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

by Emilia Ferguson

  It is her! The girl from the balcony! The one he had noticed yesterday. She was sitting beside him, dressed in a pink gown, that beautiful golden hair a mass of soft, reflective curls about her face.

  “Sorry, sir,” she said. “I was just wondering if you had seen my uncle?”

  Francis opened his mouth. “Your uncle?” he asked, realizing he wouldn't know if he had or not.

  “Yes. Only...he usually sits in that place.”

  “Oh!” Francis blushed red. “I'm so sorry...I...I just can't get anything right here, can I?” He smiled sadly. He half stood up.

  “No, stay,” she said. She gave him a smile. Her blue eyes were sad. “I feel like that too, sometimes,” she said lightly.

  “You do?” Francis was surprised.

  She looked at her hands. She seemed embarrassed about something. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Why?” Francis blurted. “I mean,” he added quickly, “why would someone like you feel like that? You seem like you fit in here – or at least, if you stand out, it's a good way.”

  Francis had the pleasure of seeing the girl blush. She went a sweet, soft shade of pink, the color of the rose petals that decorated the table. Francis stared, feeling sweet warmth suffuse him, too, only this warmth was inside, making him feel suddenly happy. She was so beautiful, from the tapered ends of her fingers to the soft sheen of her skin. The sweet smile on those pink, moist lips made his whole body tingle with desire.

  “Thank you, sir,” she murmured. “I...” she sighed. “I'm not like everyone else. I can't walk very well, you see. Or dance.” Her sweet mouth turned down into a hard, sad line.

  “Oh!” Francis was surprised. He felt his jaw drop and then closed his mouth. Poor girl! “I see. That's...that must be hard.”

  She was still looking at her hands. She looked up shyly. “I am used to it,” she said, with that same twist of bitterness in her voice. That resignation. It struck a chord in his own heart: a similar tone was something he might have used when discussing his own family.

  “It must make it difficult to come to...such things,” Francis said, not sure what else to say.

  She chuckled. “Not really. I just sit and watch the others dance. Not hard at all.” She said it lightly though Francis could hear the bitterness in her tone. It saddened her, he could tell, not to be able to walk and run and dance like the rest of them. He noticed how sad she looked and felt a need to reach out to her.

  “I'm so sorry to hear that,” he said gently.

  His hands touched hers before he'd thought about it. He jumped and withdrew them instantly, but the contact had been made. Smooth and soft, with skin like satin, Francis drew in a sharp breath and wished he could keep holding them. She was so lovely!

  She smiled. Her hands moved back too, but it seemed with the same slow reluctance as his own. He shook his head.

  “I'm sorry, milady. I have no matters.” he grinned lopsidedly.

  She shook her head. “No, sir. You have manners. More than those who pretend to feel sorry for me and then whisper behind their hands.”

  Her voice was harsh and cold. Francis felt his own heart clench with empathy for her. How could anyone treat such a gentle, beautiful girl in that way? It filled him with anger.

  “My lady,” he said gently. “There are some savage people out there. They might be all genteel on the outside, but inside they're full of bitterness and violence.”

  The girl's blue eyes looked up into his face. Francis felt his heart melt as she stared at him in wonder.

  “You think that?”

  “I know that,” Francis said boldly. “Fancy someone saying aught against you? You're ...lovely.”

  She stared at him, those moist lips parted in a sweet expression of surprise.

  Francis bit his lip, blushing bright red. “Sorry, milady,” he said quickly. “I spoke out of turn. Forgive me?”

  The lady – he still didn't know her name, he realized shyly, shook her head. “Nothing to forgive,” she said softly. “And...Thank you.”

  Francis stared into her blue eyes and felt a curious sensation, as if he was at once rooted to the spot and falling, tumbling and spiraling into those soft spring-sky depths.

  “No,” he murmured, voice ragged with feeling. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  Their eyes locked. They were still looking at each other when someone cleared their throat behind them.

