A Wish For Something More

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

The market was bustling. Morning had come swift and bright, gilding the rooftops of Turas Lan briefly in gold, dew glimmering on the occasional surface, to be burned away with the day's mild heat. With the High Lady busy, but thoroughly attended, Rosalind had a day to herself to take Aldric for a walk along the city lanes. She stopped here and there with Aldric, but if it was not a horse or a sword, the boy had little interest in what his mother pointed out. Musicians playing in the street corners and market centers had little appeal, puppet shows and morality plays were briefly entertaining, and judging by Aldric's moaning and wailing, the cobbler's was a particular level of hell devised just for him.

Apologetic but merciless, Rosalind did not leave until Aldric had a new pair of boots that could withstand spring's mud. She had plans soon to ride out with her boy to the lands the Lady had granted her for service to Skye, and Aldric's winter boots no longer fit his growing feet. Judging by the boy's proportions, he was destined to favor his father. Colban had mentioned he grew feet first, with the rest eventually catching up, and that they were to spend a considerable fortune on footwear for the boy before he finally eased into his large frame. She tussled Aldric's hair as they burst back out into the sunlight.

A certain quiet settled in Rosalind's heart, though she smiled at her son, blotted his tears with the edge of her sleeve, and distracted him with their next stop -- a woman who sold wooden figurines of animals, dolls, and soldiers. The horses, to Aldric's fascination, used real horsehair for the manes, and they spent nearly an hour deciding on a pretty golden-hued horse with wheat-colored hair just a few shades lighter than Aldric's. She held one hand, and he held his horse, and together they went to the market center to watch others hurry about on their business. Or at least, she did. Aldric was thoroughly preoccupied with his new horse.

She tilted her head back to feel the sunlight on her face and smiled faintly. What thoughts entertained the Lady Inveryne? None were privy, not even the pirate. Not even her son's father, who had finally, blessedly, removed that part of his heart that still beat for the woman he could not have. She was remarkably independent for a woman who had made her fame on the arms of more powerful men. Domhnall, who had died over a silly matter of honor -- one that was not, of course, silly to him. But to Rosalind, bereft of a man she had loved so thoroughly and so deeply within her soul since the age of fourteen, it was a laughably stupid and illogical thing to do.

He upset the balance.

She was not old enough, nor wise enough, nor courageous enough, to know her feelings for Colban. She had depended upon him for healing in mind and body, and he had blissfully, blindly allowed her to do so, never counting on the day she could stand firmly on her two feet again -- this time, as a mother. The strength of her son filled in the cracks of her soul left in Domhnall's passing, and made her stronger that she might serve Lady Mary. The mourning was a political maneuver that made her a symbol of chastity despite the wild rumors, gossip that had sullied good memories and made a joke of Inveryne's grave. But it, too, had given her the strength to face the false marriage to Fearghus Lamont.

Rosalind had learned to deliver blows. She knew how to hold a dagger and make a thrust count. She had learned to take blows, too, relaxing the jaw lest a meaty fist break it. To protect the soft organs, to shelter fragile ribs, to ensure Aldric saw none of the violence his mother suffered to save his life -- these were all things she had learned, faced with honesty, and now attempted to put behind her. With help she would never be able to discount as anything other than heroic, she had buried a second husband and learned to live again. But Peregrine --

He upset the balance.

He made so many promises and spoke so many words, and yet none of them were real. He claimed that he would not love her, that he could be no father to Aldric. Yet he wished to escort her to dances and he swept Aldric off for adventures that both of his parents strongly disapproved of. He could not be counted on to visit the castle, and his visits were infrequent. And when she sought him out, he was nowhere to be found. She missed him, more than she was able to convey when they did have occasion to speak. She did not love him. She was old enough to know the difference. However, she did care about him enough to know the line he walked was too thin for her comfort, and their paths were bound to cross in a most unpleasant way.

"What occupies your mind, my Lady Inveryne?" a familiar voice asked softly. She started anyway, and Aldric dropped his horse and stared curiously at the white robed intruder. Meurig, Abbot of Neath, quietly joined Rosalind on her marble bench, leaning down to place the horse back in Aldric's chubby hands.

"My apologies, monsieur le abbe," she said hurriedly, bowing her head in contrition. He would not stand for such a thing, though, and waved a blessing over her, begging her to raise her head and meet his eyes. Ah, he was such a strange man, this abbot! But he made a good confessor, this man so removed from the politics of sex, yet utterly tangled in the doings of man. Though her heart had once quivered at the idea of confessing the events of March to any man of the cloth. It helped that Meurig was not just any man of the cloth. He was the first uncomplicated soul she had ever met, at once brazen about his political ambitions but empathetic to his fellow man as he made the climb. His honesty was refreshing, for it came from true experience in these matters.

