The Luckenbooth

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

The Luckenbooth

Beathag: The night could be described with words of tender times: adoration, devotion, and love. Especially the last for there would be nothing of the others without this. In their chambers the world had been made to go quiet except for the sounds of their breathing and sighs as through the hours of the dark a light burned between them. Pleasure was had, and the pride in knowing the paths of a lover's body filled Beathag as her hands rendered shivers from her beloved, and his? Why, they brought sanctity to every violation ever visited on her. As all things do, they must end, and the grey glow before the bright colors of the sunrise was nigh. Before the tolling of the bells she had awakened, and dawning a robe, slid from the bed to retrieve a gift for the man who was little less than king. Was not the day for Davina? Ah, but there was still the lad left in him, and the lass in her that played. The Changeling went to the edge of the room where she had hidden a box right before his eyes, him thinking it no more or less than what it was. Crawling back into the bed, she merely watched him, waiting for him to awaken

Adam: He would roust only after she moved from the bed... one eye lazily opened. Her back was to him, and he just watched her. As she turned, he closed the eye... As she crawled upon the bed, he lazily opened his eyes and looked at her... "G'mornin' luv..."

Beathag: "G'mornin' m'luv." The morning was an infant, barely crying for first breath, first chance at stretching new limbs in the sunlight. So while it struggled to be born the mature who had lived awhile already could lay still. "How rest ye the night afore?" Leaning forward she whispered this, kissing him. As the weather warmed and their love needed expression, the maids and valets who had leave to slumber in their quarters had been excused to others for their station. The box she gently pushed up between them, small, blackwood, engraved with a luckenbooth, the symbol of love and friendship within it. "Ah want ye tae open somethin"

Adam: The wicked smirk crossed his face... "It was fantastic luv...absolutely wonderful..." then he returned her kiss with more than a mere peck... Looking at the box she produced, he glanced at her quizzically... "Wot's dis..." his sea-greens holding many questions. "Did Ah miss aer anniversary or sumthiun?"

Beathag: The saucy yet shy response was the laughter with the blushed cheeks of a woman half her age, ah Adam! What you did to your wife! Shaking her head softly she said, "Ye gave me present 'pon our anniversary, ye gave me Davina, but Ah did nay get a chance tae give ye yer own gift… Jest open the box, ye mad man."

Rolling over onto her belly was such a luxury now she wouldn't take for granted! It took weeks to heal from the birth of a child, and now, as free as she was to make use of her lover, she was also free to assume a favored posture. Within the box of the luckenbooth was one of the same, the heart shaped emblem with thistle flower in the middle and a crown upon the top of it, made of wood. But it had been restored from some earlier year because it was weathered, old remnant of their childhood. "When the last ye saw o' me, tha' memory was gone for many years but now it seems we are restored ourselves. N' Ah found this buried beneath the foot o' the bridge o'er the creek in the far backs o' our garden. Ah was 9 in ye were just tae turn the same, n' ye had learn tae widdle wood. Ye made me a luckenbooth in took it tae yonder bridge n' me tae. Ye told me tha' one day ye'd give it tae me because ye asked yer mum if tha' was fine, n' sae it was."

Adam: He smirked, then with stiff fingers, he opened the box, his fingers tilting back the top. With a surprised look, he glanced up then back to the contents... two fingers picked it up and took it from its safekeeping. He listened to her, and as she spoke, memories, long buried and forgotten, now gushed forth... making him smile... "Seems tha' Ah forgaet haew tae whittle... unless ya call swordfightin' whittlin..." emitting laughter from deep-down.

Beathag: "Whittlin' a body n' bone maybeh" The morbid practice of warrior carving could be joked at if you've lived and learned as much as they had, but the tender thing was that he held a token of their life in his hand, and in the velvet was another luckenbooth that he could wear close to his heart. "N' as luck would 'ave it we pledged our lives tae one another, even if time did have us forget we meant tae fer awhile."

