Gaspard shrugged. “Doesn't, really. Just curious. My advice still stands – just point it out to her gently. She'll see it eventually.”
“I hope so,” Francis said.
They sat quietly for a while and he found himself thinking back over the times he'd seen Lady Claudine with her uncle. The same times as he'd seen her in total, almost. That of itself was worrisome. Why was he always there? Why didn't Claudine go abroad with her maidservant more often? Was he trying to scare away her suitors?
Oh, come off it, Francis, Why would he? He would want her to settle down.
“What's wrong?” Gaspard asked.
“Nothing,” Francis said. “Just trying to figure out why her...friend...is always there around her. And why she insists on making my lady feel inadequate?”
That was the worst thing about her uncle: he seemed always to be emphasizing Claudine's inadequacies. Why did he emphasize her disability? It wasn't as restrictive as he made it seem. And even if it was, it certainly wasn't a reason for him to make Claudine feel worthless!
“Her friend feels inadequate to her, perhaps?”
“I don't think so, no,” Francis observed. That seemed unlikely. Why then? He was certain her uncle didn't really believe the things he told her. It's no more damning than my having red hair. Just something that makes her different to everyone else.
“You did a good side-stroke this afternoon,” Gaspard said languidly, interrupting Francis' thoughts.
“Uh? Oh. Thanks,” he said.
Gaspard chuckled. “You're miles away, friend. This girl is on your mind, clearly.”
Francis made a face. “You noticed.”
“Francis. I've never seen you like this,” Gaspard said. “More ale?”
Francis shook his head mutely. The ale he'd drunk was already making his head swim. He wasn't ready to find out what more would do. He wanted a clear head.
“Well, then. I'll have some more.” Gaspard poured himself another glass and looked at it, eyes bleary. “Now. What is it about this lady that's overwhelmed you so, eh? Beauty?”
Francis grinned despite his best effort not to. “Yes,” he said. “Well, not just that. Of course. It's...everything about her, Gaspard. Her face and body are...indescribably lovely. But it's not that. It's her smile...her sweetness. She's just the most enchanting person.”
Gaspard laughed. “My goodness. You have it worse than I have for Lady Eugenia.”
Francis stared at him. “Lady Eugenia?”
Gaspard nodded. “Daughter of the count of Bretagne. Have you seen her?”
“No,” Francis said.
Gaspard sighed wistfully. “Well, I recommend it. Or not. I don't want everyone to be as love-struck as I am.”
Francis chuckled. “I won't be love-struck for Eugenia,” he said. “Though I am already suffering that sickness.”
“I noticed,” Gaspard said mildly. “Cheers.”
They clinked their tankards together solemnly. After a while, Gaspard looked up, frowning.
“How far are you in courting her?”
Francis let out a long breath. “We practically just met,” he explained.
“You've kissed already?”
Francis went red but said nothing. Gaspard chuckled.
“I take it that's a yes,” he said.
Francis sighed. “Yes. It's...Gaspard, I want her more than I've ever wanted anything before. It's...it's a madness in me.” Even just talking about it made his loins hurt.
“But?” Gaspard asked. “What's the problem, eh? Your family?”
“No,” Francis said, surprised he'd suggest such a thing. “My family doesn't know yet and, in any case, even if they did, they'd approve of her. It's...well, a lot of things. Her uncle, her family...” he trailed off, huffing out his cheeks in a long sigh.
Gaspard laughed. “Sounds like you're in a tricky situation, friend.”
“Uh huh,” Francis agreed dolorously.
“Well,” Gaspard wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, thumping the tankard down onto the table. “When I'm in a tricky situation, what I usually do is work my way through one little piece at a time. What can you do first?”
Francis frowned. “I...I guess I need to know if I'm right. About her friend, I mean.”
“Someone making her mistrust you?”
“Not exactly,” Francis said. “It's more like...the person making her so scared she doesn't want to talk to me, or think I'd be interested.”Gaspard raised a brow. “That's quite a manipulating friend. Why would they?”
