Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(35)

Her thoughts stopped altogether as he swept a bow so low his hand brushed the stone floor.

“Lady Claudine.”

When he looked up again, Claudine noticed he looked, if anything, more discomforted than her. His eyes were shining and he'd turned crimson. She could see the slight traces of freckles on the dark red of his face. Strangely, his acute discomfort made her feel somewhat calmer.

“My lord. Uh...what are you doing here?” She asked. Her heart thumped below the tight-fitted bodice of her gown.

“I had to see you,” he said. His voice was tight in his throat. “I...I'm going away tomorrow, Lady Claudine. And I could not leave without saying goodbye.”

Claudine stared at him. She felt as if the floor had been pulled out from under her. He was leaving. How could he leave? He had only just become part of her life! Her tension and excitement at seeing him gave way to sadness.

She sat down heavily on the bed.

“My lady?” He cast a look at her.

Claudine blinked, amazed by how sad she was. “You did say you were leaving in a week,” she said softly. It was as much to reassure herself as anything else. She swallowed hard, feeling her throat close with sudden tears.

“I know,” Francis said. He seemed as miserable as her. “I wish, now, that I wasn't going. But I have to. My family...” he trailed off wearily.

Claudine sighed. “I know. I understand. But...I shall miss you.”

She managed to say it, though the words tore through her throat and her eyes really did fill with tears. She sniffed, feeling stupid. How could she feel this way? She'd known him a week. She'd known her father for eighteen years and she'd cried less when she realized he'd turned away. Then, Francis has shown me more genuine care in a week than most people have in half a lifetime.

He was a friend.

“Claudine,” he murmured.

To her astonishment, he knelt down at the edge of the bed, taking her hands in his. He looked up at her imploringly. Then he kissed her fingertips, his lips moist and warm on the ends of her fingers.

Claudine felt a shiver of excitement go through her body. She bit her lip, trying to map out the complex and wonderful feelings inside her. She could feel her belly tingle and her toes were tingling too, as if her blood pulsed faster through her body. Her face was flushed and her hands shivered a little as he reached up and then, to her total amazement, sat down beside her on the bed and kissed her.

Her heart stopped as his arms clasped round her. She felt herself drawn to his chest and at first she tried to struggle, feeling as if it was wrong, this indescribable intimacy. Then she gave up as the warmth suffused her body and his tongue pushed into her mouth and she gave herself up to his embrace.

He kissed her passionately and then withdrew. She could see he was red-faced and his breathing was labored – he looked as overcome as she felt. She leaned forward on her elbows, sighing. She felt drained as well as elated.

“Francis,” she whispered.

He smiled, a soft smile. His hand covered hers.

She tensed as she felt his finger brush against her thigh, the tip of it tickling and tracing against her leg through the thin silk of her gown. It felt warm and tickling and the sweet intensity of his touch flowed through her as he stroked her skin gently.

“Sorry,” he murmured. His voice was ragged. She realized she had been sitting with her eyes shut, reveling in the feelings coursing inside her.

She shook her head. “Don't be sorry,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “I should be. I take liberties.”

She blushed. “I should say sorry for not stopping you.”

That let him smile. A fleeting, sudden grin, the smile made her toes tingle and her heart race.

“Oh, Claudine,” he said.

Gently, hesitantly, she let her fingers reach up and squeeze his hand. She had never actually initiated something even so innocent as holding hands with a man. The delicious thrill it sent through her surprised her.

He smiled. His fingers looked through hers and he lifted her hand to his lips, gently kissing the back of it.

Claudine sighed. Every indentation of his fingers on her hand, every touch of his lips on her knuckle, made her whole body thump. She leaned closer and her shoulder brushed against his. He let go of her hand and she tensed, about to move away. He wrapped his arm around her.

Claudine closed her eyes. Gently, she rested her head on his shoulder like a kitten seeking care. He stroked her arm.

They sat like that a long while. She couldn't recall a time when she had felt more comforted, safer. His muscled shoulder against her made her feel protected, like he could fight anything to save her, even the malaise which plagued her days.

“Oh, Claudine,” he sighed.

She let her arm hold him close and looked up into his face. “I wish we didn't...that I wasn't...”

She knew she was going to cry and looked up at the ceiling. Her tears ran down onto her cheeks and she blinked rapidly, trying to stop them.

She felt his lips on her cheek and then his thumb, stroking down her face. She realized he was stopping her tears. Her heart melted. She opened her eyes. Looked into his.

“You have such beautiful coloring,” she murmured. It was a silly thing, she supposed, but the red of his hair and the pale color of his eyes, like the color of lakes under cloud – green and reflecting, gray-washed – was so appealing. She reached up and stroked his hair.