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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Thank you, Father. I appreciate that.”

  “I understand. We want to put this unpleasantness behind us. I certainly do. What's for dessert, eh?”

  “My lord?” a footman looked up at the mention of dessert. “Oh. Stewed fruits, sir.”

  “Ah. Just the thing. Well, we'll get onto that soon. And then the cheese.”

  They all smiled and Claudine found herself feeling comfortably full for the first time in a long, long time.

  Her father caught her eye and grinned. “Well, my dear, I'm enchanted to have you here. Though it's a pity we didn't know in advance of your arrival...I would have planned a more lavish dinner to celebrate it!”

  Claudine grinned at him, her face flushed. “Father, this was lavish enough, I promise you.”

  “Good, good.” He patted her hand fondly. “Oh! Roncelles?”

  “Yes, sir?” the gaunt steward paused in the door.

  “Have those accounts laid out for me after dinner, would you? I need to check them.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Claudine gave her father an amused glance and he shrugged.

  “My excuse for sitting quietly in the turret to digest all this.”

  When the last of the cheeses had been sampled, and Claudine was almost asleep at the table, her father stood and pushed in his chair.

  “Well, excuse me. Lord Francis, Daughter. I will go and retire to my office awhile. I will see you soon, sir?” he added to Francis.

  Francis nodded. “Yes, your grace.” He left shortly after, leaving Claudine alone by the fire.

  She watched the flames.

  I can barely believe this is possible, she thought, her cheeks flushed with warmth. After years of believing she was destined for a slow death, that she would never wed, that she was a burden so noxious her own father rejected her, her life had suddenly transformed.

  It's so wonderful.

  She could still barely comprehend how wicked her uncle had been: how could he have poisoned her over years, separated her from her father, led her to believe herself so worthless that she never sought help?

  In her heart, Claudine did not want her uncle harmed. He is Father's brother. He would carry the pain of that always. And I the pain of remembering and believing I caused his demise.

  No, she wanted to forget.

  “Claudine?”

  She jumped as the soothing voice shivered through to her from the door to the solar. It resonated in her bones. Francis was simply the most handsome man she had ever seen. She turned and smiled up at him.

  When her father was speaking with his steward, Claudine found out from Francis what he had decided to do.

  “Your uncle is banished,” he explained. He would keep his title of count of Blanchard, and those lands alone. However, everything else, including her father's estate, was out of bounds.

  “I am glad,” she said softly. “I think Father made the right choice.”

  “And he would not attend the court,” Francis said.

  Claudine felt relief at that. She would never see him again, if she did not wish to. That pleased her. Bernadette was to be rewarded, too.

  “Though he says he doesn't know what to give her. He also wants the nuns to receive some thanks.” Francis looked up at her, green eyes almost tawny in the firelight.

  “I think a gift of land to the abbey would please them most,” Claudine said softly.

  Francis nodded. “I think so too.”

  “Daughter,” a voice called from the door. “I was hoping you'd be here. I trust Francis has told you of our plan?”

  Claudine smiled fondly up at the wise, friendly face. “Indeed. He just was, Father. Good plans.”

  He grinned. “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Lady Claudine proposed you give a gift of land to the abbey at Bois,” Francis said.

  “Mm. A grand notion,” her father nodded.

  The abbey would receive part of the land at Evreux.

  “And the rest?” Claudine asked softly. The fire had burned down in the grate, the soft crackle of it barely audible below their voices, the light red and intense where it flowed out over the room.

  “Well,” her father smiled, “I think it will benefit from having the first female sole proprietor of any estate I know.”

  Francis and Claudine looked at each other. Claudine felt her heart swell with joy.

  “You mean it? Oh, Papa! She'll be delighted.”

  Her father merely smiled.

  “Well, then,” he said, standing from the place he'd sank into by the fireside. “I suppose I should go and get this all straightened out. And I should retire early. I'm tired. Lots of excitement today, eh?” He smiled fondly at Claudine.

  “Indeed, Father,” Claudine murmured.

  “Daughter, I can't tell you how happy I am.”

  Claudine swallowed hard. Her heart melted in fondness every time she looked at him. She still couldn't quite believe it! How long had she suffered, believing that this sweet, kind man had turned his back on her for being ill? It had been cruel! It was wicked. However, now it was finally over.

  She smiled at Francis, who sat opposite the fireplace. The flames leaped in the grate and lit the handsome planes of his face. Her heart thumped in a different way when she looked at him. A way that filled her whole body with the slow flush of desire.

  They were finally alone.

  “I can't believe it,” Claudine whispered. He smiled at her.

  “I can. I do.”

  They kissed. His kiss was slow and tender, his tongue probing into her mouth. He moved so that he sat beside her on the settee and she sighed as she felt her body mold to his, his lips soft and tender on her own.

  He stroked her gently, his hands moving down her back in slow, gentle touches that sent shivers down her back. She leaned into him, hungrily, her breasts pressed flat against his chest and his arms came round her in a stiff embrace that crushed her to him.

  “Oh, Francis,” she gasped as he moved away. He leaned back and looked into her eyes. She could feel a fine tremor running through him. It matched the shiver in her own limbs.

