A medium-pitched voice, it had a rounded, warm sound. However, it was not in the least unsure. This voice crackled with authority. It sent a stab of warmth through his belly.
I wonder what she looks like, this notorious lady?
Lady Bernadette was well known in the region. Even as far north as his own landholdings, people had heard the story of an upstart lady's companion who had by dint of merit become a landholder in her own right.
She has no title, no high birth...yet here she is.
With servants and a fortress and people to make him wait, dripping and cold, in the hallway while she bade him enter.
The thought should have offended him – he was, after all, a landed noble in his own right – but it didn't.
He could barely wait to have first sight of her.
“My lord, the lady of Evreux.”
Fraser stared.
A medium-tall woman, she wore a dark velvet dress and stood in shadow. He could see her hair – a rich brown with coppery highlights – and the paleness of her skin. His loins responded as his eyes traveled to her full bust. Then he dragged up his gaze.
He found himself looking into a pair of hard, black-shadowed eyes.
“My lord count,” her voice said softly. Her brow quirked up, as if she were assessing him every bit as much as he assessed her. Unlike his own, hers seemed a less happy conclusion. She did not smile.
“My lady,” he said stiffly. He rankled a bit at her title – she was no lady, whereas he came from a pedigree so old no one had written it all down – but he said it.
“You have traveled far,” she said softly. “You must be tired. Come. Sit awhile here. I'll call for refreshments.”
“Yes, that would be nice,” he said.
They both spoke in measured tones, yet somehow the air was cold. It felt as if they were sizing up for some storm, some big confrontation between them.
Why?
“I trust you had a pleasant journey?” she asked. “And, if not, that our hospitality will make up the deficit.”
He chuckled and waited for her to sit down. When she didn't, he remained standing uncomfortably. “It was pleasant,” he said, “though I found your staff somewhat reluctant.”
“Reluctant?” She reached for a beaker on a countertop and poured from it a rich red fluid. She handed him a goblet, then took one herself. “What mean you, sir?”
He sighed. “I was left in the rain for a few minutes, drenched and cold, while your grooms fussed about.”
The lady Bernadette showed a vague shift of expression, though her dark eyes remained aloof. “My grooms are kept busy, but they do their best for me,” she said coolly.
“Mayhap for you,” he said, chuckling. He lowered himself onto the settee opposite where she had sunk down graciously. He found it hard to look elsewhere. She was very beautiful.
“My grooms do their best for anyone who is polite,” she said. She raised her glass to her lips and took a drink. When she opened them again, her expression was challenging.
“I am not rude,” he said, starting to feel a little rattled by her. He followed her example, lifting the glass to his lips. It proved to contain a berry cordial. He could taste redcurrants and blackberries. He closed his eyes and sighed appreciatively.
“You like it?”
“Mm. Most refreshing,” he acknowledged. It was excellent, but it felt as if he would make too great a concession by telling her that. He swallowed.
“I made it from my own recipe,” she said.
He laughed and almost choked.
“What?” she asked. Her voice was level, but her eyes held his and were twinned flint.
“My lady, forgive me,” he said, reining in his amusement. “But a lady would not know aught of such things. You...should not mention these inconsistencies.”
Her stare was hard and cool. “I do not hide what I was, nor what I am,” she said softly. “And my grooms were right. You are insolent, sir.”
He stared at her. His jaw fell and he forced himself to master his expression, closing his mouth, which had fallen open with incredulity. She couldn't have offended him more had she slapped him. He laughed, albeit without mirth. “You are candid, milady.”
Her stony eyes met his. “If candor is difficult to stomach, you might consider changing your own ways, lest they be candidly remarked upon again.”
This was too much. He set aside the glass and leaned forward. “You think you can talk to me any manner you like,” he said angrily. “Well, I will have you know, Miss LeBlanc, that is not the way I see it.”
“I will let you know, sir,” she said coolly. “That you stay on my hospitality. You can exit into the rain if you would prefer. However, the road to the nearest inn is long. I think it would be better to maintain cordiality. And keep dry.”
He laughed aloud. “What in Heaven..?” Here he was, embroiled in a battle in which he was fast losing ground. How had this happened? “Very well, milady,” he said tightly. “I can see you are overwrought. I will retire now.”
“Good,” she said baldly. “I'll see to it that Durand has your luggage set out tomorrow morning? I expect you'd like to depart early.”
“What!” He chuckled. This was too much! She was throwing him out? “How can you...”
“I reserve the right to entertain guests I welcome,” she said. “I do not welcome insolent, rude guests. Have a good rest, milord. And safe travels further.”
With that, she set her glass aside with a click and stood. He watched, astonished, as she stood and walked, straight-backed and gracious, out of the hall.
He stared after her in astonishment.
Well! In all my born days, I never...
He whistled through his teeth in sheer amazement. How did that just happen?
“I have no idea,” he said aloud. He shook his head.
He stood a moment later, feeling his back stiffen after sitting still in rain dampened clothes in cold air. However, his heart thumped faster and he warmed up as he walked.