  “Excuse me,” a man's low, cultured voice said melodiously, making Francis jump with some surprise. The lady looked up, hands flying up to her face in shock.

  “Uncle! Oh, forgive me. I...If you could take the place across from me?” she said.

  “Well, this is irregular,” her uncle said, frowning. Francis studied him quickly, taking in a compact, handsome man in mid-forties. “But yes, of course I shall,” he said, smiling quite gracefully.

  Francis felt embarrassed and half-stood, not wanting to cause a scene, but the older Frenchman waved him to his seat politely.

  “No, young man. You were there before me. No reason for me not to move elsewhere.”

  “I'm sorry,” Francis murmured, but he only laughed.

  “I'm not fixed to the floor, I can move as well as any man,” he said lightly.

  Francis saw a look of pain cross the young lady's face and realized the words must have hurt her. He felt an instant wariness against this uncle of hers, polite and affable though he seemed.

  “My lord,” the young lady said, her cheeks red again, “do let me present my uncle, the Count of Corron.”

  “My lord,” Francis said, nodding coolly to the man.

  “Pleased to meet you, young sir,” her uncle said affably.

  “Oh! Yes. I'm Francis, son of the count of Annecy,” Francis said quickly. He saw the young lady's eyes widen in surprise and realized they hadn't got round to introducing each other. He had no idea what her name might be. Oddly it didn't matter – it felt as if he had known her always, names not important between them.

  “Ah. Annecy, eh? Not that far from Calais?”

  “Just three days' ride,” Francis filled him in.

  “A small holding. Ample enough, though, I would imagine?”

  Francis swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  “And such interesting coloring! I think we have a Scotsman in our midst, eh?”

  Francis felt his heart go through the floor. Did the man have to point that out so explicitly to the young woman?

  “Oh!” she looked interested. “That's far away.”

  “Yes,” Francis nodded. He was pleased – she hadn't been as some young ladies were, giggling with surprise and acting all of a sudden as if he were a barbarian from a distant world.

  “You must feel lonely here,” she said.

  Francis blinked. “Well, my father the count is here,” he said. “And my mother. But yes. Yes, I do.”

  “I can imagine,” she said quietly.

  Again, their eyes met. Francis felt as if he was meeting someone who truly understood him. They were quite similar, though they could not have been more different.

  He felt he needed to say something, but didn't know what to say. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. It was all that came to mind.

  She blushed.

  Later, as the dinner was served and the volume of the conversation grew louder, Francis and the lady talked less, content just to steal glances at each other.

  Francis watched her delicately sampling a baked apple, wincing with pleasure as he watched her lips slide over the silver spoon. She was so lovely.

  “Mm,” she said. He felt his poor loins ache and desperately sought to distract himself, watching the servitors enter and leave the hall. Whist but she was lovely as a spring day.

  “You are staying in the capital long, sir?” her uncle asked politely, distracting Francis from the sweet sight of his niece eating her dessert.

  “Uh, a week, sir,” he responded.

  “Ah. Well, there's plenty to see. You won't have time to see it al
l even with one week,” he said lightly.

  “I believe it, sir,” Francis nodded. He had seen the construction of the great Cathedral on the east bank of the river Seine, and the magnificent vision and scope of that and the city itself was stunning. “I think I will never see the whole of this city.”

  The older man laughed. “That's the spirit. Know what you cannot do; what no man can have.”

  Francis smiled and nodded, but as he sipped his drink and considered it, the comment struck him as rather odd. Is he trying to say his niece is for no man? He shook his head. Why would he? Stop thinking too much, Francis.

  “I hope you will enjoy your time here, Lord Francis,” the girl said softly.

  “I am sure I will,” Francis agreed.

  He spent the rest of the evening watching her, feeling as if he had entered some strange paradise hitherto unimagined. It was only when he left the ball, hours later, and walked, dazed and happy, to his chambers, that he realized he still did not know her name.