Adam: "Afore, Ah ne'r knew we were pledged from Day one... and I bae a bit sad that we didnae live the whole life taegther..." he looks down... taking up the other to compare them... "Baet since the mysteries of the tapestries 'as been revealed, ev'n memories are beginning to come back..." He could not tell her how much he loved her, for no words described it... and his actions were oft lacking in his opinion...still she loved him... and he loved her back with equal affection.

Beathag: The Lady of the Isles, of Nations, a Mother of change if one would shook her head softly. "Ye led a life n' Ah tae led one tha' made us who we are now, Ah'm sorry though, tha' all the life we had taegether was taken from us." Her voice diminished as she kissed the tips of his fingers. Her mind, like his, had been so fractured from the hatred of the age that it had stolen precious time

Adam: Fingers interlaced with hers, as he kissed the back of her hand. His sea-green eyes saying speaking for his lips... "Tis time we cannae replace... baet AH swear... after this war... nothing kin tear us apart... If'en Ah may, I'd like tae wear this?"

Beathag: "Aye, Ah' wear mine. They be made from shattered pieces o' yer lance and those o' my axe. Our life is a charmed one," She smiled softly to him , leaning her head forward to close but a half inch of space between them just for the chance to see the ocean in his eyes. To float on it.

Adam wore the luckenbooth around his neck like a medallion, or badge of honor. Even before the representatives of all the Gaelic Nations, the Brooch of Skye placed upon his left breast, the plain wooden luckenbooth upon a cord about his neck.

Returning to the chambers to change clothes, he saw his wife breastfeeding Davina. He stood in amazement as he removed his black and gold robes… replacing them with a simple white shirt and brown trousers. Sitting upon the bed, he just watched her lily white breast being suckled by the small child… one of their own making. When Bess would look up to him, he would simply smile at her…

"After this war… nothin' will tear us apart." Patience was not a virtue that would be attributed to Beathag Gavina Aberdeen. She has the face of her father and evidently the Norse temperament beating against some Highland fury. But, if you looked at her now, as only a few did, they would see that more of the fabled mother's patience was infinite. A wife's devotion. On this promise Beathag would wait a year for but one good day with him. Now he was before the peerage, and she? She reclined in their bed with the future of Skye cradled in her arms, suckling nourishment from her breast.

Little hands were tucked inside of a blanket, fingers curling up to touch the round orb. Beathag was so amazed, so enamored with her! What would the future hold, and how would she and Adam shape it? One could not hold on to the past and make way into the future, and so entrenched in the past for seasons they had been.

“Aye lass… naethin’ did afore… and naethin’ shall hence…” Patience was a virtue he retained for them both… Once he was a landless knight… now he had a whole nation to nurture. But even that was miniscule to the hopes and dreams he had for Bess, and the two children. They now had a roof over their heads… and were safe from harm… a promise made seasons ago… and just now vetted.

Scooting back onto the bed, he pulled his lanky legs into a fold before him. An odd position for him, but he was too enthralled at nature taking its course. He just watched the small human, unknowing of the world that lie ahead of her. For now, her world was the tit that she suckled to fill a natural urge to eat.

"We're tae stubborn to let it." A whole nation relied on them to live, to flourish, and to bring advancement with it. There were promises to keep as the day wore on, bargains to strike and deals dealt out over treaties and in the market. What, though, was the most precious? It was no coincidence that as the child supped, Beathag's luckenbooth was a fascination for the infant's eye. On a simple ribbon, it dangled just so in the area available to it between the neck and the silver Griffin that hadn't left her body since it was given as a gift just about a year ago.

“Befits ya mae luv… Befits yae totally… Did yae e’r think t’would bae doin’ wot yae bae daein again?”

Like a fascinated, studious child, the man came to behold the mystery of life a woman is capable of giving. "Nay, Ah didn't," she murmured to him, comfortable and content. "Ne'er thought after Aodhan there'd be another like this. Twas more n' age, twas hurt, twas the times. But here Ah am..proven sae happily wrong." Once Davina was done, she pulled her from her breasts and adjusted the line of her chemise back to where it should be.