Well I never! This woman is incorrigible! Rude, upstart, callous...
And easily the most beautiful person he had ever seen.
Not able to stop grinning despite his pains to be remote, the count walked to his bedchamber: He might as well enjoy it while he had it, for tomorrow he would be moving on again – he had to.
CHAPTER TWO
A FRESH ENCOUNTER
A FRESH ENCOUNTER
Bernadette woke from restless dreams. She stared up at the ceiling, and then slid briskly out of bed.
Breakfast. Then check the storehouses. Then the cottages.
She planned a busy day as she dressed, trying studiously to avoid thoughts of her current guest. That was difficult. He occupied her thoughts.
“Amelia?” she called her maid.
“Yes, milady?”
“Could you fix my hair? Something simple. I just want it to stay up in the wind outside.”
Amelia, a young woman of perhaps twenty, giggled. “Yes, milady.”
Bernadette sat down and let the younger woman do her work. As she did so, she moodily stared into the mirror. It showed a strong face with high cheeks, a straight nose and those black eyes with their full lids.
I suppose I'm quite imposing, she thought stiffly. Mayhap I scared him.
She chuckled grimly to herself. Why did she care so?
With any luck, he'd gone.
She didn't want to consider the fact that this man may have captivated her thoughts. The more she thought about him, the more she noted that there was something a little different. He was faintly reminiscent of the man her mistress had wed: that same mix of forcefulness and ruggedness. Could he be half-Scottish, like Lord Francis? She was excited to find out more about him.
Stop it! she chided herself. “Amelia?” she called.
“Yes?”
“Is breakfast in the solar already?” Usually an early riser, Bernadette sometimes had to wait while the servants set out a meal for her.
/> “It is, milady. What with the guest, we thought we'd better prepare in advance and...” She trailed off as Bernadette's expression darkened.
“He’s still here?”
“He's about, milady,” Amelia said softly.
“Ah.”
Bernadette felt a bit riled. How dare he wake early and poke about her home? What did he expect to find here? She felt as if he were a customs-man, inspecting a warehouse for contraband supplies.
“Well,” she added to Amelia, “in that case, I'll go to breakfast now. Thank you for your help,” she added – a habit from when she had dressed Claudine's own hair – and smiled. “It looks very nice.”
“Oh! Thank you, milady.” Amelia dimpled and curtsied, as she always did whenever Bernadette complimented her work.
Bernadette gave her a smile and walked out briskly. As she headed along the passageway, her cheery feelings evaporated quickly. She felt moody and offended. How dare that fellow snoop about in her house!
If he's up at breakfast I'll have words with him, she thought moodily.
She stalked into the solar. “Oh.”
The table was set for two, but one place had already been used. She took a seat at the other, feeling a little disappointed. So he really had gone.
She was surprised that instead of relieved, she felt surprised. And a little wistful.
For all his rudeness, he was a good sparring opponent.
It was rare that Bernadette had someone with whom she could unleash her more willful, dominant side. Always gentle and a little distant with her staff, she was loving with Claudine and doting with her daughter.
And it's not as if I have many visitors down here.
Annoying and offensive, Fraser Moreau had nonetheless been novel argument-fodder.
Bernadette smiled at Blanchard, her footman, who had come in and was tidying up the breakfast table. “Our guest left already?”
Blanchard shrugged. “I do not know, milady. Certainly he was awake earlier, and he dined. Where he has gone, I don't know...” He trailed off, gesturing expansively.
“He must have left,” Bernadette mused. Partly satisfied, she nonetheless thought she would miss him. She reached for a roll and buttered it lightly, taking a slice of cheese to go with it. As she ate, she planned her day.
Kitchens. Cottages. Check that the back field is being used for my horse.
Bernadette loved Slate-shadow, her horse. She had taken a large portion of her new-conferred wealth, but she had never fallen in love with anyone as instantly as she had with that horse. She wanted to make sure she was well-cared for.
“Right,” she said to the empty solar as she stood. “Off to work.”
Always rigorous in all she did, Bernadette had never relaxed, even after the estate was conferred on her. She found she had to keep herself busy, and the management of an estate was certainly highly-demanding. With her able steward, Benlieu, to help her, she kept it all running smoothly.
I suppose he would find that too amusing, she thought angrily. He couldn't have chosen a more well-aimed insult than the one about her cordial. Still fuming, Bernadette headed down into the kitchens.
Work did not cool her temper and by ten of the clock, she was still angry. The cottages were in good repair, the storehouse stocked and all the plans made for the next week, at least as far as the cook knew.
“I'm going for a walk.”
Bernadette wrapped a dark cloak over her long, ocher-brown dress and headed into the countryside. As she walked across the field, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. She tensed.
“My lady!”
It cannot be. She closed her eyes, a mix of elation and annoyance thrilling her blood. “Yes?”
The count smiled at her, a straight, thin-lipped smile. This close, she could appreciate how strikingly-handsome he was. Handsome and annoying. She resisted the urge to leave.
An equally strong one compelled her to stay, especially when he started to talk.
