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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “He is easy to find?” Bernadette asked.

  “You mean...” Claudine trailed off. “You mean, to arrange to meet?” she felt her heart thump slowly in her chest and looked round-eyed at Bernadette.

  “Yes,” Bernadette nodded. “I am your chaperone, after all,” she added with a big smile. “So I reckon it would all be fair and above reproach if I were to accompany you. Cautiously, of course.”

  “Bernadette!” Claudine felt herself grinning broadly. “Oh, you darling...”

  Bernadette blushed as Claudine embraced her sweetly. She felt reassured by her maid's calm, solid presence.

  “Now,” Bernadette said when she had moved back, her nose blushing pink and her eyes strangely moist, “the first thing we need to do is find a place to meet.”

  “Yes...”

  “I was considering the terrace,” Bernadette said. “What with the sunny weather, many people will be out enjoying the afternoon. I don't see any reason why you shouldn't see him there.”

  “Yes,” Claudine nodded. She would take her sewing out. It was a good decision, since it meant that she could be seated on the terrace. It was a prospect that didn't require her to be able to walk far, or to dance or ride. One of the few opportunities for socializing available now.

  “Well, then,” Bernadette said. “Should we head there after luncheon?”

  Claudine felt her cheeks grow pink.

  “Yes, please,” she murmured.

  True to her word, Bernadette accompanied Claudine to the terrace after luncheon. Claudine sat on a stone bench, overlooking the courtyard below, her tapestry on her knee, trying to focus on her stitching. It was sunny outside, the light reflecting brightly on the fabric, making it hard to see.

  “Milady?”

  Claudine turned. Bernadette was looking down into the courtyard with a raised brow. Claudine stood and walked to the edge of the terrace, each step a trial in the midday sun. She stood leaning on the rail, head swaying a little with weariness, and looked down.

  There in the middle of the courtyard was Francis.

  She felt a tingle of delight go through her. Tall and upright, with his back straight and regally poised, he was wearing a tunic that hung off his heavily-muscled shoulders, and his hair shone in the sunshine as he practiced moves of sword fighting alone.

  Claudine looked at Bernadette.

  “Yes, that's him,” she whispered. “How did you guess?”

  “He is a foreigner, clearly,” Bernadette said slowly. Claudine felt a momentary impatience at that – poor Francis, he had to face that all the time! – but she saw the serious expression with which Bernadette faced her now and knew she had meant no harm by that statement.

  “Yes,” she said, wishing to think of something else to say to counter the rude statement of his origins so blandly. There was nothing she could do about it that wouldn't make it worse.

  “Now, we need to get him up here,” Bernadette continued.

  “We do?” Claudine felt herself blush.

  “Yes,” Bernadette said. “I have an idea. Have you a handkerchief?”

  Feeling utterly bemused, Claudine nodded. She reached into her work-bag and then, finding no embroidered handkerchiefs there, reached into her kirtle and drew one out.

  “Yes. Here.”

  “Perfect.”

  To Claudine's utter surprise, Bernadette took it and threw it over the balcony.

  “Bernadette?” What was she doing?

  “Hush. Come along.”

  She beckoned to Claudine and she leaned on the balcony railing just in time to see the handkerchief flutter down and land on the ground before Francis. He looked up.

  He saw her there and smiled. He lifted the handkerchief and put it into his sleeve then strode toward the entrance to the colonnade. Claudine frowned.

  “Is he..?”

  “He's coming up. See if he doesn't.”

  For a chaperone, Bernadette seemed remarkably satisfied with bringing a young man to the balcony.

  Claudine leaned on the railing, trying to calm down. He wasn't coming up. Bernadette was wrong. He was going inside to do something.

  She was just trying to convince herself that maybe he didn't recall her when she heard a cough, low and surprisingly musical, in the hallway.

  “Ah.” Bernadette smiled, turning fluidly to face the door. Claudine followed, wincing as her head pounded as she made the sudden motion. She stared.