Bess was absolutely beautiful… and a beautiful mother. He was sooo glad that he was able to see her glow of motherhood for himself, up close and personal. Now she held his and her own flesh and blood. And as the baby reached for the blurry object that swung from her mother’s neck, Adam reached in thumping the luckenbooth softly, then flicking Bess’ chin to tease. “Right beautiful yae arelass… both o’yae…” Then he held his own pendant in his fingers twirling it, his thoughts his own….

Days passed and with the current situation, Adam found himself alone in the confines of London; his room now where once a King slept; his command of an army of occupation kept him surveying what would become of a new nation. He paced the large room… one far larger than any one person would rightfully require, though as it had been for centuries, he would look out the window and wonder.

His fingers worked the luckenbooth about his neck. He sure did miss Aodhan’s laughter, Davina’s cooing… even her cries in the middle of the night… and most of all he missed Bess’ warm body next to his. The memory of Davina suckling pale a white breast and Bess’ fingers as she caressed his face.

What had he done? Had he taken the sanctity of Skye too far? Had he bitten off more than he could chew? Maahes had left the city for now, to go home at his wife’s desperate plea… But he knew Bess would not do that. Of course, she would curse and cry in private, and dwell upon him in the safety of their bed… she might even snap at those around her but would allow the bitterness to subside. They had been apart more than together. How could she continue to love him when he is so far away…all the time?

These things and more pinged inside his brain. But he had freed Skye… and Scotland… Wales and Ireland… He had invaded England…. He had toppled a kingdom that had ruled strong since the Romans. But now, the oppressors were gone… dead or imprisoned. And he knew there would be those in Skye that would disagree with his motives and actions. And there would be those here in England that would be rebellious against his actions. But it WAS done… and nothing could change that. Now all he had to do was think of the future.

Once again he fingered the luckenbooth and thought of better days. Days that he and Bess lay naked in bed together… days that he and his wife would stroll green gardens together. He looked out the window of the huge room to the gray cloud that shrouded the great city of London.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Days passed. There would be no difference in the length of days except that Beathag did keep track of the minutes in an anal rentative matter. They crept onto the hours, the hours smashed to total the number of days or weeks that she had gone without him. If one considered that Beathag and Adam spent the majority of their relationship apart, how could it flourish? When they were together, every moment was savored. Kisses were taken unabashed before the people, a touch of hand, a glance. There were none within the court who wouldn't say that the Mo'r Triath ever missed an instant to bestow affection to his wife.

Her hands curled over the strings of her harp. The East Wing was filled with sound to take away the absence of his voice or that of the children as they slept. The Lord's Chamber was too large for any one woman when her beloved was not there. The Lady's Chamber in the East Wing had been where Davina had been born. The last time they were there, he had cried into the morning that his daughter was born before the rooster crowed or the bells tolled. "Ah see you," she whispered through the glistening strings, "Ah dae." In their vibrato Adam leaned against the wall with a lad's face. It was clean shaven. Brown hair danced over the ocean of his eyes. In the next instant, he was gone.

Was that how he saw her in London, across miles and space. There were better impression s of her there since the time of her captivity. A dock where she'd walked as a merchant. A tavern where she served a drink. Did he imagine her thick brogue captivating the pristine English, her hearty spirit infecting theirs? Her hand went to touch the Luckenbooth at her throat. Soon, the Beltane would be among them. He would not be there this time.

Her heart pined for him.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Twas the time of Beltane, and he stood before a military court, deliberating on English commanders that had committed atrocities in Scotland. Lords, peasants, merchants… anyone that could provide evidence to their innocence or the lack there of. Nimble fingers caressed the Luckenbooth as he listened to Lords make excuses, and point blame, and peasants share their stories of grief.

By the Gods… or God… or whatever entity looked upon him and Bess, he missed her soooo much… Letters did arrive and were sent, with professions of love abound… But this year he would miss her birthday… his son’s birthday… No he would not proclaim the English Captain guilty because of his anger for missing their birthdays… Shifting in his seat, he summoned yet another witness for the tribunal to hear…

His Army had conquered a great nation… or was it really crumbling within? No matter, he had left London, the terrified son of Lord William Maubrey, fearing for his young boyish life, and his Mother’s… Now what seemed a millennium later, he entered London a conqueror. What separated him from his Father?

