Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(37)

I am pleased to be back safely.

He also dismounted. He, Yves, and his daughter walked the last half mile to the house.

“Son!”

Francis saw his father and mother on the steps of the vast manor as he walked up. He took off his hat and ran up the stairs. He was met by Lady Leona, coming down.

“Son!” she said. “You're back.”

As always, he was surprised by the strength in her arms as she hugged him fiercely close.

“I'm so pleased you're safe,” she said.

Francis grinned and kissed her cheek. “Now if that isn't the best welcome, I don't know what is.”

He followed his mother and father up the steps into his home.

Inside, a lavish lunch had been laid out in the solar – one of the maids was just leaving as he arrived, smoothing her hands down her apron. The table inside the room was laden with dishes of cheeses, a platter of small loaves, hard-boiled eggs, and all manner of good things. Francis smiled at his mother gratefully.

“Maman! You know I am ready to eat my way through the whole of the supplies for Annecy.”

His mother chuckled, her sky-blue eyes soft. “I know how hungry traveling makes a body, son,” she said. “I've sent Yves straight to the kitchen to take repast there too. Not that his daughter would let anything else happen, mind. She's a good head on her shoulders, that girl. Not so, Conn?”

Francis saw his father smile and was moved by the way he tenderly patted her hand as he spoke. “You're right, of course – I'm glad to have you running the household. Your mother's a veritable tigress.”

Francis nodded. “I know.”

Lady Leona laughed at him. “Whist, Son. You make me feel like I must be so difficult to live with.”

He chuckled and reached for a slice of cheese and one of the fresh-baked loaves. “Never, Mother. You're a delight to live with.”

His mother chuckled. “I certainly know about feeding hungry people,” she commented. “Which is useful.”

They all laughed.

“Indeed, my dear,” Conn nodded appreciatively.

Leona dimpled. “Oh, Conn.”

As they ate, Francis found himself feeling wistful as he noted the small signs of tenderness between his mother and father. Always close, he noticed their affection more now. Probably because, he thought, chewing slowly, he'd just met someone for whom he felt something similar. At least, it felt like it was similar.

“Now,” his mother said as they moved on to stewed summer fruits, “I want to hear about Paris! Was it very beautiful?”

Francis closed his eyes, thinking of the whitewashed houses, the vast extent of tiled roofs as seen from the turrets of the castle, the glitter of river water. “Paris is...indescribable.”

Leona laughed. “I know! I saw it once, years ago...a delight beyond words.”

There was nothing to add to that, so they all sat quietly a while.

“Your journey was safe?” His father asked, interrupting his ruminations. He has been thinking about Claudine, wondering if she was enjoying the summer sunshine on the terrace, or if she was still taking luncheon in the solar.

“Uh...yes, Father. Very safe.”

He saw his father and his mother exchange glances. He realized he must have been acting a bit strangely – it was the third time during their talking that he'd been wandering in his thoughts, thinking of Claudine and not paying attention. He supposed they must be wondering what was on his mind.

If only they knew.

He couldn't help but smile a little at that thought – if they could read his thoughts they would likely be more concerned about him than they were now. He had been thinking of Claudine, in her bedchamber. Yes, he had also been imagining the whole scenario with her unclad, them on the bed together without a stitch of clothes between them, her pale, soft body pressing back beneath him...

“Son?”

He looked up at his mother. He sighed.

“Sorry, Maman?”

He still spoke in French, something that would take a while to flow out of him since returning from Paris where he spoke it of necessity all the time. In their household, they spoke Gaelic sometimes and the servants had even picked up a word or two. It was useful when one wanted to convey a message in secret, but mostly they kept to French.

“I was just asking if you met anyone pleasant there? At the court, I mean?”

Francis sighed. This was the difficult part. He wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to tell them all about Claudine, but he had his own misgivings – he was not quite up to her social standing and his parents would be quick to see it. In addition, he had his doubts they would consider his love for her as a serious suggestion. He had only been there a week!

“I did,” he said, deciding to just go ahead and tell them. Let them think what they would. Sooner rather than later to make the suggestion. “I saw Gaspard there, of course. And...” he paused, looking at his hands, “Lady Claudine.”

When he looked up, he was surprised that his mother's expression had softened.

“What is she like, Son?”

He cleared his throat. His father was smiling and he felt as if maybe they would support him in this after all.

“She's a little younger than me,” he began hesitantly. “She's blonde and blue-eyed...like you, Mother,” he added. “And...beautiful.”