil. He kissed her.
They were man and wife.
Claudine smiled until she thought her cheeks would weary of it, her whole body suffused with glowing joy.
They joined the family at the high table in the great hall. Claudine found that she was barely aware of the conversation, the congratulations, and the talk around her. She was focused only on how conscious she was of Francis beside her. She felt as if her skin had shed a layer and every move he made reached into the core of her, making her shiver.
I am thinking about the bedding.
She was the daughter of the duke and her sons would be the heirs to that. Her family would wish formal bedding, with her ladies somewhere in the room – on the other side of the screen, of course. However, Claudine didn't want that. She wanted Francis to herself. Alone.
As if in answer to her thoughts, his leg pressed her knee, making her jump with surprise.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Should we go?” he asked.
Claudine stared at him. “Francis! How can we?”
They were both whi
spering, but she could see her father look up, interested, from across the table. She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Well, my parents did it,” Francis grinned naughtily. “Why not us?”
Claudine felt her cheeks heat with embarrassed excitement. “You think we could?” It was so deliciously wicked that she didn't even believe it could be done. Yet how she wished to!
“Well, of course. You go first. Say you need to excuse yourself. I'll follow.”
Claudine nodded. Her heart thumped and she felt nervous. She glanced at her father.
“What, dear?”
“I have a...a need to excuse myself,” she said, looking flustered. He smiled.
“Of course, dear. Go now while the dessert's still being cooked. You wouldn't wish to miss it, I imagine.”
Claudine smiled. “No, Father. I wouldn't.”
She stood and left, thinking that she was anticipating something delicious after the meal that had nothing to do with the stewed pears with syrup the cook was serving.
“Claudine!” she chided herself. “What a wicked thought.”
She walked quickly up the stairs to the main bedchamber, looking hastily left and right. Was she followed? She didn't think so. She reached the bedchamber and leaned against the door, trying to blend with the shadows in the hallway.
A moment later, she heard a footfall in the hallway. She tensed. Who was it?
“Claudine?”
“Francis,” she sighed.
His arms wrapped her from behind and he drew her close. His lips brushed against the skin of her throat and she felt herself ignite.
Gently, he turned to face her. His lips descended on hers. They were gentle at first, nipping gently at her full pout, sampling her with the very end of his tongue. Then, he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms round her, leaning back at the same time so that she lifted up against him.
With her feet off the floor, he whisked her over the threshold as if she was weightless and set her lightly down in the room.
“It's good luck,” he said. “To carry the bride over the threshold. At least, it is in Scotland.”
She giggled. “Oh, Francis. How wonderful.” She reached up and stroked his hair. “There is so much I wish to learn about you and your family.”
Adventures of a Highlander Page 58