Beathag, in all her wisdom, had spoken the words of a fine thin line… Had he crossed that line? Was he like his Father? He cokeed his head and looked at the Captain. No, he would not proclaim him guilty or innocent because of his anger or inattentiveness. Adam simply looked at the Tribunal… “M’Lords… Ah suggest a recess… for two hours…” And as the men agreed, he rose and walked into his chambers… temporary quarters in the castle of the former English King.

Retreated into the chambers, he sat in the large chair… His thoughts his own… Had he told her enough that he loved her? He knew he had stolen time from her for his escapades. Would she love him as she had professed so many times? Did Aodhan know how much he loved him? Would Davina still recognize his voice? All this and much more flooded him mind. Damn him!!! What was he doing here when his family was so far away?

Hours later, Adam walked back into the room and sat between the three military leaders. He looked at Maahes and nodded. The Lion of Skye pounded the gavel and restarted the hearing.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

"M..nay, nay..." She sighed heavily. With the letter in hand, she unfolded it to re-fold the creases. No matter how many times she did that, time wouldn't go by any slower. The letter was dated a fortnight ago, which would mean Isabella and Mortimer were already somewhere in Scotland. Edinburgh? Glasgow? Aberdeen? Iverness? It didn't say. Either way, they were but a few days boat galavant the moment they decided to set sail.

"Ah shall leave this tae the capable hands of the Lady Inveryne with Lady Campbell tae assist her. We need chambers befittin' a lady sovereign n' her...companion." What polite way was there to herald Roger Mortimer? He was neither king, nor prince, nor really a consort. Adulterer wasn't polite. Ursurper? No. Wouldn't do. Companion would be far better than he'd be expected or used to hearing I'm certain. God, but the French were picky. Would that have rubbed off on Mortimer? "Make rooms adjoinin' for the sons n' the daughters, sae they may be in the same area. Give the lady apartments with a solar." She would nod her head to what Franco fashions Rosalind would see fit to bestow in each. As far as arms to fly? French. The day a Plantagenet standard caught wind on her ramparts would be the day the Mo'r Oukselo would be violently ill.

What would Adam think of the heirs of Longshanks Plantagenet in their halls? If she could hear him now....but no..it never was for the world to see just how much she missed him. Surrendering the letter to the inside of her skirt pocket, she was dressed in a far more plain fashion as she had overseen the first part of the preperations to host the visitors. It distracted her mind a little in that it gathered up the scattered focus to something concrete. Meeting Isabella of France would prove a historical enterprise. It also proved to put her on a curve. Still there was no reason to refuse. With Edme but a few weeks old she had gone to do duty for Robert the Bruce at Edinburgh. She'd aided in the rebuilding of Turas Lan. Surely sitting to sumptious dinners and luncheons couldn't hurt.

The weight of the Luckenbooth stirred under the blustery breeze of an open window. Instead of closing it, she clutched the object close as one did a religious symbol. Love. It was her driving force. Her breath. The reason for all things. Love was her idol. "May our guardians keep ye, beloved." At this rate, may they keep her, too! What sort of new intrigues would follow with the arrival of Isabella? There would be much to tell her family now, for she strove to keep them informed. Much to tell Adam in letter. Much to tell the sky at night when she spoke to the Gods.

What she didn't know was that the beautiful symbol and the legend of it at her throat, old stories of joined nations and far more would be at the heart of those sumptious affairs. One of the things Isabella wanted to see for herself was the success of a free choice union in its regard to successful rule. Nobles are taught that passions smolder to nothing and emotions sway to bad what logic makes good.

