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

by Emilia Ferguson

  “They said they needed the room for those horses there, sir,” he said, indicating three horses that seemed to have been brought in by a hunt-group. “I told them not jolly likely they didn't. Not till later.”

  “Ah,” Fraser said. He smiled. “Much as it pains me to say it, thank you, Hugo. We'll move on in a quarter hour in any case. If you have eaten, we can move on now?”

  Hugo grinned. “Yes, milord.”

  Fraser frowned. He wasn't sure which question that answered, but decided to assume it was the answer to both questions. “Right,” he said. “I'll settle our dues, then. Fetch the horses. And tell these fellows they’ll have their stable back in ten minutes,” he added, glancing at the stable hands.

  “Thank you, milord,” one of them said.

  Fraser nodded coolly and went back inside. He found his table and sat down again. He noticed what he presumed to be the party whose horses had almost misplaced his. They were three men clad in dark tunics and he assumed them to be verderers – woodsmen – working on the local estates. Evreux, maybe.

  He was interested in anyone coming from there, now that he knew her. He sat forward, half-closed his eyes, and pretended to be sleeping while he listened intently to their words.

  “And we should move on tomorrow.”

  “No, wait,” one of them said. “He'll want more information.”

  “Ha,” the third man replied. “We've got enough. What more?”

  Information? Fraser felt his brow wrinkle and made an effort to smooth it. He didn't want to look as though he listened.

  “You know enough to do anything with?”

  “No,” the third man admitted. He sounded affronted. “But that depends on what you want to do.”

  The first man shook his head. “We're in up to our heads as it is. We should stop now. Go back.”

  “Why stop when we're in it now? We'll end this.”

  The third man nodded slowly. He didn't look particularly pleased, Fraser noted.

  “Well, fine, we have to now.”

  “Exactly.”

  What were they talking about? Information? In what? What would they end?

  “She'll guess soon.”

  That made Fraser stare. She? Surely they couldn't mean…?

  “How's that possible, Jules?” one of the men asked.

  “I dunno,” the first man shrugged.

  “I think someone'll find us out,” the man called Jules said. “Small staff, few people? We'll stick out.”

  That tuned Fraser's thoughts. There was only one person he knew with a small staff. That was her.

  “You think so?” the third man said again. “I doubt it.”

  “Well, we'll just see,” the first man said stubbornly. “In the meanwhile, we should go. We've seen enough.”

  The men all grunted assent. Fraser decided he'd better pay the innkeeper and move on before Hugo decided to come and find him. He didn't want to draw undue attention. Standing, yet still giving the three dark-cloaked men a hard look, he headed to the front counter to pay.

  “Have a safe journey, milord,” the innkeeper said as he stood and headed out. He'd tipped generously and the man was trying not to look too excited. Fraser thanked him quietly and left.

  “Right, Hugo,” he said to his squire. “Let's go on.”

  “Where are we going, sir?” Hugo asked.

  Fraser sighed. “Annecy, Hugo. I should have mentioned it earlier. I'm fairly sure I did. In any case.”

  “There by sundown, eh?”

  “I should hope so,” Fraser nodded briefly. Even here, he had heard tales of outlaws and thieves in the woodlands. He wondered, briefly, if those men had been three such.

  No. They were too well-dressed for that.

  Well-dressed, well-horsed and at a public inn. Not outlaws, then, nor thieves.

  However, something about them did suggest that they were up to no good.

  The thought went round in his head, disturbing him mildly. The words they’d used had captured his attention. Information. She. Staff.

  The men were clearly woodsmen – they were wearing some sort of uniform or livery – but why would they then be “blending in” with someone's staff?

  The men were spies, clearly. They were blending in, gathering information. Seeing something through to an end.

  “They're spying on her.”

  Fraser realized with no small irritation that he'd said this aloud when Hugo looked up.

  “Nothing, Hugo,” he added grimly, to forestall the man's unstoppable questioning. “Let's go.”

  “We'll be there by nightfall, sir,” he said cheerily.

  “I do hope so,” Fraser replied with a touch of asperity.

  “Sure we will, sir,” Hugo commented. “Look there.”

  Fraser strained his eyes to the horizon, looking in the direction Hugo indicated. The hills were golden under a turquoise sky, the pine trees dark sentinels. Moreover, there, on the horizon, was a house. Annecy.

  “You're right, Hugo,” he said grimly. Admitting the man was right was always like losing a battle to him.

  “Thanks, sir,” Hugo grinned tranquilly.

  Fraser clenched his jaw, ignored Hugo's smug smile, and rode steadily ahead.

  They still had a mile or two before nightfall. He was surprisingly weary, though he had spent only a few hours in the saddle. It would be good to get there, and good to see his old friend Francis again. And his lovely wife, Claudine. Yes, it seemed this trip was worth it after all.

  For many reasons.

  Or one particular, dark-eyed, copper-brown haired reason who would not let him rest.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  VISITORS FROM AFAR

  VISITORS FROM AFAR

  Bernadette sat at supper in the upstairs room, alone. She looked out over the fields beyond the window.

  Strange, how my thoughts wander to him.