  Francis saw her and smiled sweetly. Then he bowed.

  “I retrieved this from the yard,” he said softly. “I have reason to believe it yours?”

  “Y...yes,” Claudine nodded. She held out a hand and gently closed her fingers round the square of embroidered linen with the monogram of the house of Pavot on it. “It is. Yes.”

  Francis let it go somewhat reluctantly. His fingertips brushed over hers, soft and enticing. She tensed.

  “You are enjoying a free afternoon?” she asked. She felt shy as his smile dazzled her and she looked about to check if Bernadette was still near. Contrary to her duty as a chaperone, or keeping to the letter of the rule alone, Bernadette was perhaps ten paces away along the terrace, leaning on the wall and staring firmly down to the courtyard below.

  Claudine looked back at Francis, who was smiling at her with that peculiar sweetness again.

  “My lady?” he asked gently.

  Claudine realized he had said something and shook her head to clear it. “Sorry, my lord?”

  He smiled shyly. “I just asked if you would like to stroll on the lawn later?” His eye drifted to Bernadette, and Claudine wondered if he was thinking that on the lawns they might lose her chaperone somewhere in a convenient knot garden?

  Her heart thumped and she cleared her throat. Just the thought that he might want to be alone with her again made her feel truly lovely. Even so, he should know her chances of out walking were limited.

  “Sir, alas,” she said. “I'm not much one for walking.”

  She spoke softly but he stared up suddenly as if someone punched him. “Of course. Forgive me. It was...remiss of me...”

  Claudine laughed. “There's no harm done, Francis,” she said gently. “I know you understand.”

  He let out a ragged breath. “Good.”

  She smiled. “Well, if we do not go walking then perhaps you could stay here with me awhile? I confess your company is...quite diverting.”

  She had meant to keep that statement carefully non-committal, but the breathless way she said it made her realize, even as he did, how much more than simply diverting it was for her. She felt her cheeks go red. What a wanton thing to say! What would he think of her? She touched her cheeks with shocked embarrassment.

  “I am honored,” he said softly.

  Claudine blushed. She walked back to the bench, feeling nothing more than a fleeting knowledge that she walked slowly: the resentment and shyness she would have felt about it only minutes ago seemed to have receded somewhat. Mayhap because, in his company, it ceased to become important.

  “Well, then,” she said. “I will sit down here. Yourself?”

  She had expected him to remain standing, but, to her surprise, he sank down to lean against the wall, seating himself on a box even lower than the bench. He looked up at her with a smile. He was so handsome! She felt her heart thump.

  “You are sewing a scene from something seasonal?” he asked.

  Claudine was surprised. Most people wouldn't have paid any attention to her embroidery. She looked down at the tapestry where summer flowers jostled for the viewer's gaze under a cerulean blue sky.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “You are unusual in that,” he said. “Most tapestries have pictures of the family insignia on them.”

  Claudine nodded. She didn't like to do that. Somehow her family name and history seemed too much a burden for her to want to depict it everywhere.

  Mayhap if I were the daughter of some minor noble or even a tradesman, I would have less pressure on me, less caus
e to hate myself and this weakness.

  It was because her father was the duke that it was so annoying. She was the one who was left to provide the heir to the dukedom. She had no idea if she was able to do so. Yes, the family's crest weighed heavily on her shoulders.

  “I prefer not to show it,” she said simply. The family crest had red chevrons and a red flower – the field poppy – on it.

  “I understand,” Francis said with a nod. “The thing is a reminder of duty.”

  Claudine nodded. “Exactly!”

  Francis chuckled. “It's odd,” he ventured after a long silence had passed between them. “But sometimes I feel as if we know each other.”

  Claudine nodded. She drew in a deep breath, feeling deeply moved. “Yes,” she said. “I feel it too.”

  It felt odd to say that. Although it needed to be said. They stared at each other.

  Francis leaned forward and their lips just brushed against each other before Claudine leaned away.

