Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(5)

“Whoa!” the coachman was calling. Francis looked out through the window, seeing the landscape change from wide farmed fields to valleys and wooded hills. They were on the road north. To Paris.

The thought made his stomach tingle with excitement. He was on his way to Paris in the summer. To find himself a wife.

The thought had daunted him before. However, things had changed. Was he anticipating it now?

Strangely, after his conversation with his mother and the realization that, though different to most, he was not ugly, he found that he was.

He wanted to see what life had in store for him.





CHAPTER TWO





A MEETING AND A SURPRISE





A MEETING AND A SURPRISE





The sunshine splashed bright yellow light on the marble tiles. It glittered off the fountain in the courtyard where young ladies laughingly danced a quatrain on the flagstones alongside. Claudine Poitiers, daughter of Le Duc du Pavot, watched the water splash and listened to the happy chatter of the young ladies down below. She sighed.

“Uncle Lucas?” she turned a smooth, high-cheeked oval face toward the man behind her on the terrace.

“Yes?” her uncle asked. Soft and gracious with the accents of the court, her uncle's voice had always been able to soothe Claudine, even when she was at her most upset.

“Why cannot I be like that? So carefree? So able?” She felt her long, tapered fingers curl into a fist where they lay on the balcony, her mute frustration like a pain twisting her heart.

Her uncle sighed. “It is tragic, Claudine. But it is as it is. We cannot change what life hands us.”

Claudine looked down sadly, big-lidded blue eyes sorrowful. If only she could move as those ladies did! Light, carefree, without having to plan it. However, Claudine was ill. For the last year or a little over, some strange malady had struck her. Insidious and undiagnosed, its only symptom was a slow lethargy that stole her vitality and breath, making even simple movements, such as climbing the stairs or crossing the yard, a demanding fight.

“I shouldn't feel unhappy, I know,” Claudine sighed musically. “I am blessed with much. I know that. But all the same...” she shook her head, small pearly teeth biting her pale lip sorrowfully.

“I know, Claudine.” Her uncle shook his head. “We must not allow despondency to overrule. Maybe some great physician will visit court? He may know the nature of this debility.”

Claudine sighed. She had seen all the court physicians, and none of them had known what ailed her. She had listened to their advice, received their prescriptions. She had calmly tried them for a few days, and then given up hope. Nothing, it seemed, could remedy what sickened her.

“Mayhap, uncle,” she said sorrowfully. All she could do was hope.

“I do keep telling your father that it would benefit you to take time away from court. But it seems he will not hear my simple advice.” Her uncle raised slender, muscled shoulders below a velvet doublet.

Claudine turned to smile sorrowfully at her uncle. “I know, Uncle Lucas,” she said fondly. “I know you hold my safety as important. Father, though...he is insistent I find a husband. The heir to Pavot seems more important than I.”

Lucas shook his head. The sunshine glinted off his golden hair, almost identical to Claudine's own, marked just slightly by lines of silver that showed his superior age. “Do not judge your father too harshly. Laurence is a stubborn, hard-headed solider, but he cares about you too,” he said softly.

Claudine chuckled lightly. She walked across the terrace, feeling dizzy, and found a chair to sit down in. Her heart raced sometimes for no apparent reason, her head thumping. She closed her eyes a moment to steady herself. Oh, why could she not be like everyone else?

“I know Father cares for me,” Claudine said softly. “But Uncle, you...you help me. I know you understand what it is that ails me better than anyone.”

Lucas frowned, sucking in his lips over his teeth a moment, a gesture familiar to her that showed his worry. He looked not entirely unlike her father, with his high brow and long, elegant face. Where her father was sleek and contented, her uncle was lean and watchful. The younger son and count of Blanchard instead of duke, he seemed more complex than her own hale, unconcerned father.

“I care about the state of your health,” Uncle Lucas said softly. “I think your father...is less involved in it than I.”

Claudine sighed. If her uncle meant to say her father was cheerfully oblivious to anything but hunting, fighting and the governance of the estate, he certainly found a discreet way of stating that.

“I know Father has...other things in mind.”

“The succession. Ah, yes.” Uncle Lucas frowned mildly. “Quite why he's so excited about your producing an heir, I'm not too sure. Anyone would think he's simply avoiding me.”

Claudine chuckled. “Uncle, I'm sure it is not that. Anyone can see you'd be a grand duke.”

“I don't want to be Grand Duke,” her uncle said pettishly. Then he grinned. “I know what you mean, niece,” he teased fondly. “And thank you. Your faith in me is moving. If only it made me more able, I would revel in it. But sadly, it does not. I am as I am, and have no means of helping.”

Claudine shook her head. “Uncle, you do what you can. I am indebted to you for your assistance as it is. No one would have assisted me more. There's nothing that can help me.”