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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Uncle cares for me,” Claudine said gently. “He wants me to take care of myself well. To accept things as they are, not as I want them to be.”

  She must have been mistaken, but she thought Bernadette laughed.

  “That's what he says,” she said. “I don't know, though.”

  Claudine frowned. “Of course Uncle cares for me, Bernadette. He's taken care of me since I was nineteen. Since Father lost interest in me.”

  She forced herself to say it, though the words grated on her throat and made her want to cry again. Her father wouldn't want a crippled girl in his household. Why would he?

  “Lost interest! Oh, my lady,” Bernadette sighed, coming to sit opposite her. “Why would you say such things? Come, now – let's make ready for this party he's so insistent you grace.”

  “Grace? Oh, Bernadette,” Claudine said, chuckling though she felt sad. “You are kind.”

  “No, I'm truthful,” Bernadette said. “As everyone should be,” she added moodily as she reached into the clothing trunk. “The blue?”

  “The blue gown with white trim? Yes, please, Bernadette.”

  “Oh, lovely. You'll look a picture in this,” Bernadette said, shaking the folds out of a long gown of pale blue velvet, softly shining against its trim of white silk.

  Claudine smiled. “You are sweet,” she said again.

  Bernadette snorted as Claudine stood to let her unfasten the buttons. “So are you,” she said.

  Claudine smiled sadly at her friend. She was so lucky to have Bernadette – firm, upstanding, trustworthy Bernadette – in her life. However, she wished she could at least allow herself to hope that Francis would truly show her interest. Not deference, not patience, but a true liking for who she was.

  CHAPTER TEN

  A PLAN UNDER DISCUSSION

  A PLAN UNDER DISCUSSION

  “That was her, yes?”

  Francis blinked as Gaspard asked him the question, breaking in on his thoughts. It was late and they were sitting in the hall, the fire almost banked to red coals in the hearth behind them.

  “At the practice ground? Yes. It was Claudine.”

  “Thought so.” Gaspard stretched languidly, long arms reaching in front of him across the wide wooden table. “She's a beauty.”

  “Yes.” Francis nodded. He frowned, feeling restless. Yes, he knew Claudine was beautiful. He didn't need Gaspard to tell him that. He needed him to tell him what he'd found out.

  “She went off just before we really warmed up,” Gaspard chuckled. “Just as well or she'd have seen me have a whack at you.”

  Francis chuckled. “I'd rather she did than that she'd left suddenly,” he remarked. “If nothing else, she'd have seen my best counter-thrust.”

  “Ha,” Gaspard laughed. He leaned back and turned towards Francis. “That her father?”

  “No. Her uncle. Uncle Lucas.” Francis supplied.

  “Lucas. Count of Blanchard?”

  “Mm.” Francis nodded. “Why?”

  “Well, I did some asking around,” Gaspard said casually. “Interested? It is just my stumbling attempt to collect information...”

  “Stop it, Gaspard,” his friend chuckled. “Just tell me.”

  “Very well. As it happens, your lady friend is extremely noble. A relative of the King on her mother's side.”

  “Wonderful,” Francis said tightly. “If you wanted to make me realize how useless my pursuit is, you just succeeded entirely.”

  Gaspard chuckled. “I won't mention her noble birth. But she has some...interesting complications.”

  “She's sick, yes,” Francis snapped. How dare he make out as if there was something wrong with Lady Claudine? She was the most remarkable person.

  “Whew!” Gaspard sighed, shaking his head. “Very well. Yes, she's sick. Her uncle's been her guardian since she was nineteen. He seems very protective of her.”

  “Isn't he just.”

  Gaspard laughed again. “He doesn't like you very much, yes? Francis?”

  “He doesn't like anyone,” Francis mused.

  Gaspard sighed. “I don't know. He seems a very affable sort. My dear lady spoke highly of him. She said he's...how did she say...very personable. That's it. Most personable.”

  “I'm sure he is,” Francis said dejectedly. “But he hates me. He doesn't like it when I talk to Claudine. And that's part of the problem.”