  I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't even be here.

  All the same, her body felt wonderful even after that brief contact.

  “My lady?” Francis murmured. “Pray forgive me,”

  Claudine shook her head. “Nothing to forgive,” she said softly.

  Francis reached forward and their hands met. Claudine felt the sweetness of his touch on her fingers and she closed her eyes a moment. They opened quickly as she glanced to Bernadette.

  “Stella! Where have you been?” Bernadette was talking loudly with a woman on the terrace. It seemed she was making a show of looking the other way and Bernadette felt her heart flood with a delicious naughtiness.

  She smiled at Francis. He smiled back.

  Very gently, they kissed.

  A moment later Francis was standing, cheeks flaming. His eyes shone.

  “My lady,” he said quickly. “I should go. But...thank you. It was a pleasure to spend some time with you.

  “Nothing...it's nothing,” Claudine murmured. She felt her face redden in a blush. “Thank you, my lord. I should go.”

  “I too.” Francis had already stood. He was bright red and he looked acutely shy. Claudine felt herself shiver as he lifted her hand to his lips again. Their eyes met.

  Then Francis was hurrying off down the terrace to the door. Claudine waited until she had seen him go, and then sat down slowly on the bench again.

  “Bernadette?” she called.

  “Milady...yes?” Bernadette was instantly beside her, face soft with concern.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Why was she so tired? “I appreciate it.”

  “Appreciate what?” her companion asked and then winked to show she teased her.

  “I'm glad I got to talk with him again,” she said.

  “Well, these things start that way,” her maid said, making Claudine stare at her in shock for the second time in a few days.

  “You mean that?” she asked.

  “Course I do,” Bernadette said lightly. “Things start as being friends,” she said. “So my mum used to say. And if you're lucky, she always added, you'll stay friends no matter what else comes along.”

  Claudine nodded. “I feel like that,” she said. It was surprising but, quite aside from the lovely sensations she felt in her body whenever Francis sat close to her, she also just enjoyed talking to him.

  “If only I could walk,” she said, feeling suddenly sad. If she could walk, then she would be walking with Francis now. If she could walk, mayhap it wouldn't seem to her as if people liked her only through pity or some other unpleasant motive of their own.

  “You can walk,” Bernadette countered. Claudine glared at her.

  “You know just how well,” she said with some sarcasm.

  The two women were quiet for a while.

  “Well, milady,” Bernadette said softly after a moment.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, it seems to me that the only reason you hold yourself so aloof from enjoyment is because you think no one wants you around.”

  Claudine nodded slowly. “I suppose you're right. Yes, Bernadette.”

  Having it said so boldly to her was quite surprising. She knew Bernadette cared about her and that, if anyone knew of her struggles, it would be her companion. However, she hadn't noticed just how wise she was.

  “Well, then. The best thing to do is to ignore the lot of them. They just wish they were as sweet and lovely as you.”

  Claudine swallowed hard. Surprisingly, she felt a moment's sudden impatience.

  “They? Jealous of me?” She snorted. “Never.”

  Bernadette said nothing but Claudine noticed her skeptical look. She sighed.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, milady,” Bernadette said mildly. “Now. I think I'm going to do a tapestry to match the one in the solar at Pavot...”

  Claudine let herself get drawn into conversation about the tapestry, allowing the impatience and sadness that had filled her just a moment or two ago to slowly drain away. She wished she didn't feel so impatient with her body, but she did. Now more than ever. She wondered if she would start to feel worthy of the attentions of Francis soon.

  Perhaps he's just polite.

  All in all, she thought as she followed Bernadette inside to go and find more embroidery silk somewhere, that wasn't the most likely explanation. Francis wasn't the sort to be polite just because it was expedient or expected.

  His dealings with Uncle show that well enough.

  Claudine was surprised at how rapidly she seemed to have changed support – where she would once have been with her uncle on any matter whatsoever, on the matter of her own conduct she suddenly felt reluctant to take his word.

