Claudine felt her face flush pink with praise and she took a seat beside another lady on the settee. Bernadette followed her in.
“Ah. Bernadette, yes? Welcome, also,” Lady Cornelia said absently.
Claudine was angry that Bernadette was always sidelined, even though it was to be expected. She's like a sister to me, not a maid. She was certainly more companion than the other young ladies were. Just a glance about the room let her eyes alight on Berthe and Luella, both a pair of spiteful cats.
As she took up her needle, she felt her tension and anger dissolve. Fine lacy stitches of white on white, flowers embroidered around little cutouts that made their centers, the work around the border was subtle and magnificent. She could see a few places where it had been rushed or the stitches had been formed badly and she frowned. She could add to those.
After an hour had passed, she felt Bernadette appear at her elbow.
“Mm?” She asked as her friend touched her arm. She looked up dreamily, busy threading a needle. “What is it?”
“My lady? It's almost half past five of the clock. We should go.”
Claudine felt disappointed and a little impatient again. While the other ladies gave her jealous glances – most of them seemed to hate stitching and do it only as a reason to gather together here and chat – she herself was sad to end. She frowned at Bernadette, but she remembered the injunction earlier. Trust me.
“Lady Cornelia?”
“Yes, my dear?” Lady Cornelia looked up with kind slate-dark eyes. “Can I help you? You need another color thread?”
Claudine smiled. “No. As much as I don't want to, it seems I have to go.”
Lady Cornelia frowned. “Well, if you must, my dear. But I hope to see you back. Look, ladies! Look how fine those stitches are. Ah, Claudine! If only we all had your nimbleness.”
Claudine looked at her hands, feeling shy. “Thank you, my lady.”
She could already hear mutinous murmurings as some of the ladies took offense at her work being singled out. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone made some barbed comment about her work – inevitably involving her disability. She hurried out of the sweet-scented, sunlit room, going as fast as she could before they started.
They sped up the hallway and she leaned against the wall a moment to get her breath back.
“Bernadette,” she whispered. “Can you please tell me...what's all this about?” Why did her head have to ache like this? She could scarcely see straight! She focused on Bernadette's face firmly.
Bernadette looked round, eyes darting back and forth nervously. “Not yet, milady...please?”
Claudine sighed. “If you insist.”
They waited a moment while she got her breath back. Then they headed upstairs to her chambers, Bernadette with a furtive air, looking down hallways, speeding ahead. When they were in there, Claudine leaned against the door and face Bernadette.
“Right. Now. The truth. Please, Bernadette? I have the right to know.”
Bernadette sighed. “Very well. Only let me do your hair first, my lady? And mayhap change your gown? Perhaps the pink one. It becomes you so well.” She seemed to be filled with some kind of urgency.
Claudine shook her head impatiently. “The pink gown? Why would I change gowns? We're staying here tonight! Uncle has an audience, does he not? Please, Bernadette?”
Bernadette sighed. “Trust me, milady?”
Claudine felt her patience fray slightly more. “I'm doing my best, Bernadette. But trust needs honesty. Not secrets. Tell me?”
Bernadette sighed. “Just put on the gown?”
Claudine rolled her eyes.
“If you insist,” she said.
“Yes, milady.” Bernadette said. Then she smiled. “I'm sorry, milady. But you do have a vicious scowl for such a beautiful woman.”
Claudine wanted to stay angry, but Bernadette was laughing so much that she couldn't help but to join in.
“Oh, Bernadette,” she sighed. “You are a good friend.”
They worked together to help her out of the cream gown and into the pink.
“Right,” Claudine said firmly as Bernadette stood behind her, ready to brush her hair. “Now, what is this all about? Tell me?”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door. Claudine looked at Bernadette's reflected face, feeling tense with shock. Who would it be? Uncle had to be in the audience chamber! It surely wasn't him..? If not him, who was it then? She felt her heart thump with nerves, made all the worse by Bernadette's blank stare.
