Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(39)

His father chuckled. “I know so. Now. What's so worrying?”

Conn closed his eyes a moment. Where to begin? Her health. Her status. Her uncle. He sighed and lowered his saddle-weary body onto the cushioned stool across the desk from him.

“It's her health, mainly,” he confessed. “Mayhap Maman is right – a time in the country might help her. I wish she could have it.”

“You can always suggest it,” his father said gently. “It can't hurt.”

He chuckled. “I suppose.”

“Well, then. What else is it?”

“It's...” he sighed. “Her family, mainly. Her uncle. I don't...I don't like the way she's so disheartened by what he says.”

“What he says? About her?”

Francis nodded. “Maybe I'm being fanciful. Maybe he simply wishes to protect her – he is her uncle, after all. Even so, it feels to me as if he seeks to demean her. Make her believe she's helpless without him.”

His father sighed. “I don't know, Son. It could be. I mean, stranger things have happened. Mayhap the man just knows no other life than caring for his niece. He would want her to stay with him forever, then.”

Francis raised a brow. “It could be that simple,” he agreed. All the same, it didn't ring entirely true. Something suggested to Francis that Claudine had not been under her uncle's care her whole life. Moreover, he seemed sinister somehow. Not in a way anyone could put a finger on, mind you, but...he shook his head. “I'm just being imaginative.”

His father smiled. “Who's to say where these ideas come from? Myself, I'm not one to dismiss imagination. If I was, I'd probably be dead by now. Imagining you hear a horseman following you can sometimes save your life.”

Francis laughed. “Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't ignore that feeling.”

“Mayhap,” his father agreed, nodding slowly. “In any case. What I'll do is find out about this Duc du Pavot. If anyone knows about the nobility, it'll be Yves. Speaking of whom, where is he, the scoundrel? Yves?”

“Sir?” a voice echoed from the hallway.

Conn laughed. “Come in here,” he called. “Go ahead and check my books. They're ready for it.”

Yves raised a brow, his thin, clever face amused. “Well, sir. That sounds promising.”

“Promising? You rascal,” Conn chuckled. “Well, we'll see. Any mistakes you spot you can take the difference out of the savings chest.”

Francis blinked at the risky offer.

Yves only smiled. “That helps me a great deal if you've noted down too much. I don't see how it helps me at all if you've written down too little.”

They all laughed. Francis said his farewells and the laughter followed him out. It eased his soul, still plagued with so much worry. With so many questions too.

Is Claudine safe? Would I see her again? What would her uncle do? None of those questions had easy answers. In fact, Francis wondered if they had answers at all. The thought made him feel abruptly sad and he headed up the darkening hallway to his rooms.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN





A SUDDEN ILLNESS





A SUDDEN ILLNESS





Claudine looked moodily out of the window onto the estate. She was in the turret room at the palace, sewing. Around her, she could hear the chatter and the laughter of the other young women who shared the space with her – all of them a friendly group now – but she couldn't share in their easy banter, their bright laughs.

None of this makes sense anymore.

Francis had left. He had taken a part of her with him. She knew it was a strange way to feel – he had been so briefly in her life – but he had brought such light and joy to it.

“Milady?”

Claudine looked up blankly to see Bernadette standing before her, a gentle frown on her brow.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to retire now?”

Claudine nodded. “Yes, Bernadette.”

She stretched, realizing that she had been sitting bent over her embroidery work for the entire afternoon. She hadn't moved for about three hours. Her neck and back pained her and her eyes were starting to squint.

“You're finished for the day?” Fabienne, one of the ladies, asked softly.

Claudine nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, I think I am almost done myself.” Fabienne stifled a yawn. “I've been looking down at threads for far too long. I'll take a walk.”

As the group all nodded their assent and stood, packing away their tapestry work in neat baskets, Claudine followed Bernadette out of the hall.

When they reached their rooms, Bernadette whispered to her. “Be not so sad.”

Claudine sighed and sat down on the bed. “I can't help it, Bernadette. It's all so...empty now. I don't know how to feel better.”

Bernadette sighed. “I'm so sorry, my dear. Mayhap a ride in the countryside would cheer you?”

Claudine frowned. It had been a while since she had attempted a ride – even walking down the stairs to the stables made her joints ache and her heart thump. “If you think I could?” she asked.

“I don't know, milady,” Bernadette said. “Only you could know. We could go and sit on the terrace awhile, if you prefer?”