“That was good.”
Bernadette laughed. “I am so pleased to hear it.”
“Where is Francis?” Claudine wanted to know.
Bernadette smiled. “He's with the holy brothers across the courtyard. The abbey has both monks and holy sisters, but, as you might imagine, they do not intermix. Nor are ladies permitted within the precincts of the monks.”
“Ah.”
Bernadette smiled. “But, if we ask, I'm sure we'll be permitted to meet in the abbey grounds.”
Claudine smiled. “Good.”
After breakfast, they stood and headed out into the garden. Claudine sat on a bench under the tree and wondered why she had never in her life before felt quite this peaceful. It seemed as if all the worry and torment of her last years had washed away, replaced by a steady flame of hope.
It wasn't as though she was no longer ill, but somehow, in a way she couldn't explain, it felt as though the illness was receding. As if a new strength was growing in her and it was only a matter of time before it blossomed fully within her.
“Daughter?”
Claudine jumped to see the small, dark habit-clad figure approach her. She recalled her dimly from the previous night: Sister Adelaide.
“Yes?” she asked. She felt her heart thump and guessed she should have felt apprehensive – Sister Adelaide, with her thin, hard face and black eyes was at best imposing, at worst scary – but she wasn't afraid of her.
“I have a message from Sister Beatrice, who tells me she has it from Brother Nicholas. You have someone waiting to meet you in the herb arbor.”
“Oh.” Claudine's cheeks flushed and she was surprised to see a wistful smile cross the older woman's lean features. “Thank you.”
She smiled. “It's nothing, Daughter.”
Heart thumping, Claudine followed the woman to the herb garden. Beatrice followed behind them.
She sat on a bench, and then stood when the red-haired figure in a robe appeared.
“Claudine!”
Francis ran to her and his arms tightened around her as he kissed her passionately. For the first time since she met him, Claudine felt free to give herself up to his embrace. She also felt a wild excitement. It seemed that now that her body was healing again, the feelings that surged into her whenever she saw him were getting even stronger.
“Oh, Francis.” she reached up and caressed that soft red hair. “Thank you. You saved me.”
She recalled the terror of the night before: the man with the knife, the feeling of terror so strong it mesmerized her, rooting her in place. She shivered at the memory of the cold glint of his eyes, the silver glitter of the knife.
She felt Francis go hard in her arms, those vast muscles of shoulders and back tensing up.
“I cannot believe what they almost did. They must answer for their crime.”
Claudine shook her head. “No, Francis. It is past now. My uncle will deal with Father Jeremy.”
As the words left her lips she saw Francis' face darken and her own heart leaped to make the conclusion he had.
“No,” she whispered. She felt herself sink down, subsiding wearily onto the bench once again. She was dressed in a long shapeless dress courtesy of the nuns, but even so her heart thumped so hard it shivered the stiff fabric of it. He thought what she, on some level, had known all along.
Her uncle wished her dead.
“No,” she said again. It hurt. She had loved Uncle Lucas, with his sweet smile and his funny ways and his seemingly genuine care for her. However, it was too obvious for her to pretend it wasn't. Uncle Lucas had wanted her dead all this time.
“I'm sorry, Claudine,” he said. “But yes. Your uncle has been sabotaging you all this time.”
“You mean he ordered Father Jeremy to kill me?” she asked in a small voice.
She saw Francis look at Bernadette. She looked at her maid in time to see her nod.
“What?” she asked.
“I think your uncle is worse than you know,” Francis said gently.
“What?” Claudine asked. Her heart thumped. She heard Bernadette cross the grass and felt her come and sit down beside her on the bench. In the background, she saw Adelaide tense and turn to face them, her lean old face offering its neutral compassion.
“We have reason to believe – after talking to Brother Nicholas and our healing sister there,” Bernadette added, inclining her head toward the small nun, “that your uncle has been poisoning you.”