“Oh, heavens,” Bernadette whispered. “Be calm. Be calm...”
Claudine turned round. “Bernadette! What on..?”However, Bernadette was already opening the door. Claudine stood, feeling her heart thump with fright. Had Bernadette lost her senses? Who was she...Oh!
“Lord Francis?”
He was there. Tall and strong and handsome, dressed in a loose tunic and cream trousers and with his reddish hair a little longer than when they'd met. He stared at her. She stared back.
Claudine felt her whole body turn red with a big blush. He was here. In her bedchamber? How could...
Her thoughts stopped altogether as he swept a bow so low his hand brushed the stone floor.
“Lady Claudine.”
When he looked up again, Claudine noticed he looked, if anything, more discomforted than her. His eyes were shining and he'd turned crimson. She could see the slight traces of freckles on the dark red of his face. Strangely, his acute discomfort made her feel somewhat calmer.
“My lord. Uh...what are you doing here?” She asked. Her heart thumped below the tight-fitted bodice of her gown.
“I had to see you,” he said. His voice was tight in his throat. “I...I'm going away tomorrow, Lady Claudine. And I could not leave without saying goodbye.”
Claudine stared at him. She felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under her. He was leaving. How could he leave? He had only just become part of her life! Her tension and excitement at seeing him gave way to sadness.
She sat down heavily on the bed.
“My lady?” He cast a look at her.
Claudine blinked, amazed by how sad she was. “You did say you were leaving in a week,” she said softly. It was as much to reassure herself as anything else. She swallowed hard, feeling her throat close with sudden tears.
“I know,” Francis said. He seemed as miserable as her. “I wish, now, that I wasn't going. But I have to. My family...” he trailed off wearily.
Claudine sighed. “I know. I understand. But...I shall miss you.”
She managed to say it, though the words tore through her throat and her eyes really did fill with tears. She sniffed, feeling stupid. How could she feel this way? She'd known him a week. She'd known her father for eighteen years and she'd cried less when she realized he'd turned away. Then, Francis has shown me more genuine care in a week than most people have in half a lifetime.
He was a friend.
“Claudine,” he murmured.
To her astonishment, he knelt down at the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his. He looked up at her imploringly. Then he kissed her fingertips, his lips moist and warm on the ends of her fingers.
Claudine felt a shiver of excitement go through her body. She bit her lip, trying to map out the complex and wonderful feelings inside her. She could feel her belly tingle and her toes were tingling too, as if her blood pulsed faster through her body. Her face was flushed and her hands shivered a little as he reached up and then, to her total amazement, sat down beside her on the bed and kissed her.
Her heart stopped as his arms clasped round her. She felt herself drawn to his chest and at first she tried to struggle, feeling as if it was wrong, this indescribable intimacy. Then she gave up as the warmth suffused her body and his tongue pushed into her mouth and she gave herself up to his embrace.
He kissed her passionately and then withdrew. She could see he was red-faced and his breathing was labored – he looked as overcome
as she felt. She leaned forward on her elbows, sighing. She felt drained as well as elated.
“Francis,” she whispered.
He smiled, a soft smile. His hand covered hers.
She tensed as she felt his finger brush against her thigh, the tip of it tickling and tracing against her leg through the thin silk of her gown. It felt warm and tickling and the sweet intensity of his touch flowed through her as he stroked her skin gently.
“Sorry,” he murmured. His voice was ragged. She realized she had been sitting with her eyes shut, reveling in the feelings coursing inside her.
She shook her head. “Don't be sorry,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “I should be. I take liberties.”
She blushed. “I should say sorry for not stopping you.”
That let him smile. A fleeting, sudden grin, the smile made her toes tingle and her heart race.
“Oh, Claudine,” he said.
Gently, hesitantly, she let her fingers reach up and squeeze his hand. She had never actually initiated something even so innocent as holding hands with a man. The delicious thrill it sent through her surprised her.