"I miss you," she told the wind, the luckenbooth, and Adam.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

He looked to the half-moon from the estate that Claramae advised him to reside. In fact it had bode well for his stature here in the English capital. The people were warming to Skye hospitality and the freedom they received had not yet taken grasp upon the nation. They still looked to the classes to make their mark. “Oh Gods o‘ nature an’ all there bae… speed mae work here tae a quick close… ‘ave mae back in mae wife’s arms… mae face tae her bosom… Watch o’r mae children and keep them strong.” His hand going to his chest, pushing away the white ruffled material, touching the luckenbooth just below his chin.. he knelt by the window. “Oh Bess… know Ah luv yae… forgive mae faer being gone sae laeng… The time o’tourneys be nigh and Ah shall return soon…” he spoke softly to the wind, as if she could hear him. And rightly so, for they had spoke this way before…

History would find their way of communication transcendental… Meditation from the heart… a connection of souls… These two were joined from the very beginning, and destined to be where they are now. “Ah long faer the day Ah'll dream o yer kiss nae more, when yaer lips shall caress mine faer real, when yaer touch makes mae alive again, and the sight o’yae arouses all mae senses.” He spoke to the moon once again…

Beathag knew some things were certain. She knew that the sun and moon each took different directions to rise and set. Time was constant, and the seasons turned like a dance. There was the knowledge that her children were now breathing in time with the rhythm of the song she'd sung them to put them to sleep at the foot of her bed in the Solarium. Family was sacred and love was timeless.

"Give Adam strength, o' mind, body and soul. Give him clarity o' mind, conviction, and peace of heart to know all he does is right. May no harm come tae him nor others of our land in England. Quicken their works sae that they come home, and with them, my beloved."

What did the curve of the Scottish moon look like in England, she wondered. Was it the same? "Ah long for the day when your voice is nay in my head, but from your lips tae m'ear. I long for your kiss, your touch. Aye darlin, I yearn for you."

A chill accompanied a sudden breeze… and his mind stayed with Bess… and his body reacted… With a shifting of his trousers in a particular manner, he closed the window and slowly lay upon the bed, looking up to the ceiling, his fingers working around the luckenbooth edges.

Soon a deep sleep took hold of him… and within a matter of minutes, his whole life seemed to fill his mind. Years numbering thirty and six kept a steady pace across his psyche throughout the night. Fact and fiction, rumor and truth, portrayed a life of a man now called the Mo’r Triath. From a small boy playing marbles with a golden haired lass… to a young adolescent caught between his Mother’s religion and his Father’s greed and merciless pressure…to a shadowy knight with no country to call his own…

From a worriless single man, to a forced single parent… from a man in love, to a man embedded in war… from a mere soldier to a leader of a new Nation. He tossed and turned, but one factor was his stability… The golden haired lass… the sea captain with a quipped tongue… the golden-haired warrioress, wielding an axe… the wife who lay beside him… the mother of his children.

The dream ended abruptly as the golden-haired woman, cradling the babe in her arms, walked to the door… and behind that door, stood soldiers staffed with the flag of France and England. With a sudden jolt, he sat up and looked around the room wildly…

The knock on his door repeated… and he rose to open it… The messenger handing him a missive with the Griffin seal on the edge. “Pardon the lateness M’Lord… Tis from the Mo’r Okesula…” Adam nodded and closed the door. Inside the sanctuary of his room, he opened it.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

He would not have time to write her a missive in return… for he now planned to return to Turas Lan… A glance to the northwest, he rubbed the wooden pendant that hung from his neck. The tournament would be taking place soon and he wanted to be there… England would be left in capable hands…

Packing his belongings, he opened the door and yelled for a valet… “Jonas… take my belongings to the Highland Duchess… all my books and documents… all of it… we return home…”

Adam left the room and went to find the Lady Claramae… Jonas began to scurry around collecting the Mo’r Traith’s belongings.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

The Lady St. Laurence had nothing to say to the Mo'r Triath's absence, for her own duties would too, dictate a time away from Rose Fielding House. Constant to the ruler would be the glint of the Baronial Ambassador's jewels and the silence of her mouth. Still, this was not why Adam sought to go home in as much as those that wouldn't be silent would soon make landfall.

"Thomas Mortimer sends his regards from the West Coast, m'lady, soon he'll make landfall..mayhap a few days."

"Everythin' is in place."

Like the symbol at her throat, all that need be fixed down was not going to be swayed. All that had needed to see her saw her, the rest did not. All that looked on her knew that the luckenbooth became a tool to fix her focus as she touched it often, but as it was known not many saw her to worry if her hands grew too nervous of late.