FINAL PLANS
The dusk was just starting to turn the shadows purple in the solar when Leona drifted in silently, the gray dress exchanged for one of soft blue. Her uncle was there already, dressed in a long black robe and seated at the head of the table. He smiled at her though his eyes were serious.
“Ah, my niece. You look beautiful. I trust you'd time to talk with your countryman?”
“Yes. Thank you, Uncle,” Leona said quietly.
“Not at all! Not at all. Do take a seat here by me. The count is momentarily occupied – I believe he will join us soon.”
Leona felt her blood drain to her feet as she sat at her uncle's left hand, the place that had become hers. She had been so excited about Conn that she had forgotten that he would be here too! How was she going to do this?
“My lord?” a thin voice said from the doorway behind her.
“Ah!” her uncle looked over her head to where the man stood on the threshold behind her. “Lord Count!”
Leona swiveled round, her heart feeling as if someone had hit her in the chest.
“My lady. Charming,” he said thinly. “You have spent time becoming reacquainted with your countryman, I think?” He walked in and took the seat beside her uncle, opposite her.
Leona swallowed hard. Was the change in her so clear? “It is good to have news of home, sir,” she said demurely. Let him not guess how I feel about Conn! If he knew, he might plot against him; Leona could sense he would not brook any rivals.
“I imagine so,” he said aridly. “My lord,” He turned to her uncle, voice changing, suddenly warming. “You promised us a fine meal this evening!”
“I did, indeed, Lord Count,” Uncle said cheerily. “We await only our Scottish guest. You say he speaks no French, niece?” he asked, worried.
“None, sir.”
Her uncle sighed. “Well, we must needs do what we can with gestures and signs.” He cast his eyes heavenward. “He speaks no English either? Nor Frankish?”
“Nothing like that, my lord,” Leona admitted.
The count of Annecy sighed again. “Well, we must call on you to translate, my dear. It is onerous, but so it is. Yes?”
“Yes,” Leona agreed. She touched the cordial in the goblet to her lips, glad it was not something stronger: she needed her head about her tonight. The Comte, opposite her, was giving her a hard-eyed look.
“You will allow this...arrival...to delay your departure to Cleremont?” he asked.
“I...” Leona hesitated, seeking composure. What could she say? She couldn't very well tell him she never intended to go with him in the first place! “I think my countryman's visit is not long,” she sidestepped.
“Oh,” the count frowned. “I take it then that it will not impact our plans?”
“No, my lord,” Leona said. It might impact yours, not mine.
“That is good.” He leaned back, seeming mollified.
They all sat in strained silence. The only sound in the room was the delicate drip of a water clock from the hallway, loud in the room's quietness.
Leona fidgeted uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say. She plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve and glanced up at her uncle.
At that moment, someone entered the room. Leona heard nothing, but she saw the expressions of the two men change as they looked to the doorway.
“Good evening, milord.” Gaelic, lilting and pure. Leona felt her heart soar, hearing it, and that voice, now.
Her uncle's face settled into a mask of tense politeness. Guy Ferrand's face, in contrast, was crossed with a look of such hate that her blood chilled.
“Ah, Lord McNeil. Welcome, welcome!” Her uncle stood, waving his hand at the table. Leona's heart shivered as she saw the Comte slowly change from hate to a smooth blandness as her uncle waved Conn to sit beside him.
Leona stared at Conn. He was cleaner than before, his reddish hair gleaming as if recently washed and toweled dry, a clean white tunic covering his strongly-muscled form. He wore clean brown trousers and his green cloak looked as if it had been beaten clean of dust. He was stunningly handsome and she was sure anyone would notice that.
She glanced sideways at the Comte He was still glaring at Conn, eyes narrowed as he took in the whole of him. Leona felt herself shine with pride at the look of resentment on the man's face. He must feel quite challenged by him.
“Welcome,” her uncle was saying to Conn, ever polite. “We had not been here a minute. Ferriers? Fetch our Scottish guest his soup, will you? Come, my lord. You can sit here, on my right.”
Leona watched as Conn settled himself into the seat beside the count of Cleremont. She compressed her lips into a thin line, suppressing the smile that sparked when Conn looked at the cutlery with a frown. Forks were of common use here in France, though in Scotland they used knife and spoon. Her eyes danced with amusement as she watched the look of puzzlement on his face.
“It is kind of you to offer me board, my lord,” he said to Leona's uncle.
Her uncle turned to her, the polite smile slightly frayed at the edges.
“Conn thanks you for the hospitality, Uncle Marc,” she said lightly. Both men looked relieved.
