Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(17)

“Yes,” Claudine nodded. She would take her sewing out. It was a good decision, since it meant that she could be seated on the terrace. It was a prospect that didn't require her to be able to walk far, or to dance or ride. One of the few opportunities for socializing available now.

“Well, then,” Bernadette said. “Should we head there after luncheon?”

Claudine felt her cheeks grow pink.

“Yes, please,” she murmured.

True to her word, Bernadette accompanied Claudine to the terrace after luncheon. Claudine sat on a stone bench, overlooking the courtyard below, her tapestry on her knee, trying to focus on her stitching. It was sunny outside, the light reflecting brightly on the fabric, making it hard to see.

“Milady?”

Claudine turned. Bernadette was looking down into the courtyard with a raised brow. Claudine stood and walked to the edge of the terrace, each step a trial in the midday sun. She stood leaning on the rail, head swaying a little with weariness, and looked down.

There in the middle of the courtyard was Francis.

She felt a tingle of delight go through her. Tall and upright, with his back straight and regally poised, he was wearing a tunic that hung off his heavily-muscled shoulders, and his hair shone in the sunshine as he practiced moves of sword fighting alone.

Claudine looked at Bernadette.

“Yes, that's him,” she whispered. “How did you guess?”

“He is a foreigner, clearly,” Bernadette said slowly. Claudine felt a momentary impatience at that – poor Francis, he had to face that all the time! – but she saw the serious expression with which Bernadette faced her now and knew she had meant no harm by that statement.

“Yes,” she said, wishing to think of something else to say to counter the rude statement of his origins so blandly. There was nothing she could do about it that wouldn't make it worse.

“Now, we need to get him up here,” Bernadette continued.

“We do?” Claudine felt herself blush.

“Yes,” Bernadette said. “I have an idea. Have you a handkerchief?”

Feeling utterly bemused, Claudine nodded. She reached into her work-bag and then, finding no embroidered handkerchiefs there, reached into her kirtle and drew one out.

“Yes. Here.”

“Perfect.”

To Claudine's utter surprise, Bernadette took it and threw it over the balcony.

“Bernadette?” What was she doing?

“Hush. Come along.”

She beckoned to Claudine and she leaned on the balcony railing just in time to see the handkerchief flutter down and land on the ground before Francis. He looked up.

He saw her there and smiled. He lifted the handkerchief and put it into his sleeve then strode toward the entrance to the colonnade. Claudine frowned.

“Is he..?”

“He's coming up. See if he doesn't.”

For a chaperone, Bernadette seemed remarkably satisfied with bringing a young man to the balcony.

Claudine leaned on the railing, trying to calm down. He wasn't coming up. Bernadette was wrong. He was going inside to do something.

She was just trying to convince herself that maybe he didn't recall her when she heard a cough, low and surprisingly musical, in the hallway.

“Ah.” Bernadette smiled, turning fluidly to face the door. Claudine followed, wincing as her head pounded as she made the sudden motion. She stared.

Francis saw her and smiled sweetly. Then he bowed.

“I retrieved this from the yard,” he said softly. “I have reason to believe it yours?”

“Y...yes,” Claudine nodded. She held out a hand and gently closed her fingers round the square of embroidered linen with the monogram of the house of Pavot on it. “It is. Yes.”

Francis let it go somewhat reluctantly. His fingertips brushed over hers, soft and enticing. She tensed.

“You are enjoying a free afternoon?” she asked. She felt shy as his smile dazzled her and she looked about to check if Bernadette was still near. Contrary to her duty as a chaperone, or keeping to the letter of the rule alone, Bernadette was perhaps ten paces away along the terrace, leaning on the wall and staring firmly down to the courtyard below.

Claudine looked back at Francis, who was smiling at her with that peculiar sweetness again.

“My lady?” he asked gently.

Claudine realized he had said something and shook her head to clear it. “Sorry, my lord?”

He smiled shyly. “I just asked if you would like to stroll on the lawn later?” His eye drifted to Bernadette, and Claudine wondered if he was thinking that on the lawns they might lose her chaperone somewhere in a convenient knot garden?

Her heart thumped and she cleared her throat. Just the thought that he might want to be alone with her again made her feel truly lovely. Even so, he should know her chances of out walking were limited.

“Sir, alas,” she said. “I'm not much one for walking.”

She spoke softly but he stared up suddenly as if someone punched him. “Of course. Forgive me. It was...remiss of me...”

Claudine laughed. “There's no harm done, Francis,” she said gently. “I know you understand.”

He let out a ragged breath. “Good.”

She smiled. “Well, if we do not go walking then perhaps you could stay here with me awhile? I confess your company is...quite diverting.”