He smiled. His fingers looked through hers and he lifted her hand to his lips, gently kissing the back of it.
Claudine sighed. Every indentation of his fingers on her hand, every touch of his lips on her knuckle, made her whole body thump. She leaned closer and her shoulder brushed against his. He let go of her hand and she tensed, about to move away. He wrapped his arm around her.
Claudine closed her eyes. Gently, she rested her head on his shoulder like a kitten seeking care. He stroked her arm.
They sat like that a long while. She couldn't recall a time when she had felt more comforted, safer. His muscled shoulder against her made her feel protected, like he could fight anything to save her, even the malaise which plagued her days.
“Oh, Claudine,” he sighed.
She let her arm hold him close and looked up into his face. “I wish we didn't...that I wasn't...”
She knew she was going to cry and looked up at the ceiling. Her tears ran down onto her cheeks and she blinked rapidly, trying to stop them.
She felt his lips on her cheek and then his thumb, stroking down her face. She realized he was stopping her tears. Her heart melted. She opened her eyes. Looked into his.
“You have such beautiful coloring,” she murmured. It was a silly thing, she supposed, but the red of his hair and the pale color of his eyes, like the color of lakes under cloud – green and reflecting, gray-washed – was so appealing. She reached up and stroked his hair.
He smiled. His hand reached up and covered hers, then brought it to his lips.
Suddenly, Bernadette was in the room. “Right. Quick, you two! You have to move. Now. It's almost seven of the clock and we have to get you gone before he arrives.” She rolled her eyes.
Claudine would have giggled except the situation was suddenly deadly earnest. She stood and looked around. “Where will you go?”
“Out the back way,” Bernadette said, thinking quickly. “There's a door through from my bedchamber into the stairwell. Supposed to be used if I need to fetch anything from the kitchens.”
“Perfect!” Claudine said, feeling impressed. “Now, quickly.”
Francis looked at her, she looked at him, and suddenly, without thinking very much, she was opening her arms as he did and they embraced. His lips were fierce on hers and she parted her mouth to receive his probing tongue, hot, sweet, and passionate.
Then, almost as quickly, he was gone.
“Hide, hide!” Bernadette said.
Claudine caught her eye and ran to the outer door, quickly brushing her hair back from her face and gaining composure.
Bernadette and Francis disappeared out of the room.
Claudine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she heard a footfall on the stone flooring, she was sitting on the bed, looking at her hands. Her heart was empty.
“He's safely away,” Bernadette murmured.
“Whew,” she said. She had loved having him here and mourned its brevity. All the same, it had been dangerous and it was good, she told herself sternly, it was so brief.
She would never forget that – whatever happened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A JOURNEY AND A PONDERING
A JOURNEY AND A PONDERING
The slow rise and fall of the horse's motion over the land lulled Francis half asleep. He was not surprised by that – he had slept badly that night and was woken early that morning to begin the ride back.
He looked around, forcing himself to stay awake. He could see the bright green of the hillsides and the way the grass waved in the breeze, dotted here and there with tiny yellow buttercups. He should have felt happy. Not so achingly sad. How could he feel anything else though?
I feel like I'm riding away without my heart.
He snorted. He knew it was silly. What would his father – practical and down-to-earth – think of the way he was behaving now? His parents had been betrothed since infancy. He would probably dismiss Francis' fancies as that – only fancies.
Well, they certainly hurt, for fancies.
He sighed. He recalled Gaspard's words to him a few nights ago, his encouragement. He didn't think it was stupid.
“It's not.” He surprised himself by saying it aloud, and looked round abruptly, to see if he'd disturbed his escort.
The palace had provided them with three guards, who'd taken them as far as the first milestone outside the city. However, here, in the countryside, his escort consisted of just one person: his man, Yves.
“Sir?” Yves called out, riding up.
Francis felt a little annoyed. He wanted time to be alone with his sorrows, not have Yves making a running commentary on how they'd be home in three days' time. All the same, he turned to face him. He was company, which was sorely needed out here. Too much thinking would drive him insane with worry for Claudine.