"Have you considered what we discussed at the maypole?" Meurig asked. She lifted her gaze to find that he returned her look of concern, and nodded. "Good," was all the Welshman said, turning to look out over the market. She knew him well enough to know he was listening for the sound of his countrymen's voices, particularly the accents of his home county, and each flick of his lips meant he had heard something familiar.

"I must leave him," she said conversationally, stroking her son's light hair. "It is time, this I know."

Whatever the lady felt, Meurig saw nothing of it on her face. She was as placid as a summer lake, and seemingly untroubled at making her necessary farewell. But he had taken her confession, and he knew her better than that. He took her hand in his and held it gently. She smiled, but with equal care, removed her hand from his. In twenty-eight years, she had learned a good and healthy relationship meant communication and understanding. It required rules that could be challenged but never broken. It craved humor to heal the cracks left by less dependable partners. It would settle for nothing less than complete honesty. Love was mental and physical, and never did it compromise to lasting success. She could, and would, face life's present battles alone.

"I must let him go," she said, pulling Aldric into her lap and lightly resting her chin on his head. There were faint ripples on that summer lake, but no pain. No sorrow. More importantly, there was no doubt. There never was a future with the pirate, merely a right now. It was time to consider something ... more.

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

My eyes are open wide
By the way I made it through the day
I watch the world outside
By the way I'm leaving out today

I just saw Haley's Comet, she waved
Said, "Why are you always running in place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere

Tell my mother, tell my father I've done the best I can
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
I'm not angry, I'm just saying
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

Please don't cry one tear for me
I'm not afraid of what I have to say
This is my one and only voice
So listen close, it's only for today

I just saw Haley's Comet, she waved
Said, "Why are you always running in place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere"

Tell my mother, tell my father I've done the best I can
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
I'm not angry, I'm just saying
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

Here is my chance
This is my chance

Tell my mother, tell my father I've done the best I can
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
I'm not angry, I'm just saying
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

~Shindown, Second Chance

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[/b]


Carmen:     The full moon high in the night sky lay weary it's watchful gaze upon the vacant streets of the city. Carnival Lane had been progressed to a small howl, as they all moved of into the woods to sing their praises for the Goddess, and to share in the Flower Moon, The Hare Moon..the moon of lust, of spring fever, and the Month of May. It would be the Cats Eye's keeper to be the last to join, as she swept the floor of the tavern; her hips swaying with the mood of the distant music. Onyx hair fell in long tumbles down her spine as she moved, a true flower of her profession and family, Carmen was a master at her trade. Charmed the pants of many sailors and the wit of many women. However, it was of recent events that curled ruby lips into their grin and had her holding the broom with amused hands. "Another twist in the tale.." She spoke to the only other soul in the tavern, the old mage whose blind eyes saw well beyond the invisible. "Another to be written.."She mused kicking her feet under the chair as her legs were too short to reach the ground. "Go on Momma, I'll not be far behind." So spoke the gypsy tramp with her bells ringing with each step

Rosalind:     If the mountain would not come to Muhammad, Muhammad must go to the mountain.  It was odd advice to receive from a Catholic abbot, particularly one intent on becoming a bishop, but it made innate sense to the practically-minded Rosalind.  Never one to shy from a confrontation, she quietly pocketed her reservations for this conversation and made sure her son was tucked into his bed for the night before she prepared to leave the castle.  Colban watched her as she carefully dressed, concerned at the oddly placid expression on her face, but it was not his duty to challenge her.  He nodded his farewell and went back to his book, crossing his long legs once again, and failing to lift his eyes to watch her even as the door clicked shut.  The pirate inevitably found his way to the Underdark, and there she would try first, making easy strides toward the Cat's Eye, though she had her reservations, too, about any potential run-ins with that temperamental and deceptive gypsy woman.  At least she was not surprised when she entered the pub and found Carmen within.  After her greetings, and making no effort to find a seat, Rosalind asked after Peregrine.  "If he is not here, do you know where I can find him?" *

