He leaned down and sucked a breast. She let out a big sigh and he worked a little harder at the nipple, loving the warmth and point in his mouth. He licked it vigorously and then moved lower, kissing down her body.
When he reached the sweet parting of her thighs, he stared up at her. Her lips were parted, eyes shut. He smiled and gently parted them, testing her with a finger. She gasped.
“Oh! Francis.”
Those blue eyes regarded him wonderingly, but he saw no fear. He smiled up at her. He parted her thighs a little further and then leaned forward, licking her.
She cried out and the sounds she made encouraged him to greater efforts. He could feel her trembling and knew from experience that if he didn't stop soon he would make her reach her own limit. He sat up quickly and undressed with lightning speed.
Claudine watched Francis undress through eyes half-closed with sleepy wonderment. She watched how he rolled those big shoulders, muscles rippling in the light. She stared. She had never seen a man unclad before. He was beautiful. It surprised her.
The troubadours don't mention that.
They tended not to say that men were beautiful. Yet this one was. With those rippling muscles, that broad chest, the slim waist, she was sure she'd never seen anything that delighted her so. She watched him, her whole body tingling and throbbing from the ways he'd touched her, and smiled at him.
“Claudine,” he murmured. He parted her thighs gently and she let him do so, surprised when he came to kneel between them. She trusted him – so far he had not hurt her, only made her feel indescribably good. “May I?”
Claudine frowned, then, with a rush, she understood. She knew now what the explanations had vaguely hinted at – she had heard about this once, from a nursemaid, long ago, and then later from a maidservant chatting to another. She hadn't imagined this.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes.”
Francis smiled and touched her again, then gently made some motion with his hand, guiding himself into her.
Breath stopped. Heartbeat stopped. The world, in that instant, seemed to stop. It all melted away in bliss. There was some pain, but it was fleeting, and then the bliss returned.
“Oh!” she gasped.
Then he was moving inside her. She caught her breath, feeling the feelings work through her and into her and flood her as he did so, and soon they were unbearable. She felt as if she was melting, soaring, shaking...
She cried out in wonder as the sensation rose to a pitch that was almost pain it was so pleasant, and then crescendo was replaced with a tender, floating peace.
She heard him cry out a second or two later and then he collapsed onto her.
She sighed and felt her arms wrap him, holding him close.
They woke later in the night and did it all again, more slowly, more tenderly. She knew what to expect now and her own eagerness surprised her and delighted him. They dozed and then they did it again.
It was gray in the room, the new day flowing into the chamber, before they finally found rest.
EPILOGUE
EPILOGUE
“My dear, are you sure?”
Claudine smiled. The concerned voice of Francis broke through her drowsy somnolence. “Mm?” she asked, then, realizing what he meant, she agreed. “Yes. Indeed yes.”
Francis rolled over. They were laying side by side in their bed, at Annecy, his home. The fire burned low in the grate, making auburn hair bright. Claudine rolled over and looked into his eyes lovingly. She still sometimes just couldn't stop staring at him and his beauty.
“But Claudine, it's not a name your family would like...” he protested. She interrupted him, smiling.
“You know we can use Lawrence as a second name. My father would be pleased. He has already said we are free to choose whatever we wish as a name.”
“I know,” Francis said. “But as it is, you are already so accepting of my...differences...and...”
She laughed, interrupting him again. “Francis! How many times do I need to say it to convince you? I love your differences, as you put it. You silly dearest.”
She kissed his cheek and he snuggled closer, kissing her face.
“Well, very well,” he said. “But you must let me insist that we wait before we travel to Scotland. A year.”
“A year! Oh, Francis.” Claudine sat up, gazing down tenderly. “I'm not ailing now.”
“I know. I've never seen a woman healthier,” he agreed with a grin. “But you should rest after the birth. Everyone says that.”
Claudine sighed. “I know. And I know you treat me so gently that I'm sure sometimes you think I'm Venetian glass.”
Francis chuckled. “You are more precious than that. Than anything. You are closer than my own heart.”
Claudine sighed fondly. “You say such beautiful things, dear.”
“I mean them,” Francis said firmly. “Like I mean I'll brook nothing harming you.”
Claudine smiled fondly. She lay down again, cuddling closer to his muscled warmth. “Well, if you insist.”
“I do.”
“Well, then, you must let me insist, too. Our son will be Conn. Or Duncan, for your grandfather. Whichever you choose.”
“Claudine...you're too considering.”
She chuckled. “There's no being considering about it. I like the names. Your family has beautiful names. Wild sounding and different. I imagine Scotland to be like those names. I would go there, experience it...see if I'm right.”
Francis laughed. “You are right. Not that I've been there myself, mind. But Father says it's wild and different.” he chuckled fondly. He kissed her hair. “But are you sure..?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “I believe you.”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
They lay there side by side in the bed. Claudine felt as if her heart had melted. She was so full of love. She still felt amazement at how full her life was.
Here I am, with a handsome husband who loves me and his child within me. And my health and a loving household.
