Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(33)

“I think you were awake tossing and turning about the prospect of a certain lady. Especially about what you're going to do now that you're heading home tomorrow.”

Francis felt his jaw clench with impatience. Curse the man for guessing so accurately! Hearing it spoken aloud didn't make it seem any less foolish.

“Yes. That's right. Go ahead. Tell me I'm a fool, why don't you?” he sighed, feeling bitter. All Gaspard's praise of how well-bred and well thought of Lady Claudine was didn't exactly help matters either.

Gaspard stepped in front of him. “You're not a fool.” His brown eyes were level and serious. “Why on earth would you think that?”

Francis sighed. “It's just...it's hopeless, isn't it? Why would a girl like her want a freckly foreigner like me?”

That was the heart of his dilemma.

Gaspard stared at him. Then he laughed. “You're joking, surely.”

Francis wanted to hit him suddenly. He clenched his fists and jaw. “No, Gaspard. Why?”

“Because you must be a fool, if you think that. You have everything! Looks, wits, skills...for goodness' sakes, Francis. Why do you think the older duchesses and countesses want you to meet their daughters and nieces and protégés? Because you have freckles? Wake up!”

Francis stared at him. He couldn't have been more shocked at that moment if Gaspard had actually hit him. “You mean..?”

Gaspard chuckled. “For a man whose praises I just sang so highly, you have a head like a marble floor sometimes, Francis. Yes. I mean it. You're a man in demand around here.”

Francis still stared at him. He shook his head. Then he grinned. “You mean it?”

Gaspard smiled. He gave his shoulder a brotherly shove. “Yes, I mean it. You silly man. Come on. Have you had breakfast yet?”

Francis shook his head.

Gaspard sighed. “I thought not. Well, come on then. I don't think mooning about in the armory will help anyone very much.”

Francis laughed. “Thanks,” he said.

Inside, he could still feel a sweet glow in his heart. He hadn't even considered that he was a promising marriage prospect before. Since Lady Claudine's uncle had been so dismissive, he had considered it even less.

Maybe Gaspard was right. Maybe her uncle had some other objection besides his obvious foreignness and lack of status. It was worth considering. His attitude toward his niece is still strange.

How the two problems fit together, Francis had no idea. He just had the feeling that they did.

The hall was full of knights at the benches, and some lords sat at the higher bench, apparently planning a ride in the local woodlands. Francis listened to snatches of their conversation.

“Be sure to bring back something for Mirabelle,” one of them said with a skewed grin. “She'll have your head else. Sharp-tongued, she is.”

Someone chuckled. “I wouldn't dare do otherwise.”

Francis smiled to himself. At the thought of impressing ladies, a feeling of delicious apprehension went through him. He was at once pleased about, and terrified of, the prospect of seeing Claudine later today.

Visit at six of the clock. Her uncle will be at the audience with the king then.

He still couldn't quite believe he was going to do this.





Claudine walked to the door, wondering why Bernadette was acting in such a flustered way.

“Go now, my lady. We want to be back by half an hour past five,” Bernadette said. Claudine turned and frowned at her.

“Why, Bernadette? There's no hurry. Unless you think like Uncle does? That I'm so slow?” She spat the words, heart full of hurt. Bernadette was her friend! How could she think that too?

Bernadette closed her eyes, pained. “I'm sorry, Claudine. I would never mean that. I...I can't tell you why we must hurry, but I can explain later. Will that do?”

What has changed her? In all the years she'd known Bernadette, Claudine had never known her to be secretive before. “I suppose I have to agree with that,” she said softly. “I don't like it, mind. Cannot you tell me?”

“My lady? Please?” Bernadette frowned. “Trust me?”

Claudine winced. Of all the things in her life she found hard, trusting was one of the hardest. Her own father had broken her trust when he'd decided he'd turn his back on her, abandoning her. How could she trust anyone after that? She sighed.

“I'll try.”

“Thank you.”

Claudine followed Bernadette down the hallway. They headed to the solar, where Lady Cornelia had organized ladies to take a turn at embroidering the altar cloths for the Cathedral. Claudine felt a genuine pleasure at that thought as she was an excellent embroiderer, and had been praised in the past. Were it not for Bernadette's strange impatience, she would have felt genuinely happy today. As it was, she was worried.

Claudine paused at the door to catch her breath. Wretched malady! She closed her eyes, feeling her impatience dissolve as she stepped into the room.

“Lady Claudine,” Lady Cornelia smiled. A regal lady dressed in white linen with a headdress covering her hair, she had a sweet, kind face. She smelled of rosewater and lavender, and Claudine felt her anger and impatience melt a little.

“Lady Cornelia.” She gave the woman a curtsy.