Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(13)

“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...

As they both moved closer, Claudine felt herself suddenly stiffen. It would be absolutely scandalous if they kissed here in the hall, with all eyes upon them!

She flushed and leaned hastily backward. She had seen ladies kissing young men before – discreetly, in the corners of the hall where no one could really see, or at least where everyone pretended not to. She had never thought of doing it herself before.

“Are you ready to go?” Francis asked.

Claudine swallowed, unable to get a word out. She nodded. “Yes.”

Francis stood first and Claudine pushed her chair back, feeling a vague unease inside her. What would her uncle think? She frowned.

Why was she nervous?

Uncle always says I should make more effort to be like other people, to be likable. Why should I make him anything other than pleased if I do this?

“Heading off early?” her uncle asked as she got up.

“Uh, yes, Uncle,” Claudine stammered. She looked round at Francis, who frowned.

“Apologies, sir. I trust it is not unsuitable to escort your niece to the ramparts?”

All the people at the table looked at the count of Corron. He directed a neutral smile at Francis.

“Of course it's not unsuitable, young man. I think there is nowhere in France it would be so.”

Someone at the table laughed and Francis colored.

Claudine drew in a breath. The man was quick! In two sentences he had managed to make Francis look like a bumbling foreigner. At the same time, he'd done it while seeming perfectly reasonable and polite.

Francis looked puzzled, and Claudine found the words on her lips before she had thought much.

“Uncle, I'm sure Lord Francis is aware of that. He was merely exercising the courtesy that's necessary within these walls.”

Claudine smiled sweetly but the barb was unmistakable. You are being ruder than you have to be, she was saying. I noticed.

“Of course, Niece,” her uncle smiled. He seemed to subside, content with that explanation and Francis turned as Claudine walked slowly out.

They walked into the hallway. When they were there, Francis turned to face her.

“I'm sorry about that,” he whispered. “Is your uncle...?”

Claudine interrupted softly. “I don't know why Uncle is being so strange. He's not usually like this.”

Francis frowned. “I hope it isn't aught I've done?”

Claudine shook her head quickly, feeling at once tenderness for Francis and a worry that it was, in fact, that way.

“It cannot be that,” she said with false sureness. “I don't imagine anyone would find anything to object to in you.”

Francis blushed. “Really? I mean, thank you, milady.”

Claudine smiled at him with very real warmth. “Lord Francis, you're acceptable. More than acceptable.”

She was surprised to see Francis blush. She herself felt a flush creep into her cheeks, amazed with her own boldness.

“Thank you,” Francis said shyly. Claudine swallowed hard. She was twenty years of age – most of the ladies of her acquaintance had found husbands by now – but she had little knowledge of talking with a man her age, never mind anything else.

Yet she felt as if she could really speak to Francis, say what was on her mind. “Of course,” she said with a shy grin. “Now. Shall we inspect the ramparts?”