Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  As they both moved closer, Claudine felt herself suddenly stiffen. It would be absolutely scandalous if they kissed here in the hall, with all eyes upon them!

  She flushed and leaned hastily backward. She had seen ladies kissing young men before – discreetly, in the corners of the hall where no one could really see, or at least where everyone pretended not to. She had never thought of doing it herself before.

  “Are you ready to go?” Francis asked.

  Claudine swallowed, unable to get a word out. She nodded. “Yes.”

  Francis stood first and Claudine pushed her chair back, feeling a vague unease inside her. What would her uncle think? She frowned.

  Why was she nervous?

  Uncle always says I should make more effort to be like other people, to be likable. Why should I make him anything other than pleased if I do this?

  “Heading off early?” her uncle asked as she got up.

  “Uh, yes, Uncle,” Claudine stammered. She looked round at Francis, who frowned.

  “Apologies, sir. I trust it is not unsuitable to escort your niece to the ramparts?”

  All the people at the table looked at the count of Corron. He directed a neutral smile at Francis.

  “Of course it's not unsuitable, young man. I think there is nowhere in France it would be so.”

  Someone at the table laughed and Francis colored.

  Claudine drew in a breath. The man was quick! In two sentences he had managed to make Francis look like a bumbling foreigner. At the same time, he'd done it while seeming perfectly reasonable and polite.

  Francis looked puzzled, and Claudine found the words on her lips before she had thought much.

  “Uncle, I'm sure Lord Francis is aware of that. He was merely exercising the courtesy that's necessary within these walls.”

  Claudine smiled sweetly but the barb was unmistakable. You are being ruder than you have to be, she was saying. I noticed.

  “Of course, Niece,” her uncle smiled. He seemed to subside, content with that explanation and Francis turned as Claudine walked slowly out.

  They walked into the hallway. When they were there, Francis turned to face her.

  “I'm sorry about that,” he whispered. “Is your uncle...?”

  Claudine interrupted softly. “I don't know why Uncle is being so strange. He's not usually like this.”

  Francis frowned. “I hope it isn't aught I've done?”

  Claudine shook her head quickly, feeling at once tenderness for Francis and a worry that it was, in fact, that way.

  “It cannot be that,” she said with false sureness. “I don't imagine anyone would find anything to object to in you.”

  Francis blushed. “Really? I mean, thank you, milady.”

  Claudine smiled at him with very real warmth. “Lord Francis, you're acceptable. More than acceptable.”

  She was surprised to see Francis blush. She herself felt a flush creep into her cheeks, amazed with her own boldness.

  “Thank you,” Francis said shyly. Claudine swallowed hard. She was twenty years of age – most of the ladies of her acquaintance had found husbands by now – but she had little knowledge of talking with a man her age, never mind anything else.

  Yet she felt as if she could really speak to Francis, say what was on her mind. “Of course,” she said with a shy grin. “Now. Shall we inspect the ramparts?”

  Francis grinned. “Yes indeed, milady.”

  Claudine noticed him hesitate at the door and was mildly surprised when he waved her ahead. She moved so slowly that she knew people often became impatient of her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Francis looked genuinely surprised. “Of course,” he repeated, echoing her words.

  Claudine walked along the hallway beside him shyly.

  When they reached the top of the stairs she was out of breath. Francis stood back at the door that led to the battlements and Claudine leaned on the wall beside it, breathing heavily. She felt as if she had been walking all day, her head dizzy and her heart thudding. Wretched body!

  “E...excuse me,” she whispered.

  “There is nothing to excuse,” Francis said, surprising her. He looked earnestly into her eyes. “My lady, I understand your own impatience with yourself. But no one else has the right to be impatient. You walking faster is hard for you – as hard as it would be for me to change the color of my hair.”

  Claudine bit her lip. There was such wistfulness, such pain, in his expression, even though he smiled.

  “Lord Francis,” she said softly, “I like your hair. I trust you will not endeavor to change it.”