“I don't know. That's why I don't know what to do. I don't even know if I'm right,” he said.
“If you think that, you wouldn't think it for no reason.”
Francis let out a long breath. “Thanks,” he said. That was good. At least he wasn't being foolish.
“Well, then,” Gaspard said, reaching forward to stretch his muscled arms. “Maybe you can teach me that wicked side-stroke tomorrow. And I'll see if I can talk to Eugenia. Find out about this lady of yours and her friend – if anyone knows the social goings-on around here, it's her.”
Francis sighed. “Thanks, Gaspard. That would help.”
“Well, I'll certainly try,” Gaspard volunteered. “Though it might help if I knew who the lady was?”
Francis bit his lip. He didn't want to compromise Claudine by telling anyone about their attraction. However, he could trust Gaspard. He'd known him since he was a teenager.
“The lady Claudine,” he said softly.
“Claudine Poitiers?”
“Yes,” Francis said, surprised he knew immediately who she was. Perhaps she was the only Claudine, though that seemed unlikely. “Why?”
“No reason,” Gaspard said mildly. “She's a great beauty.”
“Yes,” Francis said, letting out a breath. He realized he'd been half-worried that Gaspard would comment on her disability. He would have been furious if he had! “She is.”
“Well, then,” Gaspard said, standing up wearily. “I suppose I should go and wash and find my way to dinner. There's a big event tonight. Celebrating the naming of a newborn. Are you invited?”
“I'm not acquainted with Lady Gertrude or her family,” Francis said quickly.
“Well, then, you lucky fellow. You can sit here and drink ale and relax while I sit there and drink well-watered wine and be polite.”
Francis gave a chuckle. “If you say so.”
“I do. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Gaspard. And thanks for your help. Enjoy the banquet.”
“I'll do my best. With the help, that is. The banquet will take care of itself.”
Francis chuckled and watched as Gaspard's big, solid form walked slowly out into the gathering dark.
When he was alone he leaned back, weary. Why couldn't he shake the thought that Claudine was in danger? It wasn't the malady that worried him. It was a more human danger. Her uncle.
Francis, you're being silly. He's her uncle. He doesn't like you much, and that's why he's so threatening. He wouldn't hurt his own niece – why, pray?
“Stop being silly, Francis,” he said quietly, then closed his eye, drained his beaker and got slowly to his feet. Maybe Gaspard could find out for him tomorrow. Until then, he might as well find dinner and get some sleep. Tomorrow he'd need to be ready. He'd be teaching Gaspard something new.
CHAPTER NINE
A MOMENT OF CONCERN
A MOMENT OF CONCERN
“Bernadette?” Claudine said softly. It was afternoon and she'd been asleep, for her afternoon nap. She felt awake and restless now. She hoped Bernadette wasn't still sleeping. She wanted to go out.
“My lady?” Her maid's heart-shaped face appeared round the screen. “Are you well?”
“I'm fine, Bernadette,” Claudine said, stifling a delicate yawn with soft fingers. “I feel restless. Could we go out onto the terrace a while? I'd like to feel the sunshine.”
“Of course, milady. Shall I style your hair?” She was already walkin
g over to the dressing table, reaching for the silver comb and brush.
“Yes, please, Bernadette,” Claudine said, reaching up to the loose plait that hung by her face, arranged that way so she could sleep without tangling it. “Just something simple. My neck's too sore for a long, complex hairdo.”
“Of course, milady.”
As Bernadette worked briskly. Claudine watched her absently, reflected in the mirror, and thought. I know I'm only going there to see Francis.
Watching him on the practice ground was something she found herself looking forward to. Just thinking about it sent a little frisson of delight through her. He was so handsome! With those big broad shoulders and his face sweating from exertion, his graceful moves. She could watch him all day. She recalled seeing him yesterday, and how he'd fought the taller, broader Gaspard so well.
“Will my lady be out long? Bernadette asked neutrally.
“Not long, I think, Bernadette,” Claudine said dutifully. She looked at her hands, to hide the white lie. She intended to stay there as long as Francis was practicing.
