Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(11)

“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 all 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.