  Francis blushed. Claudine smiled. They looked at each other in the close space of the tower's apex.

  Claudine felt that same strange urge filling her again and looked down abruptly, trying to quell the feelings that were flooding her body, igniting her veins and making her want to lean in toward Francis and...

  “Shall we go outside?” she asked quickly.

  He cleared his throat, face red. “Yes. Of course. You first.”

  Claudine sighed and lifted her foot, knowing that taking that step out onto the rampart was hard for her. She managed it, and stood against the wall outside, feeling the warmth on her skin as the sun warmed it.

  She heard Francis alight beside her and together they stood and looked over the landscape. The roofs of Paris spread out before them – tile and thatch, miles of them stretching to the silver sparkle of river water. The sky was crystallized blue.

  “Is it not beautiful?” Claudine whispered.

  “So beautiful.” Francis' voice was thick with feeling. “I am sure there is no city to compare it to.”

  Claudine felt her cheeks fill with a blush. She felt absurdly proud of Paris. It was the place she had spent half her life – every year in the summer her family came to court – first she and her father, then uncle.

  The fact that Francis liked it made her feel proud.

  “It is breathtaking,” she said.

  “Indeed.”

  They stood and watched the city awhile. Somewhere below them in the courtyard, men-at-arms practiced with sword and wooden staff, the sounds and shouts of their training lifting up from below on the warm air.

  Francis leaned on the rail. Shyly, Claudine joined him. Her elbow was close to his, so close she could feel the warmth of his body through his linen tunic. She blushed.

  Claudine! How can you even think of such things?

  The closeness of Francis and the way he looked made her think all manner of wild thoughts. She found herself wondering what it might feel like if he kissed her. The thought was so deliciously wicked that she looked at her hands, trying to hide her smile.

  “My lordship is here for long?” Claudine asked, deciding that distracting herself with conversation would be more advisable.

  “Um...a week.”

  “So long! I am surprised your family spares you.”

  Francis laughed. “I'm sure they'd spare me longer. I think it's a relief to have me gone from underfoot.”

  Claudine shook her head. “Lord Francis, why do you imagine people wish you elsewhere?”

  She saw his eyes narrow and he blinked, quite surprised. “You know...I never thought about that question,” he admitted. “I suppose I...just came to think of myself as a nuisance.”

  “Me too,” Claudine said, suddenly surprised by yet another similarity. “Ever since I turned nineteen and this...debility...crept over me, I've come to expect people would wish me gone. I am too slow, too cumbersome for company.” She bit her lip, looking down impatiently.

  Francis surprised her by reaching out to her. Gently, he rested a hand on her shoulder, just under the soft curls of her hair. She felt as if her heart would leap out of the cage of her ribs in surprise.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, mistaking her reaction for shock and gently removing his hand. Claudine felt the imprint of his fingers like the warmth of coals.

  “No,” she murmured, her throat
tight. “No need.”

  “I just...” Francis looked down at her with utter bewilderment. “It seems so shocking that someone as beautiful would think themselves tiresome.”

  Claudine looked up into his eyes. She stared. He thought she was beautiful? As long as she could remember, no one, except her father and her maidservant, had ever said that to her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Francis reached out gently and before either of them had any idea of what was happening next, his lips moved over hers and he kissed her.

  Claudine shut her eyes, feeling a shiver of amazement pass through her. She breathed in with amazement at the sweetness of the feeling. She would never have imagined that being kissed felt like this – the sweet softness of his mouth on hers, the way his tongue stroked along the parting of her lips.

  Francis kissed her longer, his hands on her shoulders, drawing her against him. Then abruptly he moved away.

  “Claudine. I...I'm sorry.”

  Claudine looked up, lips parted, eyes wide with surprise. “I...”

  She couldn't think what to say. Her whole body was tingling with excitement and the sweetness of his touch on her body stayed with her, even as he withdrew.

  “I shouldn't...” he began.