  I know she is the niece of the count of Corron, though. Which is more than I did yesterday.

  The other thing he knew even more certainly was that he was going to find out more of who she was. He had to know.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MEMORIES AND PLANS

  MEMORIES AND PLANS

  Claudine sat up in bed the next morning feeling a soft happiness she could not remember feeling before.

  Francis.

  The name came to her mind the moment she awoke and she lay there a while, savoring her memories of the conversation the night before. In all her twenty years of life, Claudine could not remember having met someone with whom she had so much in common. Who seemed to her to be someone like herself. Someone who truly understood her.

  She giggled and then sighed. He had been so friendly the night before, but who knew if he would be again? She should not set such store by one conversation. Even so...

  This morning, Claudine refused to be upset. She sat up, smiling, and called her maid.

  “Bernadette?”

  “Milady!” the woman appeared almost immediately.

  “I think I will breakfast downstairs in the hall today. If you could help me dress?”

  “Of course, my lady. Which gown?”

  “The pink, please, Bernadette.”

  Bernadette smiled. “Very good, milady.”

  Claudine blushed softly. She was surprised at herself – the pink gown was one that suited her very well, bringing out the delicate color of her skin. She knew she had chosen it because the gentleman from the ball might be down at breakfast.

  Silly me! Still, she couldn't help it. She refused to let her spirits be quelled this morning. She sat up in bed and let Bernadette help her across the room.

  “There you are, milady...”

  Claudine looked in the mirror as Bernadette finished. She put her head on one side, eyeing the reflected image with reserved approval. Neither tall nor short, with a sweet hourglass waist and full, high breasts, the girl in the mirror was delicate, soft, and lovely. Combined with big blue eyes and a rosebud of a mouth just a little darker than the gown, the reflected girl was pretty and delicate. Was she pretty enough though? Claudine felt a stab of nerves for the first time. She let Bernadette finish her hair and then turned toward her nervously.

  “You look beautiful, milady,” Bernadette assured her, though Claudine hadn't asked her for assurance.

  She smiled at her maid and took a little turn in front of the mirror. Then she headed downstairs slowly. She was leaning on the hand rail for support, taking her time, listening to the voices below where they drifted up from the hallway outside the great hall.

  “And of course we will have to see if the road has been cleared up to that part of the forest...” she heard a man saying. She recognized that voice. It was her uncle.

  She felt her fingers fidget with her sleeves and wondered why she felt a little nervous of seeing Uncle Lucas this morning.

  He seemed a bit disapproving of my manners last night. I suppose I was out of turn with Lord Francis.

  She quelled her nerves and headed down the stairs. Walking slowly, wishing she could use the cane she sometimes used – she never used it in public – she tiptoed across the hallway, heading for the arched entrance to the great hall.

  “Niece!” her uncle called out, catching sight of her. “A pleasure to see you. I trust you slept well? No aches of the joints or back?”

  Claudine shook her head. At that moment, she wished he wouldn't remind her of her debility. Sometimes she preferred to forget about it. “No, Uncle,” she said softly. “I slept very well.”

  “Good,” he said with a gentle smile. “That's good. I was just about to go in for some breakfast.”

  “Yes, me too,” Claudine said lightly. She slipped in at the back of her uncle's group and followed them in.

  The hall was full of guests. The palace had two halls – one where the resident nobles ate, and another where the knights and men-at-arms would take their meals. The royal family themselves usually dined in the solar alone unless it was a formal occasion. Claudine followed her uncle to a seat at one of the tables, sitting down demurely.

  “Ah, Lady Claudine,” one of her uncle's acquaintances, a brown-haired man of around uncle's age with startling blue eyes, said. “I trust you slept well after retiring from the ball. Myself I didn't...over at the eastern wing you hear all the din from in the courtyard...terrible.”

  Claudine smiled at him. The count of Arras, he was from the Northern part of the kingdom and a good friend – forthright and open. “I can imagine, sir,” she commented.

