“You wish to sit in them awhile?” she asked. “I like the kitchen gardens best myself, too. So fragrant.”
Francis nodded. “Uh, yes. They are. Would you join me?”
Lady Claudine's eyes went wide. “I...I would like that, milord. But I am unchaperoned! I...”
He smiled tenderly. “ I respect your honor. And we'll remain in sight of the colonnade. But may I sit with you awhile?”
She looked flustered. “Of course, sir. If you would wish to.” She sounded almost surprised.
“I do wish it,” he said softly.
He lowered himself to the wall beside her so that he looked into her eyes. She blinked, seeming a little afraid.
“Sir. I...”This close, he could see the moisture on her lips, and almost feel her breath.
Before he'd thought about it at all his lips touched hers. She froze.
“Sir!”
She tensed and withdrew instantly. Francis closed his eyes.
“My lady. I...forgive me please!” he pleaded. “I meant no offense. See? I'm leaving.”
He stood and backed away.
“Wait,” she said.
Francis took root in the flagstones.
“You wished to ask me something?”
She said nothing and when she looked up next Francis could see tears in her eyes.
“What? Oh, my lady. Oh! I'm so sorry. Please. No, don't cry...”
He fumbled into the space between his tunic and belt, reaching for a handkerchief. He drew one out and passed it to her. She took it wordlessly. Her fingertips brushed his. He tried not to think about how good that felt, tried to focus on the present.
“I'm so stupid,” she said. “Stupid and useless and ugly and...”
“What?” Francis stared at her. “My lady! Are you serious?” What in perdition's name brought that out?
He reached up and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder that sweet softness. She tensed but didn't leave.
She opened her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.“It's true. Of course it is. Which is why I'm so confused.”
“Confused,” Francis said. He had no idea what she was on about. “You confuse me. You are so...so attentive. So kind. Why?” Her voice was confrontational. Francis blinked at her. She sounded angry with him.
“I...my lady? What do you mean? I am unmannerly, I know, but what is it that confuses you about me?” “Oh, go away,” she said. She sounded annoyed.
Francis stared. He had known he'd traduced her boundaries by kissing her. He expected affront, or to be called stupid and doltish. But this reaction confounded him.
“I'll go,” he said, feeling wretched. He couldn't help her, clearly. Better by far to leave.
She stared after him.
He tried to walk away. He managed to get to five paces away from the colonnade before he stopped. Turned round.
“Milady? Please, tell me what I did? I'm sorry.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?” Francis frowned.
“Why do you care?”
“My lady! How can you ask such a thing? Why do I care, indeed!” He reached up to stroke her cheek A strand of hair had stuck against the traces of tears. He wanted to move it. She flinched and glared at him.
“Answer the question?” she said, pleading. “Please?”
Francis sighed.
“I am sorry, my lady, for my impudence. I know I have no right to touch you as I did. Byou are the sweetest, most lovely lady I ever saw. That is why I care. Why I am here. ”. When she looked up again, he was surprised that the sadness and anger was replaced by growing wonder. Her mouth had parted again, making a little “O” of wonder. The expression fired her blood.
She laughed. “But how can you?” She shook her head, making those blond curls bounce on her shoulders. “I am a cripple.” “No! No, my lady.” He was angry with her now. “How can you say that? How? You have...difficulties walking. I know your health is delicate. But why would that detract in any way from you?”
She sighed again, a sad little huff of breath. “Who would want me, when I can't do anything?”
Francis felt his heart turn inside out. She couldn't mean that. She couldn't really not have noticed how beautiful she was. Could she?
“You must jest, milady. Cannot you see the eyes that follow you around everywhere? I felt as if at least three gallants plunged their daggers into me, talking with you at the ball.”
“No!” Claudine giggled. “You think they'd have done so?”“You didn't see the way they were looking at me, milady.”
“No,” she said. “I don't believe you.”
“Well, you should,” he said firmly. “You are beautiful.”“Oh, my lord.” Francis felt dismay. He kept upsetting her!