“Nothing, Yves,” he said sadly. “I was just looking back to see how far we'd gone.”
“Ah, yes. One has to take a last look, eh? Splendid place. Amazing.”
“It is,” Francis said softly. “I wish we'd stayed longer in it.”
“So do I, sir,” Yves agreed. “Well, you never know. Mayhap your father will have another petition to take before the king before long, eh?”
Francis sighed a little sadly. “Sadly not, Yves, sadly not.”
The older man shrugged. “You never know, eh, sir...And perhaps we could stir up some minor mischief – let the cattle cross the border into Malviers' land – and then we'd need to get new boundary assignments.”
Francis tipped back his head and laughed. How did Yves even think of these things? “I think, Yves,” he said with a slow grin, “that is a wonderful plan. We could spend our lives at court. Though if Malviers had anything to do with it, probably in a dungeon.”
Yves chuckled. “He's not so bad, sir. My grandfather worked at the Malvier's estate, you know, and never had a bad thing to report...”
Francis grinned and let him carry on about his grandfather and the Malvier's family, feeling his spirits lift. It was good to have some company on the road.
They reached Annecy two and a half days later. They arrived in the afternoon, the wind ruffling the grasses, the scent of dry earth and heat in the air. Francis breathed in, relishing the scents of summer and home.
As they had throughout the journey, his thoughts strayed to Claudine. Is she safe? How is her health? Has her uncle caused her any unhappiness? The more he thought about that man, the less he trusted him. He put far too much of his efforts into convincing Claudine she was useless.
His thoughts were shattered by Yves, waving his hat in the air and calling. “Margerie! Hello! Hello!”
Francis grinned as Yves' daughter ran to join them, the first of the household to see them. He looked away as the older man slid down from the saddle and tenderly embraced her.
I am pleased to be back sa
fely.
He also dismounted. He, Yves, and his daughter walked the last half mile to the house.
“Son!”
Francis saw his father and mother on the steps of the vast manor as he walked up. He took off his hat and ran up the stairs. He was met by Lady Leona, coming down.
“Son!” she said. “You're back.”
As always, he was surprised by the strength in her arms as she hugged him fiercely close.
“I'm so pleased you're safe,” she said.
Francis grinned and kissed her cheek. “Now if that isn't the best welcome, I don't know what is.”
He followed his mother and father up the steps into his home.
Inside, a lavish lunch had been laid out in the solar – one of the maids was just leaving as he arrived, smoothing her hands down her apron. The table inside the room was laden with dishes of cheeses, a platter of small loaves, hard-boiled eggs, and all manner of good things. Francis smiled at his mother gratefully.
“Maman! You know I am ready to eat my way through the whole of the supplies for Annecy.”
His mother chuckled, her sky-blue eyes soft. “I know how hungry traveling makes a body, son,” she said. “I've sent Yves straight to the kitchen to take repast there too. Not that his daughter would let anything else happen, mind. She's a good head on her shoulders, that girl. Not so, Conn?”
Francis saw his father smile and was moved by the way he tenderly patted her hand as he spoke. “You're right, of course – I'm glad to have you running the household. Your mother's a veritable tigress.”
Francis nodded. “I know.”
Lady Leona laughed at him. “Whist, Son. You make me feel like I must be so difficult to live with.”
He chuckled and reached for a slice of cheese and one of the fresh-baked loaves. “Never, Mother. You're a delight to live with.”
His mother chuckled. “I certainly know about feeding hungry people,” she commented. “Which is useful.”
They all laughed.
“Indeed, my dear,” Conn nodded appreciatively.
Leona dimpled. “Oh, Conn.”
As they ate, Francis found himself feeling wistful as he noted the small signs of tenderness between his mother and father. Always close, he noticed their affection more now. Probably because, he thought, chewing slowly, he'd just met someone for whom he felt something similar. At least, it felt like it was similar.
Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 11