  “Claudine,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. “I...I think mayhap I should retire to my chamber now. Before I do something we might both regret.”

  Claudine's mouth quirked. She knew what he meant. He means forestalling vows. It was such a lovely thought that it made her body throb with longing even though she knew how utterly shocking it would be.

  “Yes. You are right.”

  He smiled. “I am. Much as I wish not to be. We should wait. We won't wait long.”

  “Oh. Francis!” Claudine's heart soared. That meant...it meant everything! Her father had agreed. They had his blessing! They were free to love.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “He agreed. I was surprised, I can tell you!” His green eyes were wide and Claudine had to laugh.

  “I'm not. Oh, Francis. You are the best, loveliest, bravest, most courageous...”

  “...completely lucky and fortunate man in the world,” he finished.

  Claudine giggled. “Oh, Francis.”

  “My love.”

  They kissed.

  Francis stood afterward, a big smile on his face. “Really. I need to go.”

  Claudine's whole body melted at that statement. She knew what he meant. She could feel it too – a deep, throbbing draw to do exactly what they knew they should not.

  “Yes, my dear. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, my sweetling.”

  Claudine stayed where she was after he'd departed. She felt as if her heart would melt. She was here with Francis and they loved one another. Soon they would be married.

  It was as if all her prayers had been answered. She was well, she was loved. Soon she would find out what all that really meant as well. She was so happy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A WEDDING IN THE COUNTRY

  A WEDDING IN THE COUNTRY

  “Shall I do your hair now, milady?”

&nb
sp; Claudine grinned. “Not if you insist on calling me that, chatelaine.”

  Bernadette dimpled. Wearing a beautiful blue gown, her hair covered by a whisper of a veil made of Brussels lace, she looked ladylike and lovely. “Madame, you are too kind. Let me do this last thing for you? It is an honor.”

  “Bernadette! You shouldn't call me Madame yet,” Claudine smiled. “And you call me 'too kind'? You are the best friend anyone ever dreamed of!”

  Bernadette blinked, stopping the tears that were flowing down her cheeks. “Oh, milady. No, wait...Madame. You do talk sweet nonsense.” She giggled

  Claudine laughed too. “I speak the truth. Now please help me arrange these braids, or I'll look a fright, and it is my wedding day.”

  Bernadette sighed. “You look so lovely. You'd never look a fright.”

  “I might yet,” Claudine teased, and sat down so that Bernadette could finish styling her hair. While she worked, Claudine couldn't help staring at herself in the mirror a moment or two – with her blonde curls pulled back from her face, the big blue eyes seemed enormous. Her new health had colored her cheeks a delicate shade of pink, though her skin was still as pale as petals. The woman in the mirror with the elaborately plaited hair was a lovely stranger.

  “Ah. There. Now. Stand up, dear, do, and let me add the veil.”

  Bernadette reached across and draped the whisper of gauze over Claudine's back, where it trailed down to the floor, blending with the train of her gown.

  Claudine stared. The gown itself was white and with a long, wide skirt that was set into a “v” shaped waist, the waist itself encircled with a silver kirtle that complemented her curvy form. The neck of the gown was low enough to show a little pale cleavage and she wore flowers in her hair. She looked elegant and more than a little ethereal. It surprised her.

  “My lady,” Bernadette sighed. “You really do look lovely.” She was really crying now, the words catching in her throat.

  Claudine embraced her quickly and then, before the tears welled up in her own eyes, she was heading quickly past her to the stairwell.

  Her father met her at the bottom of the long, sweeping stairs and escorted her to the coach. They would hold the ceremony at the chapel at Pavot where, long ago, her own parents had married, and theirs before that.

  Then I will go to stay with Francis.

  She couldn't stop smiling.

  The chapel was cool and green-toned, the only light washing down from the high clerestory windows. The congregation was large, as was to be expected for the daughter of a duke. Claudine looked demurely down at the floor as she walked along the aisle, the ethereal sound of the choir echoing high in the roof above her.

  She blinked rapidly, her tears starting to flow.

  Francis.

  She was beside him and she could look nowhere else. He wore a soft green tunic and dark trews; the color of the tunic almost the exact color of his eyes. His red hair was in sharp contrast and the light from the windows and the candles set gold highlights in it. His big, muscled frame was clearly outlined by the dense light and shadow of the chapel, and Claudine felt her heart leap happily.

  This handsome man is becoming my husband.

  She flushed and drew her attention back to the priest. He was addressing Francis. Then, she knew, he would address her.

  “Francis Blaine McNeil, vis accípere Claudine Jocelynne Poitiers, hic præséntern in tuum legítimum uxorum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?”

  “Volo,” Francis said, low and distinctly. I do. The words moved her so much with their sincerity.

  “Claudine Jocelynne Poitiers, vis accípere Francis Blaine MacNeil. Hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?”

  “Volo,” she said. She voiced it was soft but firmly. I do.

  More Latin followed, flowing around Claudine's ears with the soft familiarity of childhood prayers. Then they were wed. She was quite surprised when Francis turned to her, taking her hands in both his own.

