Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(20)

He felt his loins respond as his eyes rested on her bosom and rebuked himself gently. She was a lady. She was also not for him.

He racked his brains. He couldn't just walk away. In the long blue satiny gown with that blonde hair everywhere she was too lovely. He couldn't pretend he hadn't recognized her.

Ask her something! Go on. Do it.

Francis walked doltishly forward, feeling like he was facing his tutor and failing dismally at some lesson.

“Milady,” he said. “I...uh...” she was looking at him, big blue eyes round and startled. “Uh...do you know where the kitchen gardens are?”

The lady bit her lip. An innocent move, it nevertheless made his loins throb with wanting. She had such sweet, pink lips, big and wet. He felt a stab of desire. He looked at the ground, controlling his breathing.

“They're over there, I think, sir,” she said in that soft, gentle voice. “By the kitchen, I'd say.”

Francis closed his eyes. How could you ask such a stupid question? He chided himself, blushing red. He was not only opposite the kitchen gardens, but their location should have been obvious to anyone.

“Uh, thanks, milady,” he said. Stupid, stupid me.

He looked into her eyes, wincing as he expected to see scorn written in those iced pale depths. With some surprise, he saw concern. Tenderness. Curiosity.

“You wish to sit in them awhile?” she asked. “I like the kitchen gardens best myself, too. So fragrant.”

Francis nodded. “Uh, yes. They are. Would you...” he forced the words through a parched throat, “come and join me?”

Lady Claudine's eyes went wide. “I...I would like that, milord. But I am unchaperoned! I...”

He smiled tenderly. “Well, then, as I respect your honor, we'll remain in sight of the colonnade. But may I sit with you awhile?”

She looked flustered. “I...of course, sir. If you would wish to.” She sounded almost surprised, as if it was odd of him to wish that. He felt himself start to frown.

“I do wish it,” he said softly. He lowered himself to the wall beside her so that he looked into her eyes. She blinked, seeming a little afraid.

“Sir. I...”

She looked into his eyes, her own heart thumping. This close, he could see the moisture on her lips, and almost feel her breath. He tensed, resisting the overwhelming desire to lean closer, to plant a kiss on those sweet lips...

Before he'd thought about it at all his lips touched hers. She froze.

“Sir!”

She tensed and withdrew instantly. Francis closed his eyes. Francis! You idiot. What are you doing?

“My lady. I...forgive me please!” he pleaded. “I meant no offense. See? I'm leaving.”

He stood and backed away.

“Wait,” she said.

Francis took root in the flagstones. He stared at her. She stared back, her blue eyes kindled with a mix of horror and uncertainty.

“My lady. You wished to ask me something?” Francis asked.

“I...” she looked down and when she looked up again, Francis could see tears in her eyes. He felt horrified and wretched. He knelt down.

“What? Oh, my lady. Oh! I'm so sorry. Please. No, don't cry...” he fumbled into the space between his tunic and belt, reaching for a handkerchief. He drew one out and passed it to her. She took it, breathing tightly.

“I'm so stupid,” she said. Her eyes were closed and she shook her head, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Stupid and useless and ugly and...”

“What?” Francis stared at her. “My lady! Are you serious?” He reached up and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, breathing in as his fingers contacted that sweet softness. She tensed but didn't leave.

She opened her eyes. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. She shook her head. Her blue eyes swam with sadness. “It's true. Of course it is. Which is why I'm so confused.”

“Confused,” Francis said. He had no idea what she was talking about. “My lady?”

“You,” she murmured. “You confuse me. You are so...so attentive. So kind. Why?”

Francis blinked at her. She sounded angry with him. “I...my lady? What do you mean? I am unmannerly, I know, but...”

She sighed sadly. “Oh, go away,” she said. She sounded annoyed.

Francis stared. What was this about? He had known he'd traduced her boundaries by kissing her, but he expected affront, expected, perhaps, to be called stupid and doltish. He had been, after all. Why was she angry with herself though? Why confused?

“I'll go,” he said, feeling wretched. He couldn't help her, clearly. Better by far to leave.

She stared after him, her face resigned in sorrow, tears tracking slowly down her pale, glowing cheek. He couldn't do it.

“My lady,” he said after walking two footsteps back across the courtyard. “No. I cannot leave you. Please. Tell me what I did?”

She murmured something and he came back, kneeling before her once again.

“I'm sorry, milady?” he asked softly. “I didn't hear that.”

“Why do you care?” she asked again, loudly this time.

Francis stared. Tenderly, he reached up to stroke her cheek, brush her hair back from where it stuck, sweetly, to the traces of tears. She flinched and glared at him. He withdrew his hand.