  She couldn't help it. It was as if, now that she had met Fraser Moreau, she couldn't get him out of her head. She recalled every little thing about him, from the lift of his brow to the quirked smile.

  “Stop it, Bernadette,” she chastised herself. She felt her cheeks redden. She was thinking about him in ways that were unseemly for someone who had no real interest in taking on a partner.

  I have never managed or governed anything alone before. I want to have my own rein in this place.

  It was her home. Her estate to manage. She didn't like the thought of anyone trying to budge her out of it or dominate the space. Marriage was absolutely the last thing on her mind.

  “And so the rest must be too.”

  “Milady?” Jean, one of the maids who oversaw the household affairs, had appeared behind her with a tray. Bernadette sighed.

  “Nothing, Jeanne. I'm finished here. It was delicious,” she added as the maid lifted her plate. It had been: a cassoulet made with fresh beans from the estate gardens. She smiled up at Jeanne, whose aunt was the chef.

  “Thank you, milady,” Jeanne replied. “I'll be sure to tell Auntie.”

  “Good.”

  When she had gone, Bernadette sat alone with a glass of cordial between her hands. She looked out over the fields and considered all that had happened.

  Here I am, in this place, with my own estate. Whatever the prompting of my body, I would not wish to change that fact.

  She felt her face flush. Her body certainly prompted her in the direction of this man. She recalled the way his lips had pressed on hers and felt her face go red. Her body filled with heat.

  He had the most beautiful physique she had ever encountered – muscles stiff and strong when she stroked her hands down his body, his arms powerful where they crushed her to him. And that face.

  I shouldn't let my imagination run away.

  She sighed and drained the glass of cordial she held, and stood, heading down the stairs. She would sit and sew until it was too dark to see, and then go to bed.

  “Evening, milady,” Matthias, her footman, called out to her.

&
nbsp; “Good evening, Matthias.” She nodded. “All well?”

  “Indeed, yes.”

  “Good.”

  Bernadette headed to the turret room, where she sat to sew. She employed five people in the household, a cut by half to the staff who had been here. The ones she had removed worked on the estate farms now, so she had done them no harm. She had Jeanne, her aunt who worked in the bake-house, Amelia, her steward and one footman.

  I trust them all absolutely.

  It was a good feeling, especially now that her peace here had been disturbed.

  She threaded the needle and sought the peace inside herself. She soon found it and settled down to work. She was absorbed in her tapestry when she heard someone at the door.

  “Milady?”

  She looked up to see the footman there again. “Yes?” she asked. She had been lost in thought, thinking about Claudine and the possibility of visiting her.

  “I was asked to alert you to some visitors downstairs, milady.”

  “Visitors?” Bernadette set aside her work and stood, feeling her heart give a jolt. “Where? What sort?”

  “Three men, milady. Woodsmen. Of course, I know I shouldn't mention such trivial incursions in the kitchen, but Cook said to tell you.”

  “Thank you, Matthias,” Bernadette nodded. “And thank her for her loyalty too.”

  He bowed deeply. “I will, milady.”

  When he had gone, Bernadette stood watching the field beyond the window. What woodsmen would those be? She employed perhaps fifteen on the estate, but if they were any of those men, why would Cook seek to inform her? It wasn't as if she had to know, after all.

  “I wonder.”

  Instinct told her to go and find out. She decided to put on a cloak and head down to the kitchen in disguise. It would be strange to appear there when, in truth, it was servants' business instead of her own, but she needed to know.

  She paused in the doorway, the firelight flickering on the walls. She could hear voices within the kitchen, and something about the tone made her heart thump alarmingly.

  “...We should go. No news here.”

  “Wait. You never know. Listen.”

  “I agree. But we don't want to focus any attention...”

  “We'll go tomorrow. We should stay tonight. We still don't know enough.”

  They were talking with the accents of the North, and Bernadette was fairly sure that the staff was having trouble understanding them. From time visiting her uncle's estates near Burgundy, she’d heard enough of the dialect to get by in understanding them. They were here seeking information.

  Her heart thumped. What information?

  “Come on, let's go. The cook said we could sleep in the stables. I suggest we do that.”

  “I don't like this.”

  “Stop being so twitchy.”

  Bernadette listened while the men argued, and then thanked the cook in their flowing dialect and headed out into the night.

  She stayed where she was, leaning against the wall in the dark, flame-lit corridor, the shadows dancing fitfully as the fire in the kitchen flickered with the draft, then stilled.

  She needed to find out what was going on.

  Bernadette felt deeply uncomfortable. She headed quickly back upstairs, not wanting her servants to know she'd been spying. They'd think she was being a bit strange: she thought she was being a bit strange.

  But one cannot be overly careful.

  Upstairs, she sat down in the solar. The fire burned low in the grate and it was dark in there. It was a good place to sit and think. She leaned back and thought.

  If I hadn't just had a visitor, I wouldn't be so worried.

  Would it be Lord Moreau? Why would he have sent spies into her household? And verderers, spying in the kitchens, questioning her servants, no doubt.