  “Nor should I,” Claudine said.

  She looked into his eyes and smiled. They were both grinning though Claudine wasn't sure why. She could feel a slow joy building up in her heart and making her want to sing, so happy did she feel.

  Francis was smiling.

  “I am sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “But also I am not. My lady, I'm overwhelmed.”

  Claudine giggled. Her throat was tight with feeling. “Me too,” she whispered quietly.

  They looked at each other again. Claudine felt as if she was drowning in those warm, friendly eyes, warm as a summer pool. She blushed.

  “I suppose we should return,” she said, indicating the door behind her.

  “Yes,” Francis whispered. “We should.”

  Claudine felt her throat tighten at the urgency in his voice. Evidently he wanted, as did she, to stay here and do that again. She knew it wasn't seemly, though. If someone saw her she would have to explain to her uncle, who would be horrified.

  Kissing at a ball was all very well – people would excuse it – but in daylight on the ramparts was highly reprehensible.

  She wanted to laugh, then – she, Claudine Poitiers, had kissed a man on the ramparts. In broad daylight. She would certainly, she thought, looking at him wondering, do it again as well.

  She walked in briskly through the door into the turret room, determined to save her reputation as far as she could.

  Francis followed her in. He brushed against her as she paused, catching her breath, and she felt her body respond to the closeness again.

  Her mind was still focused on the sweet sensation of closeness and intimacy. She turned round to face Francis and he smiled a little breathlessly.

  “We should return to the hall?” he asked.

  “We should.” She replied gravely, feeling her heart suddenly thump quite apprehensively. What would her uncle say about her long absence on the ramparts? She felt as if anyone, seeing them together, would guess.

  She felt a mix of shyness and joy in that. The fact that she had flouted protocol, and with this man, made her feel shyly proud.

  What would the other ladies think?

  She felt a smile stretch her lips as she walked with Francis. Foreign he might look, but she had noticed already how the ladies' eyes lingered on him – even that night at the ball she had caught sight of more than one glance.

  They would be surprised.

  A sentry smiled at her and saluted as they went past. “Milady. Milord.”

  Claudine smiled dazzlingly. “Good morning, Clement.” She recognized the man – he had helped her to her chamber once or twice when she needed extra support to lean on.

  “Milady.” He beamed. Claudine saw his eyes rove toward Francis and felt her cheeks flush with pride and shyness.

  Yes, she wanted to say aloud. This is Lord Francis, heir to a count. And he just kissed me.

  She grinned, managing, just, to hold back the words that made her want to laugh with joy.

  “I should go,” Francis said awkwardly when they reached the bottom of the steps together. “I need to take my petition to the great audience chamber.”

  “Yes,” Claudine said softly. She didn't want him to go.

  Francis smiled. Slowly, he leaned in towards her. Claudine felt her whole body respond as he reached out and took her wrist. Her heart sang as those lips, soft and satin-like, touched the back of her hand. His eyes looked into hers, gentle and warm.

  “Until tomorrow, then, milady,” he murmured, straightening up.

  “Yes, milord,” Claudine said in a small voice.

  His hand slowly left hers and she felt the touch of it even as he turned and walked lightly and quickly away. She watched him until his tall, broad frame blended into shadow at the corridor's end.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CONSIDERATION AND QUESTIONING

  CONSIDERATION AND QUESTIONING

  Claudine walked softly into the hall. Her uncle had gone, along with most of the noble guests. She felt a sudden flood of relief sweep through her.

  At least if he's gone he won't guess what happened with me and Francis.

  She knew uncle was terrifyingly perceptive. The closeness between she and Francis was not going to go undetected. Or unremarked on.

  Strange. Why does that make me feel scared?

  Claudine crossed the hallway slowly, heading up to the stairs that led to the western wing and her bedchamber. When she got there, she slipped in and closed the door behind her, calling Bernadette.

  “My lady?”