  “I wish I could have!” he laughed, reaching for a slice of cheese from a central platter. “I would have asked for a room on the western side, then.”

  Claudine giggled. “I'm sorry to hear it.”

  “So was I.”

  Claudine noted her uncle look over in their direction with a mild look of approval. She felt relieved until she saw his eyes narrow slightly. She frowned.

  What bothered him?

  A moment later, she heard a low, familiar voice in her ear. “My lady? Is this place open for use?”

  “Oh!” Claudine turned round abruptly. She felt color flood her cheeks as she realized who it was. The man from the ball. “Of course,” she murmured.

  “Thank you,” he said and slipped into the seat beside her. He was about four places down the table from her uncle, who sat opposite, but she noted him look at Francis and give him a cold stare. She frowned. Why?

  Then Francis turned to face her and she forgot about her uncle suddenly.

  “You also rise early, it seems?” he asked.

  Claudine nodded shyly. “Yes, I do. The mornings are so beautiful here.”

  “Yes,” Francis agreed. “I saw the sunrise from my window...so beautiful.”

  “Indeed yes,” Claudine murmured. “Though I am in the western side of the castle, so don't see it directly.”

  “Oh.” Francis frowned. “A pity that.”

  “Not really,” Claudine giggled. “My lord the count of Arras tells me it was very noisy there.”

  Francis blinked. “Not very,” he demurred. “Though yes, there were some rowdy folk out there. I think some men-at-arms had a little too much ale.”

  “Oh.” Claudine smiled. “I can imagine there was quite some noise.”

  “There was.”

  She smiled at him and he smiled back. She blushed. With those full lips and that high brow above a long, elegant nose, he was so handsome! Combined with the red hair and green eyes, he was enchanting to her. She could sit and look at him all day! She realized she was staring and tore her gaze to her hands. When she looked up again, her uncle was frowning at them.

  There it is again, that disapproval! Why would he be so? He should be glad I'm talking to someone, since he always tells me I have an awkward way with people.

  “My lady?” Francis was asking. She looked into his honest green eyes.

  �
�Yes, sir?”

  “Forgive me but I wished to be introduced?”

  “Oh!” Claudine felt her cheeks color and raised her hands, shyly. “It slipped my mind! Forgive me. I am Lady Claudine, daughter of the Duc du Pavot.”

  “Oh.” Was it her imagination, or did Francis' eyes widen, almost as if he were afraid? She shook her head. She was a duke's daughter, he a count's son. Yes, their status might not be identical – on the strict roster of etiquette she ranked a little higher than he – but why did it matter?

  It's not as if anyone would want to wed me, is it? Uncle had said that so often. That it'll be difficult to find a husband who would take on a woman so frail. She didn't even know if she could bear a child in her present condition.

  “My lady?” Francis said, interrupting her thoughts for a second time.

  “Yes?”

  “I asked if you would like to take a turn about the ramparts later?”

  Claudine looked at her hands, considering her response. She found walking even a short distance exhausting, often. Especially without the aid of a walking stick. However, she could not miss an opportunity to walk with Francis.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I would like that.”

  Francis looked astonished, his pale brows moving up toward that striking red hair. “Oh? I mean, thank you, my lady. I'm honored.”

  Claudine smiled, feeling a slow delight spread through her. She looked up into his eyes.

  “I would be pleased to talk awhile,” she said.

  “Good.”

  Their gaze held and, under the table, Claudine became aware of a warm leg close to her own. She drew in a breath as his knee bumped hers gently and then withdrew. She felt a blush flood her face. Her heart was thumping hard in her chest.

  She glanced sideways at Francis and he looked back at her. She swallowed as she saw the intensity of the expression in his eyes. It made her feel things deep inside her body – things that she had never felt before and her rational mind didn't understand. Her body seemed to know precisely what they were, astonishingly enough. It throbbed and wanted to lean closer to him...