“Well, all the same, I think you should take a cloak. You'll feel cold when the evening wind starts to blow again.”
“Yes,” Claudine murmured, watching absently as Bernadette rummaged through the chest of clothes, finding a lace wrap for her.
“Now, I take it we're going to the western courtyard?”
Claudine blushed. She shot a look at Bernadette, but her face was tranquil, letting nothing show.
“Yes,” she said lightly. “Why?”
“No reason,” Bernadette said mildly. “Just wondering if we would need a sunshade of some sort.”
Claudine looked out of the narrow window, seeing a courtyard soaked in sunshine.
“Mayhap,” she agreed.
“Well, then,” Bernadette said, wrapping a scarf around her own hair to protect it and her eyes from the sun. “Here you are, milady? The blue hat with the white train?”
Claudine nodded and Bernadette gently settled the hat over her hair. It was more like a framework for a scarf, which floated over it almost like the wings of a big butterfly, framing the face. She looked into the mirror apprehensively. It showed her a sweet face with big blue eyes, the color enhanced by the pale blue scarf.
“I suppose I look reasonably well?” she asked.
Bernadette chuckled. “Truly, my lady! You look very well. Very beautiful indeed.”
“Oh, Bernadette,” Claudine said, looking shyly at her hands. “You're too kind.”
“No, I'm not,” Bernadette said succinctly. “Others are too critical.”
“Others?” Claudine frowned. “Who, Bernadette?” She couldn't mean Uncle? Though he was the only person with whom Claudine spent long amounts of time besides her chaperone.
“Oh, never mind me and my rambles,” Bernadette said fondly. “Come on. Let's go to the terrace. There's at least an hour or two of sunshine left on that side of the castle.”
Claudine wanted to ask more but sensed Bernadette was reluctant. She followed her mutely out.
The sound of swords clanging on swords struck her heart before she even reached the terrace. Her breath caught in her throat with excitement. She walked as fast as she could out to the terrace and took a seat on the bench in the shade. Her eyes went to the two figures in the courtyard immediately.
One was tall and broad-shouldered, the other even taller but with a sinewy litheness about his body that made his motions fluid as a snake's might be.
Gaspard and Francis.
Despite herself, Claudine heard herself give a little gasp as she saw Francis – tall and broad – deliver a move with such easy grace that it made her heart thump.
He is so beautiful.
She knew it was a curious description for a man, but it was the one that sprang to mind. With that reddish hair and those wide shoulders, a narrow waist and firm thighs, he was a fine figure, a person with the lithe grace of a magnificent hunting hound. He was a force of nature and as such he was beautiful.
She could hear them talking to each other, shouting over the sound of the blows. Instinctively, she stood and walked to the rail, leaning on the stonework, absorbed in the fight below, as she watched what they were doing.
“Now, you're going wide again.”
“Shut it, Francis. You're trying to discourage me. I know you...”
“Ha!”
The clang of blades formed a counterpoint to the conversing. Claudine felt herself smile as she listened to their cheerful, derisive interchange.
“I could do better than that when I was ten.”
“When I was ten I had outgrown moves like that one..!”
“Well, if you hadn't, then you might have been able to block this...”
Francis dealt a side-stroke that made Claudine's eyes widen. Simple but incredibly effective, there was no way Gaspard would have been able to block it had he not almost guessed it before it occurred.
“Ha!” he said, giving a triumphant grunt.
“Well done.”
“Show-off.”
Claudine leaned on the wall, enjoying the scene. The sunlight was drowsy and the banter cheerful. The man, Francis, had exceptional skill. He knew his thrusts and cuts and he could use them effectively. In a life where many hours had been spent watching such tournaments from the walls at her home and here, Claudine knew more than many.
I know someone exceptionally talented when I see them.
She leaned further over, raptly following the fight. The stone of the wall was warm under her folded arms and she could smell the sweet scent of moss, drying in the late afternoon heat.
“Niece?”