Claudine closed her eyes. In her heart, she felt a slow ache. She wanted to cry, but she realized that at some level she had known this always. Her uncle had not wanted her to get well. Neither had Brother Jeremy. That was why, the instant she stopped taking the “medicine” they insisted on, she felt better. It had not been medicine at all, but poison.
He wanted her dead. Or so weak that she could never live normally. Why?
As she thought it, she realized. “He wanted me out of the way so he could take Pavot.”
SETTLING LONGSTANDING TROUBLE
The scent of the infirmary had clung to Francis' robes – a sweet, spicy scent of incense and spikenard. He breathed it in now, and wished himself elsewhere.
Almost anything would have been preferable, just then, to seeing the depth of pain in Claudine's soft blue eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “But yes.”
Claudine leaned forward so that her head rested on his shoulder. He reached up and wrapped his arms round her body, holding her against him. He sighed. How could he bear her being so sad? He wished he could ride to Evreux. What he wished to do to her uncle in that moment was almost beyond description. The man was wicked to have done this to her. Wicked beyond his wildest imagining.
“Curse him,” he whispered.
Claudine went stiff in his arms. She looked up into his eyes. Very gently, she reached out and touched his face. “No, my dear.”
Francis let out an explosive sigh. “I know,” he said. “But, sweetling, how can I not hate him?”
“You can not hate him,” she said quietly. “I wish you to try.”
Francis shook his head. He smiled at her, a lopsided grin. “You know, Claudine, you amaze me.”
She smiled into his eyes and he felt his heart flip over with excitement and wonderment. At that moment he didn't have room for any hate inside him.
“Thank you,” she said.
He leaned forward and let his lips brush over her own. He felt somehow wicked, kissing here in the precincts of the abbey, but it was a sweet wickedness.
“Claudine,” he breathed. “I...you know what I would ask, were I at liberty to do it.”
She let her big blue eyes go wide. “No, Francis. What would you ask?”
He heard himself chuckle softly. “I would...let me do this properly,” he added, and sank down so he looked up into her eyes. “Claudine, daughter of the Duke of Pavot. Would you do me the honor of accepting my hand?”
He saw her eyes widen and then fill with big tears. He watched as they flowed down her cheeks and then he was enfolding her in his arms as she leaned against his chest and sobbed and sobbed.
“Oh, my dearest,” she said. She reached up and put her hand on his cheek. Then she drew his face down to hers and their lips explored each other desperately. “Oh.”
He smiled. “Well?”
Claudine giggled. “Oh, Francis. My dearest Francis! Yes.”
Francis felt as if his heart would melt and he crushed her to his chest, wishing he could hold her thus, close and almost indivisible from his own flesh, forever. He loved her so much and having her in his arms felt so, so right.
“Oh, Francis,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes, her own sparkling with wonder and joy.
They kissed again.
Later, Francis and Bernadette sat with Claudine in the garden. Sister Adelaide was at the other side of the table where they sat to take their luncheon, a shadowy figure blending with the trees just out of sight.
“We cannot let Uncle L
ucas' deeds go unquestioned,” Francis said. He felt his resolve fill him. “He must be exposed. Besides, none of us are safe while he lives.”
“That is true,” Bernadette said. She had been so steadfast during the escape. At the mention of the count he saw her face harden.
“I know,” Claudine whispered. “But...we are all in danger now. I hate to think of what will happen when we leave this place. We will walk straight into danger again.”
Francis shook his head. “The abbey is on the borders of my father's land,” he said. “I think your uncle is not so shortsighted as to seek war with my father. While we are here, we are safe.”
“Thank you,” Claudine said in a small voice.
“The reason we need to confront him is not so much for our own safety,” Francis continued, “but the fact that the count has deceived everyone. We need to expose what he did.”
“If nothing else, your father should know.”
Francis saw Claudine go gray-toned at the mention of her father. “No, Bernadette.” She shook her head. “Why should we tell him?”
“The man's his brother,” Bernadette said grimly. “He has a right to know.”
