Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(29)

“Mayhap,” she agreed.

“Well, then,” Bernadette said, wrapping a scarf around her own hair to protect it and her eyes from the sun. “Here you are, milady? The blue hat with the white train?”

Claudine nodded and Bernadette gently settled the hat over her hair. It was more like a framework for a scarf, which floated over it almost like the wings of a big butterfly, framing the face. She looked into the mirror apprehensively. It showed her a sweet face with big blue eyes, the color enhanced by the pale blue scarf.

“I suppose I look reasonably well?” she asked.

Bernadette chuckled. “Truly, my lady! You look very well. Very beautiful indeed.”

“Oh, Bernadette,” Claudine said, looking shyly at her hands. “You're too kind.”

“No, I'm not,” Bernadette said succinctly. “Others are too critical.”

“Others?” Claudine frowned. “Who, Bernadette?” She couldn't mean Uncle? Though he was the only person with whom Claudine spent long amounts of time besides her chaperone.

“Oh, never mind me and my rambles,” Bernadette said fondly. “Come on. Let's go to the terrace. There's at least an hour or two of sunshine left on that side of the castle.”

Claudine wanted to ask more but sensed Bernadette was reluctant. She followed her mutely out.

The sound of swords clanging on swords struck her heart before she even reached the terrace. Her breath caught in her throat with excitement. She walked as fast as she could out to the terrace and took a seat on the bench in the shade. Her eyes went to the two figures in the courtyard immediately.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, the other even taller but with a sinewy litheness about his body that made his motions fluid as a snake's might be.

Gaspard and Francis.

Despite herself, Claudine heard herself give a little gasp as she saw Francis – tall and broad – deliver a move with such easy grace that it made her heart thump.

He is so beautiful.

She knew it was a curious description for a man, but it was the one that sprang to mind. With that reddish hair and those wide shoulders, a narrow waist and firm thighs, he was a fine figure, a person with the lithe grace of a magnificent hunting hound. He was a force of nature and as such he was beautiful.

She could hear them talking to each other, shouting over the sound of the blows. Instinctively, she stood and walked to the rail, leaning on the stonework, absorbed in the fight below, as she watched what they were doing.

“Now, you're going wide again.”

“Shut it, Francis. You're trying to discourage me. I know you...”

“Ha!”

The clang of blades formed a counterpoint to the conversing. Claudine felt herself smile as she listened to their cheerful, derisive interchange.

“I could do better than that when I was ten.”

“When I was ten I had outgrown moves like that one..!”

“Well, if you hadn't, then you might have been able to block this...”

Francis dealt a side-stroke that made Claudine's eyes widen. Simple but incredibly effective, there was no way Gaspard would have been able to block it had he not almost guessed it before it occurred.

“Ha!” he said, giving a triumphant grunt.

“Well done.”

“Show-off.”

Claudine leaned on the wall, enjoying the scene. The sunlight was drowsy and the banter cheerful. The man, Francis, had exceptional skill. He knew his thrusts and cuts and he could use them effectively. In a life where many hours had been spent watching such tournaments from the walls at her home and here, Claudine knew more than many.

I know someone exceptionally talented when I see them.

She leaned further over, raptly following the fight. The stone of the wall was warm under her folded arms and she could smell the sweet scent of moss, drying in the late afternoon heat.

“Niece?”

Claudine jumped. Drat! Why was he here? She put a hand on her chest, her heart suddenly thumping in a way that made her feel disorientated.

“Uncle!” Why did that make me feel scared? Why do I think Uncle disapproves of Francis?

“Niece. I was looking for you. I wanted to invite you to join me for refreshments. The Duchess of Remy invited us both to partake of cordial in the upper turret.”

“Oh.” Claudine frowned. “Now, Uncle?”

“In about an hour,” her uncle demurred. “But I thought you might like to prepare. It does take you longer, and I know you like to be warned of an engagement in advance.”

“Yes, Uncle.” Claudine said softly. “I suppose it is best.”

“I think Claudine and I can make ready in half an hour,” Bernadette spoke up.

Claudine and her uncle both looked round. Claudine's heart thumped. Bernadette! She should be careful. A maid should not speak out against a duke, even if she were the daughter of a knight.

“I think your servant is wearier even than you, Claudine, and her weariness makes her forget her place.”

Claudine felt her cheeks flare, though it was as much with anger on Bernadette's part as it was in shame for embarrassing her uncle.

“Bernadette is tired from having to watch over me,” she murmured. “I suppose I am a burden.”

Her uncle's tone immediately softened. “Why no, sweet niece. You are no burden to me. For those who care about you, how could you be?” He came over to her side. “And I do care. Come in and rest. You must be tired.”