Claudine jumped. Drat! Why was he here? She put a hand on her chest, her heart suddenly thumping in a way that made her feel disorientated.
“Uncle!” Why did that make me feel scared? Why do I think Uncle disapproves of Francis?
“Niece. I was looking for you. I wanted to invite you to join me for refreshments. The Duchess of Remy invited us both to partake of cordial in the upper turret.”
“Oh.” Claudine frowned. “Now, Uncle?”
“In about an hour,” her uncle demurred. “But I thought you might like to prepare. It does take you longer, and I know you like to be warned of an engagement in advance.”
“Yes, Uncle.” Claudine said softly. “I suppose it is best.”
“I think Claudine and I can make ready in half an hour,” Bernadette spoke up.
Claudine and her uncle both looked round. Claudine's heart thumped. Bernadette! She should be careful. A maid should not speak out against a duke, even if she were the daughter of a knight.
“I think your servant is wearier even than you, Claudine, and her weariness makes her forget her place.”
Claudine felt her cheeks flare, though it was as much with anger on Bernadette's part as it was in shame for embarrassing her uncle.
“Bernadette is tired from having to watch over me,” she murmured. “I suppose I am a burden.”
Her uncle's tone immediately softened. “Why no, sweet niece. You are no burden to me. For those who care about you, how could you be?” He came over to her side. “And I do care. Come in and rest. You must be tired.”
Claudine saw Uncle Lucas glare at Bernadette and she followed him in, eyes downcast. No point in making him vexed at her – if he was, he might choose to send away her companion.
“I suppose it is tiring in the heat,” Claudine murmured. In her heart she felt like crying. Was it too much to ask, just to watch Francis practice in the courtyard? To want to be outside on the terrace and take the sunshine like other ladies could?
“It is tiring. And you need all your energy for the party. It would be sad to disappoint Lady Irmgarde.”
“Yes, it would,” Claudine said in a small voice. “But I'm sure I could be ready on time. The other young ladies are still down in the gardens,” she added a little indignantly as they walked on down the terrace. Sure enough, she could hear Lady Mirella
and her friends laughing as they played at ball in the courtyard below.
“They are,” her uncle said softly. “But you are different, Claudine. Far too delicate.”
Claudine felt her heart fill with shame. Why did she have to be so frail? So sick all the time? It wasn't fair. “I hate this,” she said sadly.
Uncle Lucas shook his head. His pale eyes were suddenly full of care and he looked more like the gentle, friendly Uncle Lucas she had trusted. “I know, Niece. However, we mustn't rail against it. There is nothing to be gained by fighting the inevitable. It is foolish to rail against what can't be changed.”
Claudine nodded. “I suppose.”
“That's more like it,” her uncle smiled. “My dear, stoic niece.”
Claudine managed to smile at him, though somewhere in her heart she still felt like crying. As she followed him inside it seemed to her that her legs grew even heavier, her body even more drained and painful.
“I need to stop a moment,” she murmured, leaning against the wall. Her uncle nodded.
“Of course, dear child. Take all the time you need.”
Claudine nodded mutely and rested, then stood up slowly. “I'm feeling a little bit better,” she said.
“Good. Now off you go and dress. I'd better dress too. Heaven forbid that they see me in the same tunic and trousers as yesterday.”
Claudine smiled weakly and followed the winding hallway back to her bedchamber. There, she closed the door behind her and collapsed on the bed, wanting to sob but too tired even for that.
She heard someone come in behind her and saw a dark shadow stand before the window. Bernadette.
“I don't know what gets into him,” Bernadette said tightly. Her voice was restrained but Claudine could see the anger, held tight in every line of her body. “Saying such things like that...” she trailed off.
“Bernadette, I'm sorry,” Claudine said mutely. “I know Uncle is...pompous sometimes...” she trailed off as Bernadette gave a despairing chuckle.
“It's not why I'm angry, milady,” she said softly. “It's the things he says to you, the things about being slow and burdensome and...” she sighed. “I don't know why he does that.”
Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 9