Carmen:     The swish of skirts stilled only after her half turn was complete, but what seemed to rise from her was the aura of her true self--that one hundred percent and complete bytch. "On a night like this, you would think him chasing the hem of your skirts, what would make you think I would know? Can you not keep track of your own lovers, are have you too many?" The snake hissed, as they stood face to face; a viper poised to strike. Slowly her eyes narrowed upon the woman, closing the distance then with slow steps that beat with the bells about her ankle. "Or have you lost him?" Two meanings to everything, like a coin it would have two sides--that was lesson number one when dealing with divided souls. However a light lit her in her eyes as it hit her then..did she not know? "Or have you come to seek the reward for his head?" Posters were everywhere, a pirate named Peregrine whose last name had always been a riddle, and never once given. For if a soul knew his full name, could they call him back to hell if said three times? (d


Rosalind:     Rosalind hated very few people in this world, but Carmen was certainly trying to become one of them.  She had a temper that was slow to burn and even slower to ignite, and always had -- even before she had been expected to wear a serene mask and flatter her social betters.  It often seemed that those most desperate for a reaction from their intended prey often had much more to gain than the satisfaction of sparking rage, and so it was she merely gazed into Carmen's eyes without a single reaction, not even a twitch of facial muscles into recognizable emotion.  But that is not to say she was ill-prepared to face women like Carmen, her hand suddenly wrapped around Carmen's throat, with her thumb imprinting heavily on the delicate veins beneath the surface.  "It is for the reason of the fliers I have come," she lied smoothly, honestly having little idea of what happened in the city on a daily basis, as it was far from her domain.  "Are you now his keeper?  I thought my request reasonable." *

Carmen:     Long heavily adorned fingers came to clasp the woman's wrist, "He..he's..in the Underdark." Surprised, this woman was with all the marks of a lady, Rosalind pulled an ace from her sleeve. "The entrance is by the sea." She would back away, once she was free of Rosalind's hand she would cough and give a heavy shake of her head. "You will split that reward money I do hope." An evil grin then, but the door would swing open with the breeze and Carmen would move to close it.

Peregrine:      Half the world seemed so foolish, as bells chimed then in the silent night. Chruchbells called the 10th hour and all would be tucked nicely away. Lanterns were turned down, candles were snuffled, lullabies were sung, but it was the laughter that would never be stilled. Their songs and praise rang with pride that they came that much closer to the witching hour of their celebration. Had it been a month already? A blink in the eye, rushed with the rise and fall of war, and a ship in drowning fire to be swallowed forever in the ocean's black grave. A once well spoiled warship, 'acquired' by the keeper of the sun, would never see the light of another day; all for the freedom of one, and the childhood of another. It was in moments like this he wondered the paths he took, the choices he made, but how could he doubt that one? After the night's events of the previous eve he had gone down into the underground to hide away until his mind could clear. With Jean-Claude at the Lily, and the secret of his 'home' still safe from the crazed lips of the courtesan he knew he would not be bothered. The pirate could live in this darkness that reflected very well his own heart. It felt as if a demon had taken hold of his ribs, and their hands pulled upon it's cage begging to be released. He felt sure this was his curse now, to be possessed by the devil himself. Nic had not been killed, no he slept soundly at the Cat's eye for no matter the cause he was not a cold blooded killer..yet. He took lives only when they begged for the release. Feargus had begged, but not with his lips; No that man begged with his thoughts. Dark twisted thoughts behind a once great man's eyes, and when they settled upon Rosalind that was when he asked for it. The Underdark was a labyrinth of waterways, and when the tide was high the spillways filled, but a thin path remained just out of the grasp of the sea. Lanterns were lit, as no light came this far underground, and the sound of a crackling fire would guide her. Jean-Claude had a happy home here, in rich plush living despite the location. It always pleased the Pirate to fall away here, to gather his thoughts--to heal. The stitches were of his own hand, but they were not poorly done..could be better, but would be just fine. The wound had not been deep but it gave just a little taste to the demon of freedom as he now hit harshly against the man's chest. Propped against the table, Pere watched the fire, that lit the back of a robin egg blue dress that only needed now the body to fill it. The ribbons had been tied upon the back with care from blood stained hands, but still it fit no? (d

Rosalind:     Rosalind followed the directions, exiting the pub but never turning her back on the gypsy.  Though Rosalind was the paragon of virtue in a courtier, it was a mistake to believe her helpless.  She had gone out to battle dressed in her husband's armor, fought off those who broke through the gates of Inveryne, and later, survived six months of marriage to a man who had come seconds from utterly destroying her.  Though she wore a pretty mask, Rosalind was well versed in the arts of war and self-protection.  That even Carmen had been surprised at Rosalind's strength came as no shock to the lady.  Everyone assumed the Lady Lamont to be a victim of action and never a player in her own right. Along the fires and passageways she walked, eyes adapting to the dark between the torches, until the pathway became familiar, and she recognized some of the route Peregrine had used in leading her here on occasion, though she had never visited Jean-Claude.  Nor had a desire, really.  The man deserved more than shadows with which to pass his time.  Finally, she rapped on the door and waited.  She wished her mind felt more than perfect neutrality in the wake of Carmen's words.  She wished they had not merely cemented a decision made at the maypole with the Abbot of Neath, her voice of reprieve to unyielding pragmatism. *