  She shook her head. It all seemed too odd. She restrained the impulse to go and head down to the stables herself. If they caught her listening, who knew what might happen? No. There was little to be served from listening to their discussion now. She knew they were here seeking information and, right now, that was all she need know.

  The more she thought about it, the more worried she became. They were clearly assessing the way she ran things here on the estate. She was vulnerable, she knew that. With only five permanent staff and five house-guards, there was no real source of protection. Her kitchen was open to whoever had need of meals and succor, and she liked it that way.

  Now she felt unsafe.

  An idea occurred to her. With more people in the household, she would probably weather whatever storms were coming. She imagined people trying to enter the house, steal whatever valuables they could lay hands on. Admittedly, if they were here gathering information, then someone had hired them. In addition, if someone could afford to hire three men to snoop, they probably didn't need to steal the one or two jewels and one brass fireguard she owned.

  “Well, whatever the case. I am getting prepared. Matthias?” She stuck her head out and called into the hallway.

  One of her guards, Hugh, appeared. “Milady?”

  “Ah. Hugh. Find Matthias, please? I need a message delivered.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  When Matthias arrived, she gave him instructions. “Go to my steward and ask him to write a note, inviting Lady Claudine and her family to stay. I intend for them to visit for a week. They can expect some entertainment – a ball or party – while here.”

  “Yes, milady,” Matthias nodded. If he was surprised – she did not entertain without any occasion, at least not usually – he didn't show it. “For when, milady, please?”

  “Deliver it tomorrow.”

  He looked even more surprised, but nodded. “Yes, milady. Very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  When he had gone, she went to the window. Outside, the sun was almost set, a glow of red on a black horizon. She felt nervous, but slightly better now that she had set her own plans in place.

  With a house full of people, it was unlikely that burglars or any other kind of mischief-raisers would strike.

  Besides, it was a fine excuse to see Claudine and her adorable baby. It would be good to have a house full of guests. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea.

  “I wonder if I should extend the invitation.”

  She felt her lips lift with a smile. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to invite the count of Remy also.

  But he was likely long gone.

  No, the guests for the ball would be her friends, and the deTreacy's from the neighboring estate, and perhaps the la Prete family from further north. She was not planning a large-scale pageant. Just a small evening's entertainment.

  With those pleasant thoughts on her mind, Bernadette allowed the worries from earlier to cease distressing her.

  She headed upstairs to her bedchamber to rest.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TIME WITH FRIENDS

  TIME WITH FRIENDS

  The fields outside the window were the sweet, yellowed color of late summer. The count of Remy stood at the window and surveyed them. He heard someone stir at the table and turned to smile at the wife of his friend.

  “You're planning a ride?” he asked her, noting that she was also staring out of the window wistfully.

  She smiled. This close, Fraser couldn't help but be struck by her beauty. With that lovely pale hair and wide blue eyes, her smile sparkling and sweet, she was stunning.

  Not really my sort, though. His own heart had already been set on someone else.

  “No,” she said, interrupting his thoughts again. Everything about her was languid and peaceful, even her voice. “I should stay and walk with Nicolene. I promised her I'd take her round the gardens.”

  Fraser smiled fondly. “She's growing so fast.”

  “She is!” Claudine nodded. “I am always amazed by her rapid learning.”

  Fraser chuckled. “Indeed. Francis says she learns new things daily.”

  Claud
ine nodded, her soft face flushed with pride. “She does indeed. She's a very clever girl.”

  “She comes from a clever family,” Fraser reminded.

  Claudine laughed. “I'll tell Francis.”

  Fraser made a shocked face. “No! Don't do that...he'll know what I really think of him then.”

  They both laughed. There was a constant banter between the two men – both respected the other immensely, but Fraser was always teasing Francis and he teased in return. They’d disparaged each other on the practice ground as youths and now they joked with each other as adults.

  “I'll be sure to tell him,” Claudine teased, eyes sparkling.

  Fraser hung his head. “I'm resigned to it.”

  They were still laughing when Francis arrived. “Ah! Fraser. Off riding?”

  Fraser looked up at his friend. Rugged and with a cheerful face, discovering Francis had made him more accepting of his own dual identity. “I hope so,” he said. “Will you join me?”

  “Alas, no.” Francis shook his head. The red hair that marked him as different – a Scotsman, not wholly French noble – glowed in the sunshine. “I've the accounts to see to later.”

  “Won't Yves do it?” Claudine asked. Yves was the steward and oversaw their household. Fraser remembered him vaguely.

  Francis grinned, his rugged, handsome face lit from within. “You know what he'd say.”

  “He'd say he's busy enough keeping track of all the cottagers and their yearly fees to come and look now.”

  Yves himself grumbled it as he came in with a footman to oversee the collection of plates after breakfast.

  Fraser raised a brow, stiffening. If any of his employees had spoken out like that, he would have been sure to speak against it. However, here, as at Evreux, it seemed such banter was encouraged. Francis just smiled.

  “I know you would,” he teased. “And I'd rather we did it together, anyhow.”

  “Don't trust me, eh?” the old man said sourly.

  “You know I trust you,” Francis countered. “I just like to know these things for myself.”