  Claudine smiled as the familiar heart-shaped face appeared around the edge of the partition. “There you are,” she said softly. “I was hoping you'd be in.”

  Bernadette nodded. “Indeed I am. Can I help you, mistress?”

  “I don't know,” Claudine said frankly. Bernadette frowned.

  “What do you mean, my lady?” she asked. “You're not unwell, are you?”

  “No,” Claudine said, “at least, no more than this wretched malady. But my thoughts are all confused.”

  “How so, milady?” Bernadette sat down on the seat opposite the bed, brown eyes wide.

  “Well,” Claudine sighed. “I met someone the other night...someone different.”

  Bernadette just nodded. “Mm?”

  “Well,” Claudine felt the sweet sensation that filled her every time she simply thought of Francis. “He's...foreign, more or less. From the country – it's his first time in court – but he's not that unrefined...not like that would make you expect.”

  Bernadette giggled. “Go on,” she said.

  “Well, he...” Claudine swallowed hard. “It seems – I sound silly – but it seems as if he and I, well, we share so much. He doesn't belong, nor do I.”

  Bernadette frowned. “Now, my lady...”

  Claudia shook her head. “I know, Bernadette. You'll say I shouldn't feel that way. But what am I to feel, when I am so slow, so ill?”

  Bernadette sighed. She looked at her hands. “Go on,” she said after a moment.

  “Well,” Claudine paused. “I...the young man and I are – it seems we like each other. I feel like nothing I've ever felt before, near him. Like my whole world is happier just from knowing he exists.”

  Bernadette smiled. “It sounds wonderful, milady. Like love.”

  Claudia shot her a look. “It does?”

  Bernadette nodded. “Yes, milady. It does. You must have heard the minstrels sing of things so similar?”

  “Well,” Claudine hesitated, blushing slowly. She supposed Bernadette was right. They did sing about such things. “Yes, but...”

  “No 'but' about it,” Bernadette interrupted briskly. “That is a wonderful thing.”

  “Is it?” Clau
dine asked. “I mean, it is. Of course it is. But...”

  “But what? Is there some difficulty? The young man's lineage is wrong?”

  “No,” Claudine murmured. “I mean, it's true he's lowborn for a duke's daughter, but I think my father would cheerfully see me wed, just to see an heir born.”

  Bernadette frowned. “You know, don't think like that,” she cautioned.

  Claudine gave a mirthless snort. “I know all too well that Father would rather see me wedded to an inconsequential noble and safely out of his responsibility.”

  “No,” Bernadette soothed, though they both knew it was quite likely to be correct.

  “I know, Bernadette,” Claudine said sadly. “But I also know this young man is different. Not like the others. Not shallow.”

  Bernadette smiled. “You are right,” she nodded. “Many of them are.”

  “Quite.”

  They both laughed. After a moment, Bernadette looked serious again.

  “You have yet to tell me. Why so sad?”

  Claudine frowned. “It's...uncle, mainly. He's being strange!”

  “How strange? Doesn't he approve?” Bernadette asked.

  “No,” Claudine shook her head slowly. “At least, I think he does not. He is strange with this man. As if he challenges him at every turn.”

  “Perhaps he just seeks to find if he is worthy of you,” Bernadette said.

  Claudine nodded. “Mayhap yes, friend.”

  In her heart, she felt less certain about that. She had never seen her uncle so quickly take against someone. Somehow his approach was not as if he sought to test Francis. He was more trying to scare him off.

  No! Stop being fanciful, Claudine...why would he?

  He was just protective of her. Concerned for her welfare. That was all.

  She recalled his cutting words that morning and shivered. It was unlike her sweet, usually affable uncle, to be so ruthless. Why would he be? It must be to protect her. It could be no other reason.

  “So this young man?” Bernadette asked slowly.

  “Mm?” Claudine felt dreamy as her mind veered abruptly from the topic of her uncle and back toward the topic of Francis. The feel of his lips on hers, his body near hers, his hands on her shoulder...