  Gaspard frowned. “Well? My advice to you, if you want it? I'm not sure it's going to be helpful?”

  “Stop it, Gaspard,” Francis said dully. “Just tell me. I want to hear.”

  “Good,” Gaspard chuckled. “Well, my advice to you is, ask the maid.”

  “The maid? The brunette woman who's always attendant on her?”

  “Yes. The one we saw today. She seems a nice sort. Affable. Claudine likes her. You can see.”

  “You can?”

  “Well, they were chatting when they came out onto the terrace. And Claudine is easy with her. When her Uncle's there, you must have noticed how stiff she gets?”

  “I have,” Francis nodded slowly. He hadn't really thought about it.

  “Well, exactly,” Gaspard said. “So. Take the maid into your confidence – get her on your side...she'll help you out, you'll see.”

  Francis frowned. “It might work.”

  Gaspard chuckled. “Well! That's the best I've heard out of you as far as praise for my advice goes. It means I'm talking sense.”

  Francis grinned at him and they shared a laugh. When they had finished, he leaned back, looking up at the distant, stone vault of the roof. He sighed.

  “I'm glad to have you here, Gaspard,” he said.

  “I'm glad to have you to talk to. Beats talking to myself. And how else am I to not go mad with boredom? You're different, Francis. Never underestimate what a true gift that is.”

  Francis blinked, frowning. “Thanks, Gaspard,” he said. “I think.”

  Gaspard laughed.

  Later, Francis heard the sentries on the wall changing watch. It must be eight hours after noon. He stood and stretched.

  “I should go and find my lady's maidservant. While I still have the barefaced nerve to do so. Which won't stay long...”

  Gaspard nodded. “I shall leave you to it. I should go and dine. It's later than I thought.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Indeed.”

  Francis hurried up the hallway to the stairs. As he went, he tried to plan what to do next. He couldn't very well just walk into the lady's bedchamber and demand to speak with her maidservant, now could he? Besides, how did he even know if she was there right now?

  I'll just knock once. If no one answers, I'll go away. Think of something else.

  He walked up to the western wing, feeling acutely awkward.

  “I don't even know where she is.” Which room was hers, anyway? It wasn't as if they had names on them! He felt a complete dunce. He was just about to give up when a maid walked past in the gray-blue dark.

  “Miss?” Francis called.

  She whirled round and stared at him. Wide-eyed and soft-faced, she couldn't have been older than seventeen. “Oh, my lord. You startled me!”

  “Sorry,” Francis swallowed. “I know I shouldn't be here but...I'm looking for the maid of the Lady Claudine, daughter of the Duc de Pavot? Do you know where her chamber is?”

  “Follow me,” the woman said. She led him back down the hallway and to a door on his left. “There.”

  Francis thanked her and she left.

  He stood in front of the door. He felt peculiar. He'd never felt threatened by a piece of furniture, but that door – stark, black and impermeable – made him feel threatened.

  He raised his hand and knocked.

  Nothing.

  He felt, if anything, disappointed. After all the courage it took to come here, to knock on the door in the beginning...to have no answer was a real leveler.

  He sighed and turned away. What did he expect?

  Just the
n, the door opened and a face appeared round it. Obscured in shadow, all he could see were the woman's eyes. Soft and luminous in the half-light of the hall, she looked out at him kindly. “Yes?”

  “Uh...excuse me,” Francis said, feeling stupid. “Are you Lady Claudine's maidservant?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. He could see her frowning. “Can I help?”

  Francis could smell the scents of roses and lavender floating from the lady's room beyond her and his senses caught fire. He breathed deeply and composed himself.

  “I wanted to speak with you.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Me, sir?” Her eyes went wide but the expression was more surprise than fear. “You know who's chamber this is, yes?”

  Francis chuckled, surprised by her boldness. “Yes, I know. Lady Claudine's.” Just saying her name made him shiver. He frowned and tried to look less like he was dreaming about Lady Claudine. He thought the maid noticed anyway, because her expression changed from impervious to interested.