He reached for his kerchief again to wipe off her tears but when she looked up again, she was smiling.
“What, milady?” he asked, smilingly.
“You're the first person who ever said that,” she said, sniffing. “Thank you,” she finished awkwardly, letting her hand rest near to his.
He flushed, realizing he was the first man to have ever spoken to her in that way. It made him feel proud and a bit bashful at once. She smiled, amazing him with the sweetest pair of dimples he'd seen.
“I should go,” she said softly. “My companion will be looking for me.”
“I should go too,” Francis agreed, thinking a little guiltily of how he'd promised to help Gaspard find the armorer to sharpen his sword.She stood, smoothing down her skirts with a gentle hand.
They looked at each other. He felt as if his heart would melt.
“Good day,” she said in a small voice.
She dropped a curtsy and then walked slowly away, her sweet body fluid and graceful despite the slowness of her pace. Francis stared after her.
“Good day,” he whispered.
He knew he was standing rooted to the spot. He couldn't help it. He stared after her long after she'd gone.
He was still standing there when someone clapped him on the shoulder, making him jump. He whipped round, sweat starting on his temples.
“What!” he yelled.
“Whoa,” Gaspard grinned. “Francis! You're jumpy today, eh?”
Francis chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
“Well, then, my jumpy friend,” Gaspard grinned, “Let's go and visit the armory, eh?”
Francis nodded. “Fine.”
“You saw that swing Jacques was doing? I thought once we've got our swords fixed, we could try it out? By! I wouldn't mind getting it right.”
“Mm?” Francis said, non-committal. He was scarcely listening to his friend as he went on and on about sword-skills. He knew he should be polite and show an interest, but he couldn't force himself to, couldn't drag his mind away from sweeter things that occupied it: He couldn't, now or later, stop thinking about her.
AN EVENING ENCOUNTER
Claudine watched Bernadette, her maid and companion, wistfully. She was laying out silks and satins on the bed before her. The evening sunlight filtered in, making them all glow softly.
“Must I choose one?” Claudine asked.
“You must, milady,” Bernadette said, smiling. “ I think the Duke of Fouchet's birthday calls for something special, not so?”
Claudine sighed. “I suppose it does.”
Even the prospect of seeing Francis at the party did not help to raise her spirits. Today her exhaustion had preyed on her worse than usual. She had barely found the energy to stand. She couldn't bear the thought of an evening company of old countesses who would pity her, or young ladies and gentlemen who'd cast strange looks at her.
“Milady?” Bernadette prompted gently.
“You choose one for me, Bernadette,” Claudine said sadly. “I cannot decide.”
“Oh, milady. What is it?”
“I don't know,” Claudine shrugged. “I suppose I'm just feeling a bit dismal.”
“Is it your head? My poor Lady Claudine. Would you like something from the kitchens? A syllabub
? You ate hardly anything at luncheon today.” “No. Thank you, Bernadette. I just want to rest.”
“As you wish,” Bernadette said with a small frown. “But here! How about this blue gown? I've not seen you wear it yet.”
Claudine smiled sadly. “Thank you, Bernadette. I'll do that.”
Bernadette nodded and lifted the creation off the bed. With a v-shaped waist, a wide skirt and long sleeves that lapped down over the hands, the dress was beautiful. It was made of blue silk. Claudine felt a wan excitement as Bernadette helped her out of her night dress and into the dress.
When she was dressed in it, Claudine stood back from the mirror and surveyed the effect.
“I suppose I do look pretty,” she said.“You do indeed, milady.”Her generous hips and full bust that pushed at the low collar of the dress. Her long arms were covered by the long sleeves and her blonde curls cascaded down loose round her shoulders.
“Will you dress my hair now?” Claudine asked, feeling weary again. A pox on it! Why was she feeling even worse now than she usually did? Even for her, this deepening lethargy was unusual.
“Of course, milady. Come, sit.”