  She looked into his eyes and he leaned forward. Gently, tenderly, he lifted her veil. He kissed her.

  They were man and wife.

  Claudine smiled until she thought her cheeks would weary of it, her whole body suffused with glowing joy.

  They joined the family at the high table in the great hall. Claudine found that she was barely aware of the conversation, the congratulations, and the talk around her. She was focused only on how conscious she was of Francis beside her. She felt as if her skin had shed a layer and every move he made reached into the core of her, making her shiver.

  I am thinking about the bedding.

  She was the daughter of the duke and her sons would be the heirs to that. Her family would wish formal bedding, with her ladies somewhere in the room – on the other side of the screen, of course. However, Claudine didn't want that. She wanted Francis to herself. Alone.

  As if in answer to her thoughts, his leg pressed her knee, making her jump with surprise.

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “Should we go?” he asked.

  Claudine stared at him. “Francis! How can we?”

  They were both whispering, but she could see her father look up, interested, from across the table. She covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Well, my parents did it,” Francis grinned naughtily. “Why not us?”

  Claudine felt her cheeks heat with embarrassed excitement. “You think we could?” It was so deliciously wicked that she didn't even believe it could be done. Yet how she wished to!

  “Well, of course. You go first. Say you need to excuse yourself. I'll follow.”

  Claudine nodded. Her heart thumped and she felt nervous. She glanced at her father.

  “What, dear?”

  “I have a...a need to excuse myself,” she said, looking flustered. He smiled.

  “Of course, dear. Go now while the dessert's still being cooked. You wouldn't wish to miss it, I imagine.”

  Claudine smiled. “No, Father. I wouldn't.”

  She stood and left, thinking that she was anticipating something delicious after the meal that had nothing to do with the stewed pears with syrup the cook was serving.

  “Claudine!” she chided herself. “What a wicked thought.”

  She walked quickly up the stairs to the main bedchamber, looking hastily left and right. Was she followed? She didn't think so. She reached the bedchamber and leaned against the door, trying to blend with the shadows in the hallway.

  A moment later, she heard a footfall in the hallway. She tensed. Who was it?

  “Claudine?”

  “Francis,” she sighed.

  His arms wrapped her from behind and he drew her close. His lips brushed against the skin of her throat and she felt herself ignite.

  Gently, he turned to face her. His lips descended on hers. They were gentle at first, nipping gently at her full pout, sampling her with the very end of his tongue. Then, he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms round her, leaning back at the same time so that she lifted up against him.

  With her feet off the floor, he whisked her over the threshold as if she was weightless and set her lightly down in the room.

  “It's good luck,” he said. “To carry the bride over the threshold. At least, it is in Scotland.”

  She giggled. “Oh, Francis. How wonderful.” She reached up and stroked his hair. “There is so much I wish to learn about you and your family.”

  “There's much I wish to learn about you, dearest,” he breathed. His gaze was so intense that she shivered. “But I have a life for that.”

  “Me too,” Claudine whispered. She felt as if her heart would melt. They had their lives together. It all started from tonight.

  “My Claudine,” he whispered into her hair as he embraced her again. “My love.” She felt him push her body back toward the bed.

  Francis shivered as he lay beside Claudine on the bed. He looked down at her. Those generous curves made his loins ache with need. Her breasts wer
e full and they pushed against the high neck of the gown, wanting to be freed. He reached down and stroked her body, wondering at the sweet softness of her. He could smell the scent of lavender from her gown and he wanted to bury his face in her, breathe in the mix of sweet and woman that was her scent.

  “Claudine,” he whispered. He could barely believe she was here. On the bed. With him. It had been something he'd dreamed about.

  “Francis.”

  He lapped at her full, plump lips, feeling the contact fire his loins again. He had to take her soon or he was actually going to pass out with longing. However, he wanted to make this a wonderful night. It was about her. Spoiling her. Making her know what she meant to him. How he wanted her.

  He reached down and stroked her soft, pale hair. Looked into her eyes. As he kissed her again, he reached round and unfastened the first button on the top of her dress. He heard her gasp and then he leaned forward, gently reaching round to the next. Then the next.

  By the time her gown was opening at the neckline, he was actually shuddering. It felt as if he was unwrapping her and he was aching with need to reach the end. Yet, he wanted to tease himself. Taking it slowly was as pleasant for him as for her.

  He reached the fifth button and undid it. Then he could wait no longer. As the gown loosened, he reached up and worked the neckline down, exposing a filmy under-dress over her breasts. They were full and high and he bent forward eagerly, burying his face in them.

  She gasped and sighed and he breathed in her scent and felt like he was drowning in pleasure. He was impatient, then, unbuttoning the dress just far enough so that he could slide it off her body. Then he eased down the under-dress, pulling that off, too.

  He looked down at her. He stared.

  She was naked on the bed, her sweet curves unwrapped.

  His gaze consumed her. He started at her pale neck, staring down toward her full, high breasts. Then he followed their curve down her pale belly and to the sweet parting of her gently rounded thighs. His eyes lingered there at the sweet cleft and he ached to part them, to feel himself fill her. However, not yet. Not yet. He had so much else he wanted to do before then.