It was all the stuff of her happiest fantasies and now it was really here.
“Claudine?” Francis whispered, drawing her close to his body as he kissed her in a way that made longing flare again.
“Yes, dearest?”
“If we...what if she's a girl?” he persisted. “Could we...could we name her Claudine? After you?”
Claudine blushed and giggled. “Oh, Francis. You're so sweet. But I was thinking we could name her for your mother, mayhap.”
“Or yours,” Francis said softly. “Or yours.”
Claudine felt a lump in her throat. She had never thought about the Lady Nicola, her mother. Not since hearing of her death when she was four years old and barely able to comprehend it.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Let us call her Nicola.”
“Nicola it is,” Francis agreed.
“Nicola Bernadette.”
“Perfect,” Francis said again. “We could add “Leona” to that, too. It's a French name already.”
Claudine nodded. His mother was a mix of French and Scottish, she had come to learn. A gentle, lovely lady, she admired and liked his mother. She had become a strong support in her own life.
“Yes. Nicola Bernadette Leona it is.”
Francis nodded, and then chuckled. “Well! Our babe will wish to be a daughter, I think. We have so many lovely names for her, and just two for our son.”
Claudine laughed. “Yes. But he gets Scottish names. And they're better.”
Francis sat up and stared at her in some surprise. “You dear woman! You think so?”
“I know so,” Claudine said. “Think about it. I grew up with French names. I never even heard the names Conn and Duncan before I met you. They're interesting.” She leaned over, kissed him, and felt her own belly tingle with excitement. “Like you.”
Francis chuckled. “Well, French names are beautiful. Like you.”
He wrapped his arms around her a
nd held her to him and Claudine had to bite her lip to resist the thrilling, pulsing tide of longing that was starting to rise inside her and flow through her and make her sigh.
“We will go to Scotland as soon after the birth as you are ready,” Francis promised.
“Thank you, dearest,” she said.
“Well, then,” he said, rolling her over and leaning down to plant a kiss on her lips, his hand already stroking her shoulder in a way that rendered her weak. “I look forward to taking our son – or daughter – to see her distant kinsfolk.”
“And I, too, look forward to that,” Claudine murmured. Francis was stroking a finger down her chest in a way that made her shiver with wanting. “But first, I look forward to the birth.”
“Indeed,” Francis nodded, smiling. “So do I. My beautiful, beautiful woman! I look forward to every second of my life with you, you know that?”
Claudine closed her eyes, feeling tears form there. “I look forward to that too, with you.”
She had never thought such happiness could exist. They kissed. Her heart was filled with joy.
A SURPRISE FOR YOU!
A BONUS NOVELLA
THE HIGHLAND STRANGER
A MEDIEVAL SCOTTISH ROMANCE STORY
by
EMILIA FERGUSON
and
MountainSky House Publishing Co.
BOOK DESCRIPTION
A harsh and abrasive half-Highlander…an equally abrasive Lady…and a man who already tried to kill once in order to feed his greed…
A New Lady to Rule
Lady Bernadette Leblanc has just received the gift of a lifetime—as thanks for her part in the rescue of Lady Claudine, she has been given Evreux. However, along with the gift comes a price…she must learn the role of lady of the house. She discovers that her life is lonelier than she thought it would be, and longs for a companion. Anyone except her most recent visitor.
No Stranger to High-born Life
Fraser Moreau, count of Remy, isn’t a stranger to the life of a count. After all, he was born into wealth and privilege. However, when he meets a beautiful woman who just happens to be the best friend of his best friend’s wife, he knows that he’s finally met his match. The woman is argumentative, aggravating…and incredibly beautiful. He must have her.
Plot for Revenge and Murder—Again!
The evil man who once tried to poison Claudine and steal her home now has his sights set upon Evreux’s new mistress—beautiful Bernadette. She and her handsome suitor must find a way to stop arguing—and stop denying the unmistakable magnetism that bonds them—in order to stop the madman. If they fail, it will cost Bernadette everything…including her very life.
Should Bernadette trust the stranger who stirs her in ways she never believed possible before—could he be behind the attacks on her life instead of pursuing her hand?
Can Fraser ignore the longings within his own heart when men plot to kill the woman he suddenly realizes is the answer to all his prayers?
PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
“Bernadette?”
Bernadette turned to face her former mistress and greatest friend, Claudine. “Sorry, my dear. I was miles away. What was that you said?”
Claudine chuckled. Always a beauty, especially now that her health was fully restored to her, Claudine seemed to glow with an inner light. “Just saying how warm it is. I can't blame you for losing focus. It's these autumn evenings. So warm and lovely.”
“Mm. So true.” Bernadette sighed and stretched, looking out over the golden wheat fields of the estate.
Her estate.
It still didn't seem possible. Evreux, with its fortress and cottages, its fields and farriers and small farms, was hers.
I can never thank Claudine and Francis enough.