“My lady. Forgive me if I interrupted your morning jaunt. May I ask you to help me? Point out the way from here? I am afraid I don't know where the road to Crecy is.”
Bernadette closed her eyes. “See that?” she said, opening them and pointing straight ahead, a little toward the left.
“You mean the path there?” he inquired affably.
“The road. Yes.”
“That's that road?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.”
That dried their conversation.
Bernadette turned away. “Sir?”
“Yes, milady?”
She closed her eyes. Next time he called her that, ironic and scornful, she would have to hold her hands to stop one of them from slapping him. “You are going to Crecy later?”
He nodded. “I was lost, forgive me.”
“Fine,” she said. Strangely, thinking about his leaving made her heart go faster, though it was with a strange discomfort and not joy.
“Milady?” he said again. She ignited.
“Stop calling me that when we both know you scorn me,” she said angrily. “Bernadette will do, since you seem to think me little better than a kitchen maid.”
His eyes widened. “Why say that, milady?”
“Because you said so yourself.”
“When?”
“Yesterday,” she said. How was it possible that everything out of this man angered her so?
He looked aghast. “When did I so yesterday?” he asked.
“When you said....you...never mind,” she sighed, desultorily. “If you insult me and forget immediately, there's no reason to talk further.” She turned quickly away, heart thumping.
To her horror, a hand shot out and grabbed hers. She froze. “Unhand me, sir,” she said in a tight, cold voice.
“I shan't, milady,” he said.
His grip tightened and Bernadette found herself drawn inextricably closer forward. She was surprised, but she was not frightened. Her heart was pounding, but it was not all anger. Or fear. It was anticipation. “You will,” she said tightly. “Why hold me so?”
“Because I wish to see you closer,” he said roughly.
Bernadette looked into his eyes defiantly.
He leaned forward and as his mouth touched hers, she felt a thrill that was part anger, part elation.
His tongue slid into her mouth and Bernadette felt herself draw breath as he held her against him, her heart pounding where he crushed her against that hard, muscled chest. She tensed and looked up into his eyes defiantly. “Let me go,” she said.
Her voice was hard, commanding.
He sighed. “Very well, milady. As you wish.”
“I do.”
He released her and they stared at each other. His breath was as tumultuous as hers, both chests heaving.
Bernadette turned and stalked away.
He did not follow her.
She turned her steps back toward the house, heart thumping. “Of all the rude, shocking, offensive...”
She had not run out of words by the time she reached the door. However, even though she called him all the names she could think of, and some she'd heard only in passing tavern doors, she'd not managed to cool the skipping heartbeat.
I hate him, she told herself.
In her heart, she knew it was not hatred that she felt. She had despised Lord Lucas, her friend's uncle. She had not been sorry to see him leave their lives.
However, when she went into her home, shut the door and leaned against it, trying to still her breath, calming herself to tranquility, she knew that she would be very sorry to see the back of Lord Fraser, count of Remy.
CHAPTER THREE
SOME SURPRISING INFORMATION
SOME SURPRISING INFORMATION
“Stew, milord.”
“Huh?” Fraser looked up, blinking. He had been miles away, drifting in another place, where he was with Bernadette somewhere in a deserted building, somewhere he could push her down onto the bed and thrust his tongue between t
hose sweet, full lips.
“Stew, milord. You ordered luncheon, yes?”
Fraser glanced at the innkeeper, feeling vaguely irritated. “Yes. I did.”
The man put down the luncheon and left, looking confused.
Fraser lifted the spoon and knife he'd been supplied with and dubiously sampled the dish. Strongly flavored and hot, the stew was exactly what he needed. He gave a grunt of satisfaction and settled down to his lunch.
At least I can eat in peace here.
He sighed. He had spent most of that morning – when he was supposed to be concentrating on eating breakfast – with a thrumming anticipation in his chest, excited about the possibility of seeing her.
Bernadette Leblanc. Exciting, captivating. Maddening.
He had never felt this way about anyone before. He was used to women who were either shy or brazen. This level, cool interaction was something totally new to him. He had never experienced a woman treating him as an equal.
I like it.
He chuckled to himself. He hadn't expected that either. The fact that he really enjoyed her company surprised him. Fine – he more than enjoyed it. He was, in fact, excited about the possibility of seeing her again, as soon as possible.
“My lord?”
Fraser looked up from his stew, annoyance drifting across his face. “Yes? What?”
“Sorry, sir. There was some trouble at the stables...Your servant said to call you.”
“He did?” Fraser glared. Then he sighed. Hugo, his servant, was always causing trouble. “I'll go down. But mind that no one moves my lunch. I've not finished it yet.”
He headed out to the stables, feeling his anger building inside him. “Hugo!” he called out into the yard. “You ill-begotten misery. What have you been doing now?”
His servant, a vast, grinning youth of perhaps nineteen years old – no one actually knew, himself least of all – appeared. “Sorry, milord. These fellers tried to move out your horse. I showed them.”
“Ah.” Fraser took in the three distinctly unhappy-looking stable workers and guessed the rest.
Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 22