  “Yes. Did you want to deliver a message for her?” she asked kindly.

  Francis shook his head. “I was...Miss, can I trust you?”

  The maid's eyes widened. “It depends,” she said guardedly.

  Francis felt his heart thump, seeing her become suspicious of him again.

  “The thing is, I...I need to see your mistress. To speak to her. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow and I have to tell her...” he paused, swallowing. “I have to tell her what I feel about her.”

  The woman's face cleared. Her brow shot up with surprise. “Well, then. I...this is irregular, I hope you are aware, but for this...I can make allowance.”

  Francis felt like singing. She was going to help them! “Thank you,” he breathed.

  The maid gave him a stern look, and then grinned. “Now, sir,” she said. “You are about to ask me to override my basic duties as a chaperone. But I am going to do it – just this once, mind. If you meet me here at six of the clock tomorrow,” she whispered, “I shall let you in.”

  “In here?” Francis gulped. He was going to meet Claudine in her bedchamber. With that sweet scent of roses around them?

  The maid shot him a look. “I'll be here, milord. Never fear,” she added grimly.

  Francis had to laugh. “I am sure you are a veritable tigress of a protector for your lady.”

  He was surprised to see the maid's face soften. “I care for her as if she were my sister,” she said in a small voice. “And woe befall any who hurt her.”

  Francis nodded. Her voice had gone as hard as steel and he knew that she would be a formidable adversary if crossed. “Yes, Miss.”

  She smiled at him, surprising him. “You'll do,” she said.

  Francis frowned. He wasn't sure what she meant by that. However, it sounded like a compliment so he bowed. “Thanks, Miss. And...Thank you even more for the risk you take for us.” If she was found out letting a man into her mistress' chambers she would certainly lose her position in the household.

  She snorted. “I'd risk more for her. And the risk's for all three of us. I pray I'm not being a fool. Now go, before someone sees you.”

  Francis nodded. “Thank you, Miss,” he said again.

  He walked up the hallway quickly, sure he heard a derisive chuckle from the maidservant as he beat a hasty retreat.

  He wasn't thinking about that, though. He was thinking about tomorrow. About seeing Lady Claudine – being alone with her. Having time to talk without uncles or guests or Gaspard or...anyone...to restrain them. Anyone except the maid. Who was on their side.

  He couldn't have imagined such happiness if he'd tried.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TAKING SWEET RISK

  TAKING SWEET RISK

  The next morning, Francis was impatient with nerves. He couldn't quite believe he'd agreed to do this. How could he!

  If he was caught visiting Claudine in her chambers, well...disgrace would be the least of what would happen to him. Not just for him, either. What would happen to her didn't bear thinking about. Her reputation would be ruined, her prospects finished.

  “I must be insane.”

  “What's that?”

  Gaspard spoke from behind him, making him jump.

  Francis put a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thump. “Oh! Gaspard. You...” he shook his head, running out of suitable expletives. “You scared me.”

  Gaspard chuckled. “I'm sorry. You must be jumpy. Slept badly?”

  Francis gave him a dirty look. “What do you think?” He felt tired and awful and he was sure he looked it, too.

  “I think you were awake tossing and turning about the prospect of a certain lady. Especially about what you're going to do now that you're heading home tomorrow.”

  Francis felt his jaw clench with impatience. Curse the man for guessing so accurately! Hearing it spoken aloud didn't make it seem any less foolish.

  “Yes. That's right. Go ahead. Tell me I'm a fool, why don't you?” he sighed, feeling bitter. All Gaspard's praise of how well-bred and well thought of Lady Claudine was didn't exactly help matters either.

  Gaspard stepped in front of him. “You're not a fool.” His brown eyes were level and serious. “Why on earth would you think that?”

  Francis sighed. “It's just...it's hopeless, isn't it? Why would a girl like her want a freckly foreigner like me?”

  That was the heart of his dilemma.

  Gaspard stared at him. Then he laughed. “You're joking, surely.”

  Francis wanted to hit him suddenly. He clenched his fists and jaw. “No, Gaspard. Why?”

