Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(31)

“Thought so.” Gaspard stretched languidly, long arms reaching in front of him across the wide wooden table. “She's a beauty.”

“Yes.” Francis nodded. He frowned, feeling restless. Yes, he knew Claudine was beautiful. He didn't need Gaspard to tell him that. He needed him to tell him what he'd found out.

“She went off just before we really warmed up,” Gaspard chuckled. “Just as well or she'd have seen me have a whack at you.”

Francis chuckled. “I'd rather she did than that she'd left suddenly,” he remarked. “If nothing else, she'd have seen my best counter-thrust.”

“Ha,” Gaspard laughed. He leaned back and turned towards Francis. “That her father?”

“No. Her uncle. Uncle Lucas.” Francis supplied.

“Lucas. Count of Blanchard?”

“Mm.” Francis nodded. “Why?”

“Well, I did some asking around,” Gaspard said casually. “Interested? It is just my stumbling attempt to collect information...”

“Stop it, Gaspard,” his friend chuckled. “Just tell me.”

“Very well. As it happens, your lady friend is extremely noble. A relative of the King on her mother's side.”

“Wonderful,” Francis said tightly. “If you wanted to make me realize how useless my pursuit is, you just succeeded entirely.”

Gaspard chuckled. “I won't mention her noble birth. But she has some...interesting complications.”

“She's sick, yes,” Francis snapped. How dare he make out as if there was something wrong with Lady Claudine? She was the most remarkable person.

“Whew!” Gaspard sighed, shaking his head. “Very well. Yes, she's sick. Her uncle's been her guardian since she was nineteen. He seems very protective of her.”

“Isn't he just.”

Gaspard laughed again. “He doesn't like you very much, yes? Francis?”

“He doesn't like anyone,” Francis mused.

Gaspard sighed. “I don't know. He seems a very affable sort. My dear lady spoke highly of him. She said he's...how did she say...very personable. That's it. Most personable.”

“I'm sure he is,” Francis said dejectedly. “But he hates me. He doesn't like it when I talk to Claudine. And that's part of the problem.”

Gaspard frowned. “Well? My advice to you, if you want it? I'm not sure it's going to be helpful?”

“Stop it, Gaspard,” Francis said dully. “Just tell me. I want to hear.”

“Good,” Gaspard chuckled. “Well, my advice to you is, ask the maid.”

“The maid? The brunette woman who's always attendant on her?”

“Yes. The one we saw today. She seems a nice sort. Affable. Claudine likes her. You can see.”

“You can?”

“Well, they were chatting when they came out onto the terrace. And Claudine is easy with her. When her Uncle's there, you must have noticed how stiff she gets?”

“I have,” Francis nodded slowly. He hadn't really thought about it.

“Well, exactly,” Gaspard said. “So. Take the maid into your confidence – get her on your side...she'll help you out, you'll see.”

Francis frowned. “It might work.”

Gaspard chuckled. “Well! That's the best I've heard out of you as far as praise for my advice goes. It means I'm talking sense.”

Francis grinned at him and they shared a laugh. When they had finished, he leaned back, looking up at the distant, stone vault of the roof. He sighed.

“I'm glad to have you here, Gaspard,” he said.

“I'm glad to have you to talk to. Beats talking to myself. And how else am I to not go mad with boredom? You're different, Francis. Never underestimate what a true gift that is.”

Francis blinked, frowning. “Thanks, Gaspard,” he said. “I think.”

Gaspard laughed.

Later, Francis heard the sentries on the wall changing watch. It must be eight hours after noon. He stood and stretched.

“I should go and find my lady's maidservant. While I still have the barefaced nerve to do so. Which won't stay long...”

Gaspard nodded. “I shall leave you to it. I should go and dine. It's later than I thought.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Indeed.”

Francis hurried up the hallway to the stairs. As he went, he tried to plan what to do next. He couldn't very well just walk into the lady's bedchamber and demand to speak with her maidservant, now could he? Besides, how did he even know if she was there right now?

I'll just knock once. If no one answers, I'll go away. Think of something else.

He walked up to the western wing, feeling acutely awkward.

“I don't even know where she is.” Which room was hers, anyway? It wasn't as if they had names on them! He felt a complete dunce. He was just about to give up when a maid walked past in the gray-blue dark.

“Miss?” Francis called.

She whirled round and stared at him. Wide-eyed and soft-faced, she couldn't have been older than seventeen. “Oh, my lord. You startled me!”

“Sorry,” Francis swallowed. “I know I shouldn't be here but...I'm looking for the maid of the Lady Claudine, daughter of the Duc de Pavot? Do you know where her chamber is?”