Claudine watched the transformation with detached interest As Bernadette arranged her hair expertly into a bun, framed by soft curl. She hoped Francis could be there also. If she must sit through an evening with people who pitied her or mocked her, at least he would enliven things. It didn't seem impossible that he would be there, after all. He is a nobleman and if I know the duke, he'll have invited everyone at Court.
“Niece?” a voice called. “Are you ready? We should leave.”
“Coming, Uncle.”Her Uncle Lucas smiled as she appeared, bending his elbow so she could slide her hand into it for support. “You'll be so popular soon that you'll forget me.”
“Oh, Uncle.. What would I do without you?”He just smiled.
They headed through the colonnade and down the stairs, slowly, to the great hall.
As they neared, she noticed with dismay how crowded the hallway was outside the ballroom. She walked on down, biting her lip to ignore Mirella and Jacintha, who drifted past.
“I cannot wait to dance,” Mirella said. She looked at Claudine. “Oh! I suppose I shouldn't say that. I'm sorry. I forget some of us don't take the same pleasure in it I do.”
“Not at all,” Claudine said tightly. “I'm sure you'll enjoy it.”
She cast a glance sideways at her uncle. His eyes had narrowed and he looked defensive.
“Just tell them you're disinclined to join in,” he suggested quietly when they'd gone. “Make them feel silly, rather.”
Claudine closed her eyes as tears flowed there. His concerned advice made it worse.
The sadness was a living thing within her. They went down the stairs together, where they were stopped at the door by a footman.
“Ah, here we are.” The footman cleared his throat, summoning the formal tones of a court herald. “The count of Corron, good man, and his niece, the fair lady Claudine,” he announced grandly.
Claudine looked at the floor,as they entered. She hated being announced that way, hating the feeling of all those eyes on her. She could see compassion in some eyes, scorn in others. The ladies of her own age mainly just looked glad it wasn't they themselves who was so ill.Close to her, uncle patted her hand gently.
“Almost at the table,” he said under his breath. “I think we're seated at the end. Ah! Yes. My lord duke! A happy birthday to you,” he added as a man stepped out to great them.
The duke of Fouchet, an old family friend, smiled winningly at Uncle Lucas. Then, eyes twinkling as in shared jokes, he bowed to Claudine.
“My lady! Always a beauty. Welcome. Welcome.”
“Good wishes on your birthday, my lord,” Claudine said.
“Thank you, Claudine.”
She found she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were already scanning the long tables of guests, looking for the one face she wished to see. Where was he? He must be here! If Francis wished to see her, he would have come.
When he wasn't here yet, she felt a sudden rebellious twinge. I suppose he was just being polite yesterday.
“Come, niece,” her uncle said, interrupting her thoughts. “Here we are. Let's sit. I feel hungry enough to not wish to delay my dinner.”
When dinner began, she picked at the soup, the fish, the eggs...she barely felt hungry and her head was starting to hurt.
“Niece?” her uncle whispered. “You are not unwell?”
“No,” Claudine whispered. “I don't think so, anyhow.” This wretched malady! If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was getting worse. Why?
“Poor dear,” the dowager countess of Beaufort said from next to her. “This malady must be so debilitating for a girl. If only you could dance and play the harp like the rest can do!”
Claudine winced, her eyes clouded by tears. That was it. Suddenly she couldn't take any more subtle insults. She pushed back her chair and stood.
“Excuse me, Uncle,” she said tightly. “I'm going to the terrace for fresh air.”
Her uncle raised a brow. “Of course, my dear.”
Claudine steadied herself against the chair and then walked slowly from the hall.
Wretched people! Why do they have to be so cruel? I know that's unfair, that they don't mean it but...Oh! How I wish I was well, healed, and whole.
Claudine bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears then, when she felt them start to flow despite her efforts to contain them, she sat down heavily on a stone-carved bench and sobbed.
The night hid her from the door, illuminated fitfully by a torch's flame that wavered and cracked with the wind. She let the sound, and the tinkle of a distant fountain, the whoop of a night bird, calm her.
