Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(2)

He knew a little of the family story. His mother was the granddaughter of the Count of Annecy. She and his father, Conn McNeil, had come to be the rulers here. Francis' father, Conn, looked little like the French nobles Francis had seen before.

The fact was a source of concern. Of all the youths his age – Gaston, Louis, Mathieu – Francis was the only one who looked like him. The only lean, red-haired, green-eyed youth at any gathering or joust in the estate courtyard. The girls noticed too.

His mind wandered to Millicent, a lady his father had suggested as a bride for him. With dark curls and big eyelids like his mother's, Lady Millicent was beautiful, poised and French. She stirred the young man's blood with her curvy figure and her red lips, but she was not as moved by him as he was by her. He knew she whispered disparagingly about him to her maid. Like the other youths, she called him “Redcap”.

Uncle Brodgar has the same sort of hair as Father. I reckon I look like him. Why can't we go back to Scotland?

It was useless asking his mother.

Now, Francis listened to a language he barely understood washing round his ears like the river against its banks – sweet, whispering, beguiling. He liked the sounds in it. He had to go back. The thought of finding a wife there appealed also. He imagined a woman with his mother's delicate, fair-haired beauty.

Francis made up his mind to ask his Father. His chance came later. His father was in his study, but the door was open and Francis cautiously approached his desk.

“Father?”

“Yes?” His father frowned. “What's the matter, son? Just let me finish reading this document...”

Francis watched his father scroll down a long parchment. It always impressed Francis that his father could read. All the others had fathers who employed stewards to do that for them.

“Very well,” he said after a few moments had passed. “All done. What's the matter, son?”

Francis frowned nervously. “Papa?”

“If you want to know if you and Mathieu can borrow Blade and Blaze tomorrow,” he said without looking up, “I'd say wait a day or two – they're still recovering after that last hunt.”

Blade and Blaze were his father's hunting horses. That wasn't what he wanted to ask.

“Papa? Would you and Mama let me go back with Uncle Brodgar? Back to Scotland, I mean?”

His father frowned. “Why, son?”

“Because, I want to go back. To see other people like me. It's important, Papa. And besides...” he trailed off, too shy to ask his father about the idea of finding a bride.

His father closed his eyes a moment. “Son...I know it's hard. But there just isn't anyone like you. There aren't that many French Scotsmen around.” He paused. “I know it's hard. All I can promise you is that one day, you'll see this horrible burden as a great gift. I know it. Standing out is a good thing. It means you get noticed. Which is no bad thing when looking for a wife!” He chuckled.

Francis grinned shyly. “Maybe...”

“Exactly,” his father persisted. “Do any of the youths get as much attention as you when you joust?”

“No, Papa.” he replied.

His father laughed. “Well, there you are. You see? Maybe they're just jealous.”

Francis shook his head mutely. Jealous? Of him?

“Well, think about it,” his father said solemnly. “People only try and break what they fear. And they fear what they don't understand. You'll always be different, Francis. And people will always try to break that. Don't let them.”

Francis sighed. He didn't really understand what his father said, but it made a comforting kind of sense.

“Maybe I'll believe you,” he said solemnly.

His father chuckled. “Good. I hope you do – I'd find it hard to stand up at court if I lied to my own son!”

They both chuckled.

“There,” his father said fondly. “So. You'll stay here and look for a wife, eh?”

Francis rolled his eyes. “I'll try, Father.”

“Good,” his father said. “You never know – you might be taking her to visit Scotland one day.”

Francis nodded. He could hope.





CHAPTER ONE





A QUEST FOR A WIFE





A QUEST FOR A WIFE





The hall was filled with people. Francis stood at the edge of it, feeling slightly awkward. At twenty, he was tall and well-built, nevertheless, he felt out of place.

I still wish I looked like everyone else.

No more so than now. He would have to be socializing with young ladies.

“Francis! Son!” Conn grinned at him. “Come! Meet Lady Ettie. You must remember her father, the baron of Castelles?”

“I do,” Francis bowed to the lady. At that moment, her father and his estate were the last thing on his mind. The sweet, well-formed young lady with the bosom filling the low-necked gown she wore was everything. He stared at her.

“Lord Francis. My, but you're tall.”

Francis went red. “Th...Thank you, milady.”

She smiled at him, her face a heart-shaped one, neat and pretty. Her mouth made a small “o” of surprise. She giggled.