“Oh, no! It's nothing...” Her uncle dismissed it genially. “Now, here we are! Do try this.” He waved a hand at the soup, which Ferriers placed in front of Conn with a flourish.
Leona watched as Conn lifted the spoon from above his plate and looked to her for guidance. She lifted a mouthful and delicately sipped it off the ladle. He copied her.
“Delicious, my lord,” he said to her uncle, who smiled.
“I'm so glad. It's a delicate soup, this. Fish flavored with a new vegetable called carrot. It is a curious thing. A root vegetable from Spain, I believe. Have you heard of it?”
“No,” Leona said. She liked the taste, though – sweet and slightly similar to fennel. “It's very good.”
“I'm glad to hear it!” her uncle smiled. “Our head gardener is growing them. He showed me one and it quite put me off, I must admit. I'm glad I'd not seen it before I tasted it. Like a parsnip, but bright in color.”
“Most unusual,” Leona observed. She was watching Conn and the count.
The count was doing his best to ignore the man beside him entirely. A little reluctance would have been forgivable, since there was no common tongue between them. However, this spilled over from nerves into being rude. He had not even looked at Conn. That was just unmannerly!
“Lord Count,” Leona said, surprising Uncle from his musings. “I think we have not formally introduced our visitors to each other.”
“Oh, yes! Terribly remiss of me,” her uncle said quickly. “My lord Comte, I present Lord McNeil, cousin to our own fair lady Leona. Lord McNeil, um...you don't understand a word of it, but this is his lordship, Guy Ferrand, the count of Cleremont.” He trailed off, hesitant.
Leona held her breath as the count of Cleremont looked at Conn. The two men glared at each other. Leona felt as if the air might crackle, the moment was so tense. No one was making any effort to conceal their dislike. She glanced at her uncle, who was hanging back with the polite smile on his face, looking nervously from the count to Conn. He might have been oblivious to Leona's affections for Conn, but he was alone in that.
“Lord McNeil,” the count said stiffly. He inclined his head a fraction toward Conn. His whole body had gone tight, face tense as if he had bitten something with a bad taste.
“My lord Comte,” Conn inclined his head. His voice was tight.
The Comte gave him a frosty glare, and then sat down beside him again.
He lifted his spoon and resumed eating, forgetting Conn.
Leona glanced at Conn, who raised a brow, making her want to smile. Then he sat and lifted his own spoon and continued sipping the soup as though nothing had happened.
“I'm sure Lord McNeil has much to tell,” Uncle Marc said lightly. “It is a pity he has not the words. Leona. If you could volunteer? Mayhap you can ask our guest about his journey.”
Leona let out a deep breath. She glanced at the Comte, who was glaring at her. She cleared her throat, giving Conn a brittle smile. “My lord? You had fair weather for the ride?”
“I did,” Conn said. He looked into her eyes and then it was impossible for Leona not to smile. He was giving her such a wicked grin. She bit her lip, blushing furiously. “It was a pleasant trip, though the welcome was more so.”
Leona gave him a glare, and then turned to her uncle. “He says the weather was pleasant, my lord, and that your manor house is lovely.”
The Comte sniffed dryly. Leona shot him a look. He gave her a blank glance.
“I thought he may have said something else,” the Comte said mildly. “It seemed a long speech for so small a comment.”
“My cousin is very verbose, sir,” Leona said smoothly.
Her uncle smiled. “Verbose, eh? A good word. Now, if I'm not mistaken, our cook should have prepared those capons for dinner. Quite wonderful. Ah!”
Ferriers appeared as if summoned by magic, and started to take away the soup dishes. Leona had not finished hers yet, and sipped it delicately, at once loving the fact that Conn was there and wishing they were elsewhere alone.
“Ah! Capital!” her uncle interrupted her thoughts, glancing behind her.
The soup dishes removed, a group of two servants brought in the capon, steaming and delicious. Leona was glad everyone's attention had diverted to the meal. Even the Comte seemed more interested in where the game had been hunted than in victimizing Conn. Leona relaxed.
At the end of the meal, as they sat relaxing over nuts and stewed fruit, Uncle Marc cleared his throat. “Apologies, my young guests; but I shall retire early. I have business with my steward tomorrow and wish to be alert. If you will excuse me?”
“I would accompany you, Lord Comte; I have a matter to discuss.” Lord Ferrand's eyes moved meaningfully to Conn and Leona tensed. She saw him stand and follow her uncle out.
Conn and Leona looked at each other over the table.
Leona felt a smile split her face. “Conn,” she murmured. “I am so glad you're here.”
“I, too, Leona. I can think of nothing nicer than being here,” he said fervently.
Leona smiled. “With better company, mayhap?”
