Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(15)

Francis kissed her longer, his hands on her shoulders, drawing her against him. Then abruptly he moved away.

“Claudine. I...I'm sorry.”

Claudine looked up, lips parted, eyes wide with surprise. “I...”

She couldn't think what to say. Her whole body was tingling with excitement and the sweetness of his touch on her body stayed with her, even as he withdrew.

“I shouldn't...” he began.

“Nor should I,” Claudine said.

She looked into his eyes and smiled. They were both grinning though Claudine wasn't sure why. She could feel a slow joy building up in her heart and making her want to sing, so happy did she feel.

Francis was smiling.

“I am sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “But also I am not. My lady, I'm overwhelmed.”

Claudine giggled. Her throat was tight with feeling. “Me too,” she whispered quietly.

They looked at each other again. Claudine felt as if she was drowning in those warm, friendly eyes, warm as a summer pool. She blushed.

“I suppose we should return,” she said, indicating the door behind her.

“Yes,” Francis whispered. “We should.”

Claudine felt her throat tighten at the urgency in his voice. Evidently he wanted, as did she, to stay here and do that again. She knew it wasn't seemly, though. If someone saw her she would have to explain to her uncle, who would be horrified.

Kissing at a ball was all very well – people would excuse it – but in daylight on the ramparts was highly reprehensible.

She wanted to laugh, then – she, Claudine Poitiers, had kissed a man on the ramparts. In broad daylight. She would certainly, she thought, looking at him wondering, do it again as well.

She walked in briskly through the door into the turret room, determined to save her reputation as far as she could.

Francis followed her in. He brushed against her as she paused, catching her breath, and she felt her body respond to the closeness again.

Her mind was still focused on the sweet sensation of closeness and intimacy. She turned round to face Francis and he smiled a little breathlessly.

“We should return to the hall?” he asked.

“We should.” She replied gravely, feeling her heart suddenly thump quite apprehensively. What would her uncle say about her long absence on the ramparts? She felt as if anyone, seeing them together, would guess.

She felt a mix of shyness and joy in that. The fact that she had flouted protocol, and with this man, made her feel shyly proud.

What would the other ladies think?

She felt a smile stretch her lips as she walked with Francis. Foreign he might look, but she had noticed already how the ladies' eyes lingered on him – even that night at the ball she had caught sight of more than one glance.

They would be surprised.

A sentry smiled at her and saluted as they went past. “Milady. Milord.”

Claudine smiled dazzlingly. “Good morning, Clement.” She recognized the man – he had helped her to her chamber once or twice when she needed extra support to lean on.

“Milady.” He beamed. Claudine saw his eyes rove toward Francis and felt her cheeks flush with pride and shyness.

Yes, she wanted to say aloud. This is Lord Francis, heir to a count. And he just kissed me.

She grinned, managing, just, to hold back the words that made her want to laugh with joy.

“I should go,” Francis said awkwardly when they reached the bottom of the steps together. “I need to take my petition to the great audience chamber.”

“Yes,” Claudine said softly. She didn't want him to go.

Francis smiled. Slowly, he leaned in towards her. Claudine felt her whole body respond as he reached out and took her wrist. Her heart sang as those lips, soft and satin-like, touched the back of her hand. His eyes looked into hers, gentle and warm.

“Until tomorrow, then, milady,” he murmured, straightening up.

“Yes, milord,” Claudine said in a small voice.

His hand slowly left hers and she felt the touch of it even as he turned and walked lightly and quickly away. She watched him until his tall, broad frame blended into shadow at the corridor's end.





CHAPTER FIVE





CONSIDERATION AND QUESTIONING





CONSIDERATION AND QUESTIONING





Claudine walked softly into the hall. Her uncle had gone, along with most of the noble guests. She felt a sudden flood of relief sweep through her.

At least if he's gone he won't guess what happened with me and Francis.

She knew uncle was terrifyingly perceptive. The closeness between she and Francis was not going to go undetected. Or unremarked on.

Strange. Why does that make me feel scared?

Claudine crossed the hallway slowly, heading up to the stairs that led to the western wing and her bedchamber. When she got there, she slipped in and closed the door behind her, calling Bernadette.

“My lady?”

Claudine smiled as the familiar heart-shaped face appeared around the edge of the partition. “There you are,” she said softly. “I was hoping you'd be in.”

Bernadette nodded. “Indeed I am. Can I help you, mistress?”

“I don't know,” Claudine said frankly. Bernadette frowned.