“But my father doesn't care about me,” Claudine whispered. “Uncle said he wanted to rid himself of me. That I was a nuisance...” she trailed off. Francis looked at Bernadette and they all looked at each other.
“I think your father should have the right to counter that accusation,” Francis said gently.
Claudine looked into his eyes. She looked scared. “I don't know, Francis,” she said sadly. “What if you're wrong? Mayhap he hates me as my uncle conveyed?”
Francis raised a brow. “Well, mayhap. But I think we ought to know the truth.”
Claudine relaxed and nodded slowly. “Yes, Francis. I think you're right. If naught else, he needs to give us his blessing.”
Francis felt his own heart light up. “Yes. You're right. Indeed he does.”
Claudine smiled a little sadly. “I think he will. He never expected me to wed at all, you know. He'll be pleased to be rid of me.”
Francis felt himself look at Bernadette. The woman's eyes met his significantly. Francis nodded.
“We'll take the journey to Pavot as soon as you are feeling stronger, my dear.”
For the first time since he'd mentioned visiting her father, Claudine smiled.
“Well, all things considered, I think that will be soon.”
It took a week. Francis stayed with the novice monks and helped with the daily tasks. He found himself learning skills he'd never imagined: fixing a fence, replacing broken tiles in the scriptorium, dusting the tapestries. Every day, he visited Claudine. Every day, she got stronger.
On the morning a week after their arrival, Claudine accompanied him into the fields. It was a warm summer day, a slight breeze ruffling the trees.
“A glorious day, yes?” Francis asked softly. “And a glorious sight,” he added, waving an arm at a mass of blossoming buttercups in the field across from the monastery grounds.
Claudine nodded. She twitched her nose, and then drew breath. She sneezed.
Francis laughed. “Have you a kerchief?” he asked, hunting in the waistband of his tunic to see if he'd put one under the folds.
“Uh, yes, dear. I do have one, here...” Claudine produced one from under her kirtle but, as she raised it to her face, the wind snatched at it. “Oh! Mercy me...”
She laughed and pursued it. Francis, laughing, took off behind her. It was only after he had caught up with her that they looked at each other. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, she stared at him in wonderment.
“I ran,” she said, completely disbelieving.
Francis laughed. His whole being rejoiced. He kissed her.
“You ran! My darling. You ran.”
It barely seemed possible. A month ago, Claudine could barely walk. However, now here she was, running through the field, the wind stroking her golden hair, her cheeks flushed. She was well!
“We should go to Pavot,” Francis said.
Claudine nodded slowly. “Yes, we should.”
They went into the garden, arm in arm, to find Bernadette. They were leaving tomorrow.
Francis sat back in the coach. It was the third day of their travel. They had taken the Annecy coach on the road north to Pavot. Now, with the pine forest subsiding to fields of summer green grass, they were almost there.
“We'll have finished our business here before we know it,” Francis said softly. Opposite him, he saw Claudine grow tense. She was clearly nervous, and her blue eyes were sad.
“I hope so,” she whispered.
Francis took her hand, gripping those soft, cool fingers in his own. “Assuredly yes, dearest.”
She nodded and clamped that sweet pink lip between her teeth in a sad expression. Sad though it was, Francis felt his loins throb. He wanted her so much.
He told himself to be patient. One of the things he could do now was ask her father, formally, for her hand. Soon he would hopefully have the legal freedom to wed his daughter.
I'll do it whether he grants me that or not.
He smiled. He couldn't wait a moment longer. Soon they would be in Pavot.
“Whoa!”
The coachman's yell struck Francis, making him jump. He had been half asleep, lulled by the soft motion of the carriage in the drowsy afternoon heat. He tried to stand up.
Opposite him, Claudine's face was drawn and tight with worry.
“Here we are,” she whispered. “Be careful?”
Francis nodded. “I shall. I promise. Wait for me here?”
Claudine nodded and Francis waited until their coach had been admitted through the wide, high gates before he alighted, striding quickly across the courtyard to the entrance to the great hall.