“Not even that spoils things. Leona...” His voice raw with longing, he stood and moved around the table, then took a seat beside her.
Their hands reached for each other and she leaned forward even as Conn moved to her. They kissed.
Leona felt a wild excitement as they kissed in what was, more or less, the full public. Her uncle or the count could return at any moment! The servants might, or Father Reynard. It didn't matter.
“Leona...” Conn's voice was rough as he stroked her hair, slowly smoothing it off her brow.
“Conn.” She gripped his strong-muscled fingers, holding tightly.
Someone moved in the hallway and the two of them guiltily moved apart. Ferriers appeared, two servants with him, trays ready, clearing the table.
“We should go,” Leona murmured.
“Yes.”
Neither moved for a moment.
“Leona,” Conn whispered as they stood.
“Yes?”
In the hallway, they met and embraced, then drew hastily apart at the sound of footsteps approaching.
“Tomorrow,” Conn whispered. “We should leave.”
“Yes,” Leona whispered back.
They looked around, and then tiptoed to an antechamber.
“Leona,” Conn said, facing her. “That man knows. I feel it.”
“I know,” Leona nodded. He was right.
“We have to go soon.”
“I know,” Leona agreed. “I have been planning an escape for days. Before you arrived, even.”
“You did?” Conn stared, amazed. “Well, thank Heaven you didn't! I might have missed you.”
Leona giggled. “Oh, Conn.” She flushed, realizing how much he must have wanted to see her.
“What were you going to do?”
Leona told him. When she was done, he looked at her with such admiration she felt herself grow red with blushing.
“That's brilliant!” Conn replied. “We could use that. We must do as you planned, only together. And we'll ride, taking horses from the stables.”
“Yes,” Leona agreed. She could not quite believe that she had planned it alone. It would be impossibly risky without someone armed and able-bodied with her.
“Well, then,” Conn grinned. “My brilliant, brilliant woman! Show me this secret door.”
“I cannot risk it now,” Leona said, feeling scared. “We should go tomorrow morning.”
“Yes,” Conn agreed. “We can spend the day preparing – we need provisions, horses, and we should dress carefully – we can take only what we wear.”
“Yes. And we will need silver,” Leona reminded him. “For accommodations, meals, and passage.”
Conn grinned, her heart dancing to see the familiar quirked line of it. “My brilliant woman,” he said again.
Leona flushed. “Whist,” she said, flapping a hand at him as her cheeks flamed hotly. “I'm no more brilliant than you are.”
“Yes you are,” he said, his face soft. “Yes, you are.”
He leaned over and his lips found hers, hungry and warm. Leona felt her body melt under the touch of them, her pulse throbbing as he drew her into his arms.
“When will we go? Seven of the clock? Tomorrow dusk?” Conn asked.
“Yes,” Leona agreed. “Seven of the clock.” They had planned to leave in the evening, just when the day darkened a little. That way, it was still bright enough to see by, but dark enough to blend into shadow.
They faced each other in the darkness of the chamber. Leona's heart was pounding with apprehension and excitement. She looked into his bright eyes and felt her whole being overflow with it.
“We are going to do this, my love,” he whispered, echoing her thought.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes we shall. We'll be gone by seven, on the road to our future.”
“Yes. Our future.”
They clasped hands. Conn's fingers were warm on hers as he stroked them, the tenderness in every line of his face. “Leona,” he whispered raggedly.
“Conn.”
He kissed her and she leaned against him, feeling her lips devour his with a wild urgency. Her heart thumped in her chest and she held him tight, reveling in the feel of his hard body against hers.
“We should go,” she whispered as they stepped apart. “Our absence will be noted.”
“Yes,” Conn nodded. “Until tomorrow, my love.”
“Yes.”
As Leona slipped into the corridor behind Conn, she thought she caught sight of a shadow in the hallway. The slight swing of a cloak, as if someone stood in the darkened doorway of the solar. Whoever it was, they hardly moved. As if they strained to hear.
Probably the curtain twitching in the summer air.
She stood there, watching the shadows.
“What?” Conn asked.
“Wait,” Leona whispered.
When nothing moved for a full minute, she decided she was probably imagining it.
“What was it, my dear?”
“Nothing,” she dismissed it. Her heart was too full of excitement to pay it heed. “Goodnight.”
“Sleep soundly,” he whispered back.
They parted at the top of the stairs. She went to her bedchamber, he to his. However, she could not find rest. Allie helped her to disrobe and she sat in bed trying to sew in the half-light of the lamps and fires, hoping it would calm her nerves.
Tomorrow I could be gone from here. We could be together. Heading home.
She had never felt so excited or so scared about anything before. It was risky. It was dangerous. Nevertheless, they had to do it.