The estate had been gifted after she helped save Claudine and her husband from Claudine's vindictive, scheming Uncle Luke. The gift made her the sole female landowner in the district. If there were others, she was certainly the only one who was not a sole landowner on account of being widowed. It was an unprecedented thing.
She turned to face Claudine, scraping dark curls away from where they’d tumbled loose from her hairstyle. “I hope you know, my friend, how much I love my new home.”
Claudine smiled, her blue eyes downcast. “Bernadette, you saved me. Without you, Francis would never have been able to help like he did. I'm so blessed.”
Bernadette sighed. Her hand rested lightly on that of her companion. “Well, that makes two of us,” she said gently. “Now. I have some cordial I had Cook prepare by my recipe. Let's find some, for my throat is parched after all this late summer sunshine!”
Claudine stood, smiling fondly at her friend. “Oh, Bernadette. I do love that it's your own recipe. You're so capable.”
Bernadette grinned. “That's a strange compliment. But the best I've ever heard nonetheless. Thank you, milady.”
Claudine giggled. “Come on! Let's go in. And I want to see what Nicolene has been up to in my absence...” She rolled her eyes, though her smile was fond.
Nicolene was her daughter – with solemn green eyes and dark red hair, she was an exact mix of her parents, Claudine and Francis. She was two years old now and just starting to walk.
Bernadette smiled, stretching again. “I can only imagine! She's so full of life.”
“And naughtiness,” Claudine nodded. “Though she's so sweet I can't get cross. Nor can Francis! He's even more forgiving than me.”
“That's as it should be,” Bernadette said warmly. She felt Claudine lace her arm through her own and they walked back indoors together.
“Oh, Bernadette,” Claudine murmured as she crouched down to greet the child. “You're so good with little ones. I do wish you had one of your own.”
“Daddy,” Nicolene said, turning as Bernadette stood and ran into the sunlit room beyond.
Bernadette sighed wistfully. Seeing Claudine's charming baby playing with Francis twisted her heart. She too wished she had a child of her own.
“I have a lot to do before then,” Bernadette said wryly. “Like get this estate in order before a master comes to interfere in my plans.”
Claudine chuckled. “Oh, Bernadette! Trust you. I cannot imagine a man who could budge you if you wished your own way on aught.”
Bernadette huffed a sigh. “I can't imagine a man for me at all.”
Claudine turned to face her. The soft blue eyes were wistful and surprised. “Bernadette! How can you not know what a wonderful woman you are? Any man would be lucky. Which reminds me,” she added.
“Yes?” Bernadette asked with growing foreboding. Trust Claudine to put her in some difficult matchmaking situation!
“Well, um...Francis and I found someone we'd like you to meet.”
“Oh,” Bernadette said softly.
She couldn't think of any better comment to follow a thought that filled her with tension.
CHAPTER ONE
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
“Well, come on, man! Do I look like I wish to be soaked by this awful rainfall?”
Fraser Moreau, the count of Remy from his father's side, Lord of Carnoch from his mother's, swore as the slow, fumbling groom took his horse and led it into the stables.
He shook himself, letting the rain run down his auburn hair and onto his cloak. “What must a man do to stay dry here?”
The groom gave him a sorrowful but mute stare and carried on with his business, rubbing his horse dry.
Fraser sighed. “Well, what can I expect?” he muttered under his breath. Dragged across the countryside from his comfortable estate in Remy, he had only agreed to come because of an old friend – Francis, the count of Annecy. He was the only man Fraser had ever met whose parentage was the same as his. It made a fierce bond between them. Now, Francis had wed.
And my! What a bonny woman. Fraser had seen her once, at the wedding, and looked forward to getting to know his friend's wife as a person.
Francis was utterly besotted with her, which made him think she had both a fine character as well as considerable beauty.
Only for them would I even think of making such an extra effort. He sighed and looked around, searching the cobbled courtyard for somewhere, anywhere, to remain dry.
“The hall's that way, milord,” the groom said gloomily.
Fraser glared at him. “Thanks,” he spat. He turned away and headed into the courtyard.
He followed the steps up to the hall's entrance and found himself in a small, darkened hallway, shaking off the rain from his own cloak, stamping his feet. “Hello?” he called.
“Milord,” a soft, somewhat-affronted man said from the region of his elbow. “The lady Bernadette awaits upstairs.”
“Ah.” Fraser drew himself upright and passed the man his cloak. “I'll go up immediately. If you would announce my presence to the lady Bernadette?”
The man – Fraser guessed him to be a steward or retainer – looked pained, but agreed. “Of course, my lord. Follow me.”
Fraser clumped up the wooden stairwell behind him to the second floor. He knew he was leaving pools of water on the lady's floor with every stamp of his booted feet, but felt there wasn't much he could do to prevent that.
If she doesn't like it, it's her fault for having incompetent stable-staff.
He followed the steward along the hallway and stopped when the man raised a hand. Fraser was surprised and a little offended by the peremptory gesture, but stood his ground.
“The count of Remy, milady,”
Fraser sucked in a breath as the woman's voice called out, “Send him in.”
Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 21