“Halt!” a guard yelled. “What business have you with his lordship?”
Francis raised a brow. He had no patience for this. Not today.
“The urgent sort.”
He strode past into the hall, hearing the door handle crash against the stone wall as he pushed it open.
“No! Stop! Felon...”
The shouting of the guards died away as two pairs of eyes turned to face Francis. One of them he knew at once. The cool, gray blue, lizard cold gaze of Uncle Lucas.
The other was a wide, sky-blue gaze. With big round eyes that were so like Claudine's, the taller, sleekly covered man with the thinning gold hair must be her father.
“Brother! Call the guardsmen,” Lucas said briskly.
“G...wait,” the taller man said. “No, Lucas. Not yet. Hello,” he said hesitantly to Francis. “A fine fellow you are to break into my hall! What is the meaning of this intrusion? The truth now.”
Francis blinked. If two men could be complete opposites, it was this man and his brother. Where Lucas was lean and hawk-eyed, this man was smooth and relaxed. His stare was big-eyed as if he were constantly surprised by life. Francis felt he liked him immediately. If this man had rejected his sick daughter, he'd be surprised. It seemed impossibly unlike him.
“Sir, I come as an envoy from Claudine,” he said quickly.
“Claudine! How peculiar!” He turned to Lucas, frowning wide-eyed and confused. “Is that possible?”
Francis saw Lucas shake his head and he cleared his throat, blocking whatever Lucas was about to say.
“It is, your grace.” Francis bowed extravagantly low. “I was just now with the lady, and I assure you I am sent by her. I show you this handkerchief as proof,” he said. He reached into his belt and drew out the handkerchief that he, three days previous, had chased with Claudine across a sun-warm field.
“Give it here,” her father said. He looked at it, his eyes wide.
“It certainly has her monogram,” he said after staring hard. “How came you by it? I thought...” he turned to Lucas.
Lucas sighed. “It's a trick, brother. Obviously. A simple trick – your daughter is even now under the care of the monks at Corro
n. I fear she will not survive this latest delirium. How could she have handed this...dangerous foreigner...her kerchief? Don't trust him.”
Francis felt his cheeks lift in a mirthless smile. He watched the duke's eyes widen.
“Well, sir?” the duke asked him sternly. “Is it as my brother has told me? If it isn't, you'd best have a fine explanation to offer! I don't brook any falsehood and a threat to my daughter will be answered with harsh action.”
Francis looked at the ground humbly. “It isn't as he said. Your daughter is well. I saw her an hour before now.”
“An hour! But my daughter is three days' – nay, five days' – ride hence! That isn't possible.”The duke subtly beckoned his guard. Francis was in dire danger here. He realized that now, just as he realized that perhaps for some strange reason the duke and his brother were both trying to kill Claudine. He looked round wildly.
“Claudine is not at your brother's estate,” Francis said. He decided to take a risk in trusting this man who was Claudine's father. “Nor is she falling ill. She is healthy and well and in Pavot now.”
He saw Lucas smile grimly.
“The man's either a dangerous madman or a liar. Or raving! How can you believe him? Where is she, then?”
Francis felt in real danger as the duke's eyes narrowed.
“My brother speaks true,” he said thinly. “Why would my daughter come to Pavot? Why would she stay in the town, without coming in to see her father? I've not seen her these last two years! If she is here, as you say, why did she not visit me?”
He sounded sad, more than angry, and Francis felt his own heart twist painfully in his chest.
She didn't come because she believes you hate her, he wanted to shout.
“Indeed!” Uncle Lucas said. “Why would she refuse to see her own father, eh? Tell us that, you scoundrel. And no lies.”
“Yes,” the duke said, rounding on him. “Tell me, my lord, why my daughter would avoid her father?”
As the men ran forward and snatched Francis' arms, he heard the two noblemen gasp.
He looked at their faces in confusion but they were not looking at him.
Adventures of a Highlander Page 57