  It seems sometimes like Uncle would rather I didn't recover ever.

  She snorted and Bernadette looked up from where she rummaged through a chest of cloth.

  “Yes?”

  Claudine sighed. “Nothing, Bernadette. Sorry to disturb.”

  “You didn't,” Bernadette said quickly. “I was just looking for a color that will make forget-me-nots on the tapestry...would you say this is it?”

  Claudine nodded in surprise at the skein of intense blue silk, the color of the sky just above the hills at noon.

  “That looks perfect,” she nodded.

  “Good.”

  They found their materials and were just leaving the storeroom when Claudine heard other ladies arrive.

  “Oh, and did you see? I won the match of battledore and shuttlecock...”

  “Oh! Well done, Emilia.”

  Claudine felt sad, hearing them talk about their physical pursuits – dancing, playing in the courtyard, even some riding. These were things she'd never do herself. Rather hadn't done for years now.

  “Oh, Lady Claudine,” one of them said, standing back in the door as Claudine slipped out. She recognized Lady Nicolene. “I didn't see you there.”

  Claudine gritted her teeth as the five ladies stood back to let her pass, and she felt their gaze hang on her as she walked slowly and painfully between them. Bernadette was at her side but she didn't offer to help her stand, aware that Claudine would feel even more awkward.

  She endured their stares and the silence until she reached the doorway. By the time they were through, she could feel hot tears of indignation prick her eyes.

  “Oh, milady,” her companion whispered gently. “Oh, my.”

  Claudine sniffed fiercely. “I'm sorry, Bernadette,” she said in a small voice. “It's just...why is it that they have to be like that? Have to make me feel so clumsy, so foolish? And don't tell me they're jealous. I won't believe so.”

  Bernadette sighed. “I won't tell you,” she said. Claudine looked sideways at her.

  “But...”

  “But it doesn't mean it isn't true,” her companion added.

  Claudine couldn't help it. She smiled.

  “Thank you, Bernadette.”

  “It's nothing, milady.”

  The two of them walked slowly back up the
hallway to the wing where the bedchambers were to find her bedchamber. It was time for afternoon rest.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GETTING TO KNOW MORE

  GETTING TO KNOW MORE

  Francis walked moodily through the colonnade. He couldn't stop thinking about the lady he had seen at the ball, and in the courtyard before that. He knew it was foolish of him, but she had moved him in a way no other lady ever had.

  It's those eyes. No, her sweet, pouting mouth. No, her hair...

  He sighed. It was all of those things, and more than any of them. His body was tormented by lust for her, but his heart felt already a fierce regard. She was special. She was different.

  Is that her?

  He tensed. He could see a figure sitting in the courtyard, on the edge of the fountain. She was bent over something. Embroidery. He walked closer, feeling his heart thumping in his chest.

  He leaned against a pillar, looking over. It was her. The curls of her blond hair ruffled in the breeze, her lips parted in concentration, she was stunning.

  He felt his loins respond as his eyes rested on her bosom and rebuked himself gently. She was a lady. She was also not for him.

  He racked his brains. He couldn't just walk away. In the long blue satiny gown with that blonde hair everywhere she was too lovely. He couldn't pretend he hadn't recognized her.

  Ask her something! Go on. Do it.

  Francis walked doltishly forward, feeling like he was facing his tutor and failing dismally at some lesson.

  “Milady,” he said. “I...uh...” she was looking at him, big blue eyes round and startled. “Uh...do you know where the kitchen gardens are?”

  The lady bit her lip. An innocent move, it nevertheless made his loins throb with wanting. She had such sweet, pink lips, big and wet. He felt a stab of desire. He looked at the ground, controlling his breathing.

  “They're over there, I think, sir,” she said in that soft, gentle voice. “By the kitchen, I'd say.”

  Francis closed his eyes. How could you ask such a stupid question? He chided himself, blushing red. He was not only opposite the kitchen gardens, but their location should have been obvious to anyone.