Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(25)

“My lady,” he said as he walked up behind her. She turned round, her blond curls fluttering in the breeze. There was a pink silk ribbon tying it back from her face and she looked almost too beautiful for belief. Her sweet, curvy body was encased in the white linen and it showed off her small waist and wide hips to perfection.

“Lord Francis.” Her voice was sweet and he felt his poor loins ache as he studied her sweet body, moist lip glistening where she'd been biting it in consternation. “You must be exhausted.”

He chuckled. “I'm quite weary, my lady,” he admitted. “And pardon me, but a bit sweaty too.” He ran a hand through his hair which was damp with perspiration. “I hope I don't smell.”

Claudine stared at him in horror. Then she burst out laughing. “Lord Francis!” she said. “I assure you that you don't smell in the slightest. At least, I am upwind of you and smell nothing.”

Francis laughed, feeling his eyes crinkle up at the corners. “Whew! A relief, my lady.”

Claudine was leaning on the rail and he realized she probably felt too ill to step much closer, so he walked up to join her.

“I must confess I'm very pleased to see you,” he murmured. He had the satisfaction of seeing her blue eyes widen with surprise.

“Oh. Thank you, my lord.”

Francis loved her voice – low and melodious, it stirred his loins and seemed to vibrate in his bones. He breathed in, noticing the air around her smelled of lavender and roses.

“I would have fought much better for knowing you were watching me,” he admitted. “In fact, I hope that you didn't see my earlier performance...it was a sorry sight at times.”

Claudine giggled. “Lord Francis. You are too hard on yourself. You had to test your opponent, gauging his defense, before you could shine. I understand that.”

Francis stared at her. “My lady?” she knew more about sword fighting than many of his male opponents! “That's very insightful. How did you know that?”

He had the pleasure of seeing Claudine blush. “I have watched many jousts, my lord,” she said softly. “It's not difficult to get some knowledge of how they work.”

“Beautiful and intelligent,” Francis thought aloud. He only realized he'd spoken it a moment later. He felt shocked at his own candidness and then, when she blushed, he felt pleased.

To his astonishment, her sky blue eyes suddenly swam with tears.

“My lady!” Francis felt his heart clench in sympathy. “What did I say?”

She shook her head. “I...oh, Francis. I just...People always tell me how much I lack,” she sighed. “I'm weak, and small, and too frail to even walk far. You're the first person who says such lovely things.”

She smiled up at him sorrowfully and Francis looked at his hands, composing himself before he spoke. He felt angry. How could such a beautiful, wise person be so demeaned?

“I only speak the truth, my lady,” he said harshly.

She sniffed. “Well, mayhap you see a nicer truth than most.”

Francis sighed. “No. I see the truth as it is. Everyone else is seeing nonsense.”

She giggled. “You do have a very definite view on the world, my lord.”

“I have an outsider's view,” he said, and his own sadness colored those words.

He tensed in surprise as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hardly daring to breathe, he made himself stand still and feel the sweet touch of her fingers on his skin. It made his skin tingle and his loins start to throb suddenly.

“Don't say that,” she said softly. “You're as French as I am.”

He grinned down at her fondly. “Thanks, milady. But truly, I'm not.”

“Well, I think it doesn't matter then,” she said. “I don't mind if you're French or not-quite-French. I like you as you are.”

Francis looked down into her face. Big blue eyes downcast, her skin had flushed as she said those words. He reached down and gently lifted her chin, looking into those sweet blue eyes. When he tried to speak, he found his voice was choked.

“My lady. I'm honored. I like you too.”

Claudine smiled up at him shyly. He leaned down and suddenly he couldn't stand back anymore. His arms wrapped round her and held her to his chest and he felt his fingers clutch the sweet flesh of her body, drawing her against him. His tongue thrust between her plush lips and his loins tensed in response. He explored the sweet warmth of her mouth, reveling in its taste.

Gasping, blinded with passion, they broke the kiss. She looked up at him, her full bosom heaving with the depths of her feelings.

“My lady,” he murmured. His voice was ragged. He had to clench his fists, fighting to control the passion that surged through him. Wild imagery ran through his mind. He wanted to take her in his arms and throw her onto his bed and pulse inside her, filling her with his passionate need.

“Oh, Francis,” she gasped. She looked up at him, something between shock and delight on her sweet face. Francis felt his loins throbbing again and reached down to kiss her, drawing her sweet, scented softness against his aching loins.

They kissed again and Francis shook with the intensity of it. He had hoped to quell his ardor but instead he seemed to be making it worse. He stepped back away from her, leaving her leaning against the railings, her lips parted in a soft moue that made him want her even more.