  “Because you must be a fool, if you think that. You have everything! Looks, wits, skills...for goodness' sakes, Francis. Why do you think the older duchesses and countesses want you to meet their daughters and nieces and protégés? Because you have freckles? Wake up!”

  Francis stared at him. He couldn't have been more shocked at that moment if Gaspard had actually hit him. “You mean..?”

  Gaspard chuckled. “For a man whose praises I just sang so highly, you have a head like a marble floor sometimes, Francis. Yes. I mean it. You're a man in demand around here.”

  Francis still stared at him. He shook his head. Then he grinned. “You mean it?”

  Gaspard smiled. He gave his shoulder a brotherly shove. “Yes, I mean it. You silly man. Come on. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  Francis shook his head.

  Gaspard sighed. “I thought not. Well, come on then. I don't think mooning about in the armory will help anyone very much.”

  Francis laughed. “Thanks,” he said.

  Inside, he could still feel a sweet glow in his heart. He hadn't even considered that he was a promising marriage prospect before. Since Lady Claudine's uncle had been so dismissive, he had considered it even less.

  Maybe Gaspard was right. Maybe her uncle had some other objection besides his obvious foreignness and lack of status. It was worth considering. His attitude toward his niece is still strange.

  How the two problems fit together, Francis had no idea. He just had the feeling that they did.

  The hall was full of knights at the benches, and some lords sat at the higher bench, apparently planning a ride in the local woodlands. Francis listened to snatches of their conversation.

  “Be sure to bring back something for Mirabelle,” one of them said with a skewed grin. “She'll have your head else. Sharp-tongued, she is.”

  Someone chuckled. “I wouldn't dare do otherwise.”

  Francis smiled to himself. At the thought of impressing ladies, a feeling of delicious apprehension went through him. He was at once pleased about, and terrified of, the prospect of seeing Claudine later today.

  Visit at six of the clock. Her uncle will be at the audience with the king then.

  He still couldn't quite believe he was going to do this.

  Claudine walked to the door, wondering why Bernadette was acting in such a flustered way.

  “Go now, my lady. We want to be back by ha
lf an hour past five,” Bernadette said. Claudine turned and frowned at her.

  “Why, Bernadette? There's no hurry. Unless you think like Uncle does? That I'm so slow?” She spat the words, heart full of hurt. Bernadette was her friend! How could she think that too?

  Bernadette closed her eyes, pained. “I'm sorry, Claudine. I would never mean that. I...I can't tell you why we must hurry, but I can explain later. Will that do?”

  What has changed her? In all the years she'd known Bernadette, Claudine had never known her to be secretive before. “I suppose I have to agree with that,” she said softly. “I don't like it, mind. Cannot you tell me?”

  “My lady? Please?” Bernadette frowned. “Trust me?”

  Claudine winced. Of all the things in her life she found hard, trusting was one of the hardest. Her own father had broken her trust when he'd decided he'd turn his back on her, abandoning her. How could she trust anyone after that? She sighed.

  “I'll try.”

  “Thank you.”

  Claudine followed Bernadette down the hallway. They headed to the solar, where Lady Cornelia had organized ladies to take a turn at embroidering the altar cloths for the Cathedral. Claudine felt a genuine pleasure at that thought as she was an excellent embroiderer, and had been praised in the past. Were it not for Bernadette's strange impatience, she would have felt genuinely happy today. As it was, she was worried.

  Claudine paused at the door to catch her breath. Wretched malady! She closed her eyes, feeling her impatience dissolve as she stepped into the room.

  “Lady Claudine,” Lady Cornelia smiled. A regal lady dressed in white linen with a headdress covering her hair, she had a sweet, kind face. She smelled of rosewater and lavender, and Claudine felt her anger and impatience melt a little.

  “Lady Cornelia.” She gave the woman a curtsy.

  “I'm so pleased you're here,” the lady continued. “I was just thinking, now, where is that young lady with the fine eyes and nimble fingers? You are most welcome, Claudine.”