Peregrine:     In her cage she remained, the wolf of the winter as she was not trusted to strangers, and Peregrine just had this feeling...The knock would only come to complete the missive. No mask was pulled on, no heartwarming smile, nothing of any kind of flirt came to the door, but the true man beneath. She had seen this side so rarely, the ride to Eirian's, the night upon the dock, and a small bit upon the shore. Just like that coin there were two sides, but tonight it was not to be flipped. Pressing from the table he closed his tunic back up, the thin fabric clearly one of Jean's but still it fit well; they were meant to be a bit loose right? He no longer smelled of the sea, but of the earth a rich oil placed in the water when he had properly bathed had been to calm..dr's orders. He was not surprised to find her at the door, but was surprised to find the face that met him. It kept him silent, lips sealed as ocean hues closed in on her own, not ready to let her go, but...not letting her come in. (d


Rosalind:     Ah, she knew that face.  She had to carefully lace her fingers behind her back to keep from touching it.  She loved that jaw when his mouth was relaxed, a neutral pose compared to his smiles, an honesty to the way he held himself that she so rarely saw.  He was pretending for no one.  It was this face that kept her wondering about the man she believed to be, underneath it all, a decent person.  "You are leaving soon," she said softly.  His lack of greeting made her mission more difficult than she had ever imagined, though she held no illusions about how difficult it might be.  It was worse that he already seemed to understand, and would not let her in.  "You are going somewhere that I cannot follow."   The mask shifted slightly, but that was all he had ever needed, a minor crack in which to expose all her secrets.  "So what am I to do, Peregrine?  I will stand and wait for you to return, though I do not know if you are capable.  I will follow you, though there are many I cannot leave behind as you must?  Or I will say goodbye, for our agreement was not made with the intent to bruise hearts, but to mend them.  Talk to me, tinker.  Let me in." *

Peregrine:     For what seemed to be an eternity he stood there in silence a hallowed soul with black eyes as the fire light hid well his face, but outlined his body. His shadow was cast over her, the warm air rushing out onto the cold damp path. It would still the mightiest of hearts with the sound of his voice as it left his lips like a sigh, "I will always leave, and leave upon paths that I would not have you follow." Came his reply with the widening of the door, and a hand would open for her to take. Rosalind had no reason to fear this man. Never would this hand strike her, never would a name leave his lips to call her, or would she cry from the abuse as he had once found her. However, the truth did hurt, and the truth was he simply had found himself too deep in dark arts; he drowned long before he could swim. "Come inside, Your Highness," A glimmer of a smile then over his shoulder as he started to pull her in. The room wasn't small, nor was it great but Jean had put much work to make it feel like home. His work of medicine and healing lived upon tables in glass cases and blown vials. On one end it seemed a scene in a horror, with gadgets and trinkets long before their time, but upon the other a lavish noble room that seemed fitting of a royalty, how perfect Peregrine mused to himself. "Let's make this frown go away." Boy someone was just in a mood wasn't he? All the while he spoke and the proof was it came from his own lips, but the sounds just didn't seem to be his. His voice was ghostly, hoarse, and raspy. Trama had come to the coils of his cords, from a fight no doubt. (d

Rosalind:     She took his hand and followed him inside, grateful for the literal interpretation of her words, though figuratively, he was as distant as ever.  At least, for now, he was far from revealing any of his hand to her.  She observed Jean-Claude's home.  The man, of course, had impeccable taste.  He also harbored a few hobbies Rosalind hadn't considered before, and the items she saw only in passing were ... familiar.  Ah, yes.  She knew where she had seen them, now.  "Why?" she asked simply.  Without meaning to engage in a philosophical discussion, it made sense to want to know why Peregrine always insisted on taking these paths.  She was not the path of least resistance.  He was hardly settling with her, or what life he had built up in Skye, even if she had been cause for its modification.  "I heard you are a wanted man.  What happened?"  Never had she judged him before, nor demanded too many answers all at once. She knew he didn't care if he was judged, just as she knew he would simply ignore questions he didn't wish to answer.  So she left it vague for him, though she was as curious as she was saddened by what little she had heard. *


