Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(7)

Claudine coughed, embarrassed, and wrenched her eyes away.

“Niece? What ails you?”

“N...nothing, Uncle,” Claudine stammered. She leaned over the edge of the balcony again, and the young man was still looking up at her. She blushed and ducked quickly back.

Her uncle was frowning at her when she turned to face him.

“Niece? What happened? You look quite flushed. Ought I to call your maid?”

Claudine shook her head. “I'm well, Uncle. This is no fever. At least...I think not.” She forced her fingers to relax, let them stretch out by her sides, just brushing the long, cream silk gown she wore.

“Well, you might have fooled me,” her uncle said testily. He raised his brow, and then gave her a gentle smile. “I am sorry, niece. But I worry for your welfare. You do look awfully flushed.”

“I am well,” Claudine repeated again, more hesitantly. What could she say? She hardly knew what was ailing her now herself. She looked at her hands, composing her thoughts quickly. “Though I think perhaps Bernadette might be able to assist me.”

“Of course. Come, niece. You are weary. Come inside. I'll call your maid directly.”

“I can do it,” Claudine said hesitantly. She smiled shyly at her uncle. “I know you always worry for me so, dear Uncle,” she added, squeezing his hand impulsively, a tender gesture. She was so fond of Uncle Lucas – he was so funny and so attentive of her needs. Too attentive sometimes. He babied her ever so slightly.

“I know you can do it,” Lucas said, frowning. “But if you have need of anything...” his voice trailed off hesitantly.

“I'll be sure to let you know, Uncle,” Claudine said quickly. She hurried off toward her bedchamber. Inside, she shut the door and leaned against it. Her heart was thumping though it did not hurt, rather she felt excited.

I feel alive, she thought. Happy, more capable. Why?

She frowned. “Bernadette?” she called, summoning her maid who slept in a smaller room adjacent to her own, separated by a wooden screen lest she need to summon her during the night for anything.

She heard someone stand up from a seat – the soft creak of wooden furnishings, the whisper of a skirt along the stone flooring – and Bernadette appeared.

“Yes, my lady?”

Her sweet, heart-shaped face looked pleased to see Claudine, no concern showing there, except possibly in the depth of her blue eyes. Bernadette was so much more than a helper – she was Claudine's best friend.

“Bernadette! There you are. I feel quite weary. I would retire to bed, if you could help me out of this?” she indicated the long cream silk dress, which would take another pair of hands to unbutton.

“Of course, my lady,” Bernadette replied. “Nothing worried you, did it?”

“N...no, Bernadette,” Claudine said, biting her lip. She wasn't sure what to tell her companion. She wasn't sure how to tell herself what happened yet, much less anyone else.

All she knew was that something had changed the moment she saw that young man in the courtyard and he saw her.

Something strange and wonderful had happened inside her.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt excited about life. Like she really wanted to live it. Like she wanted to see what would happen next.





CHAPTER THREE





A BALL TO REMEMBER





A BALL TO REMEMBER





“Do I look halfway reasonable?” Francis asked awkwardly.

His manservant, Yves, frowned and stood back critically. Then he pursed his lips. “You'll do, milord.”

Francis met the dour old man's eye, and saw a shimmer there. They both laughed.

“Yves, seriously! You are about as reassuring as The Last Judgment. And as harsh, probably,” he added. Yves shook his head.

“One shouldn't jest about matters of faith, sir,” he murmured. Francis sighed.

“I'm sorry, Yves. It's my nerves. I'm so nervous and I just can't help it. I'm not myself.”

His manservant grinned knavishly. “You'll do.”

The son of a clerk and clever, Yves was a learned, trustworthy man. Francis was glad of his opinion tonight. This was his first ball at the palace. He had already seen a girl he hoped would be there.

I can't stop thinking about her.

He knew it was silly, but that moment in the courtyard, earlier in the day, when his eyes had struck the eyes of the girl on the balcony, had stayed in his mind. With her soft, heart-shaped face and that wavy gold hair, she had looked something like the porcelain angels on the altar of the church. Those blue eyes had looked right into his, as if they could see the very depths of his soul.

“Thanks, Yves,” Francis said nervously, feeling his stomach clench with nerves as he walked through the elaborate apartment he'd been given – smaller, for a nobleman less illustrious than a duke, but nevertheless exquisitely furnished and decorated – and headed to the door.

“Right. I'm off.” He drew in a nervous breath and stood up straight.

“Very good, sir.”

Francis opened the door, strode out into the hallway and shut it softly behind him. Then, his stomach fluttering ominously, he headed down toward the winding staircase that went to the hall.