I want to stay out here. It's safe here.
Concealed by darkness, no one could be cruel to her. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Being alone was better.
Crack.
A twig broke behind her and she jumped. “Who's there?” she whispered. Her head whipped round and she stared.
With his red hair illuminated to warm highlights by the torches, his long, lean face boasting a shy grin, he was so handsome that her heart skipped. She couldn't look away.
“Lady Claudine,” he said, and then he frowned.
She sniffed, cuffing away her tears with the back of her hand. “Lord Francis.” She lifted her tear-stained face to his.
“Why are you sad?” he asked gently.
Claudine gave a mirthless laugh. “Why do you think?”
His green eyes lit with highlights in the torch's flame, stared into hers. “I have no idea,” he said. “Tell me?”
Claudine looked at her hands. “I can't walk, Francis. I can't dance. I can't play the harp, or ride, or sing. I can't do anything anyone else can do. And people keep telling me!”
She was angry, more than sad. Fierce, hot tears ran down her face, pooling at her chin. Now that she had started sobbing, she couldn't stop. It was two years' worth of stored misery. She sobbed so that her shoulders shook and her tears flowed down her face and collected at the collar of her gown. She sobbed until she was empty of tears.
Then she stiffened as an arm crept gently round her shoulders. She felt Francis lean toward her and she leaned against him, letting his gentle presence warm her. She nestled closer.
He bent down to face her and his lips locked with hers. Claudine stiffened, her eyes flying wide open. Then they closed as his mouth gently traced hers, chewing a little at her lip. He let his tongue flick along the line between her lips and she felt her body melt as he did it again, and then withdrew.
More, her body seemed to cry aloud. She tensed and looked at her clasped fingers. He covered them with a big, lean hand.
“My lady,” he murmured. He stroked her hair gently with his other hand, the warmth of his right hand on her own. “I am so sorry you're so sad. I would do anything to take this away from you.”
Claudine shook her head. “Lo
rd Francis,” she said brokenly. “I thank you. Thank you for trying to understand,” she added a little bitterly. She supposed it took some effort. She didn't want to believe he was doing this as sincerely as it seemed.
He went tense and silent beside her. She turned to face him.
To her surprise he was sitting hunched over, his hands clasped. He looked somewhere between bitter and sad.
“What?” she murmured.
He laughed. “No matter. I don't want to burden you. Who am I to do so?”
Claudine felt her eyes widen. “Who are you to not?” she said gently. Her hand reached over and covered his. His fingers were warm. He rested his hand over her own.
“I'm just a count's son from a small country estate,” he said blandly. “With dubious extraction from a foreign, wild people. I shouldn't even be here, much less be talking to you.”
Claudine stared at him. “Francis. What?” She almost laughed. “You are serious, aren't you?”
Francis turned to face her, his expression pained. “I've never been more serious. I shouldn't even be sitting here with you,” he said impatiently. “Your guardian will hate me for it.”
Claudine bit back her mirthless laughter. “Uncle would be pleased to see someone take notice of me, I think,” she said quietly. “I think he'd practically sell me to anyone who seemed in the least bit interested.”
Francis looked at her. To her surprise, he was angry. “That's not how he acts to me,” he said hotly. “So I don't know who told you that but they lied.”
Claudine almost wanted to laugh. She stared at him helplessly. “Francis?”
“What?”
“I don't know if I can believe that, or if you're just being sweet. But...thank you.” She looked down as her voice wobbled dangerously.
He squeezed her hand.
“I only told the truth, my dear.”
Claudine felt the words rock through her like a wave on the riverbank. My dear. He had called her “my dear”. Her heart floated and she felt her body lean against his.
His arm moved to rest on her shoulders. He leaned in, those sweet, marbled green eyes staring into hers, and kissed her.
Claudine melted in his arms and their bodies pressed together in the moonlight. She felt her heart thump with a sweet, rising urgency. She pressed against him, liking the feel of her bosom flattening against that broad chest.
Adventures of a Highlander Page 46