Peregrine:     The path between the furniture snaked over plush red carpet of a deep blood color, and the cold flecks inside the threads lit with the heat of the flames. "Luck..Would you believe me if I said it was simply that?" He replied upon her question of why, but what good would it do. Peregrine would seat her in the stuffed wing chair, fluffing the silk and velvet pillows behind her before he took his own seat across her upon the footrest. No he was not settling with her, he had never thought her to be something less. In truth Rosalind was perhaps as good as this one would ever get. She had her own lands..her own life, and so far had let him live his. Not once had he expected her to offer him a place within it, it was not a conversation they seemed to start, but could he have taken it if she did? In truth, she would perhaps be surprised to know this was the longest he had stayed in one place, as the year almost crossed upon itself. Peregrine had been in Skye now for almost a year..with short trips back and forth between Avaria and here, it was a record. He had taken it as a sign when his ship sank, when her sails burned he saw that part of his life over. He would no longer be the high seas adventure captain, but now what was his title? "Knights are brash foolish fast acting men who would have run a knife through Jean-Claude long before he was given a chance. He is a genius Rosalind, a mastermind at his craft but is simply not a fighter..of the body. He would fight tooth and nail for his cause, for a better world free of sickness, but he would never raise a hand to another. Nic would have killed him for the sake of love," Motioning to the four post bed draped in rich fine fabric where it was clear a woman had not but warmed the sheets the day before. All the signs of a healer's trade very clear, and a chair beside the bed to as well be proof of the man who sat for countless hours at her side. "So I baited him," Oh how eyes swirled with dark clouds at the recall of the event, and how he had soothed the lust for blood in one night, "I turned his rage to me, took him down the alley and set him right." Peregrine let his elbows rest on his knees as he leaned forward and his hand came to rub the back of his neck as his head fell. "He's not dead. I'm wanted for murder, but he's sleeping one of Carmen's specials off at the Cat. He'll be out for a good while." The gypsy rose his eyes back to the Lady to gage her reaction. Did she believe him? He had never given her reason to think otherwise. (d


Rosalind:     She crossed her legs at the ankle and considered him.  He had always walked a darker path than she, but he had always been honest.  He had never intentionally led her astray.  There was a significant part of her that did not wish to sit in a chair and listen to him as if they were old friends, but sitting on the floor at his feet, possibly leaning against him with his hands in her hair.  One did not simply blow out a candle.  Rosalind was not so heartless, that even if such people existed, she could be counted among them.  She ignored that part of her and listened, nodding to confirm that she was with him so far, though not particularly in agreement.  "Jean-Claude has always impressed me as an artist and intellectual.  Is there a reason the knight felt obligated to act so brashly toward Jean-Claude?   For love, you say?"  Jean-Claude must have had a past relationship with his patient.  Yet if the patient was sick enough to require secret attentions underground, Rosalind highly doubted Jean-Claude was wooing his former lover away from the knight.  Though her voice was neutral, she rolled her eyes briefly.  Men were fools.  Then back to Perry, observant hazels searching his face.  "Were you defending his honor or scratching an itch?" *


Peregrine:     "I was protecting the only true god damned friend I have Rosalind." He snapped, though his voice did not raise, he certainly wasn't going to let her question him. Though..the truth was he himself did not know how to answer her. "Jean-Claude has loved Nic's wife long before they were married. I have kept them apart, I have always kept them apart. Why? Because she wouldn't understand him. She would see this world here and throw it back into his face. Just as any woman would. She would destroy everything that was good and decent in him, because she would not let him follow that damned path you keep talking about." He spoke almost all at once, the sound like a hiss behind clenched teeth, and eyes pooled with frustration threatening to be released from their red watery hell, "Because that's how this works. It's how it's always worked. People turn their backs on what they don't understand. He was almost burned alive, and I was stripped of everything I loved," Opened the flood of emotion as he stood feeling the air between them grow thin and he needed to break free. Walls came down in crumbles with bricks tumbling one by one until they were a pile of pent up rage in the floor. He took a deep breath as he let his hands fold behind his back with eyes closed now to center himself. One...two...three.."I'm not a bad man Rosalind, but I know I'm not the man you need." He whispered with his back turned to her, and arms came to fall, "You need a good King, for your kingdom. A father for your Prince, and a valiant knight to defend your honor. I'm a homeless gypsy..a horrible father, and a poor foot soldier, but I'm not a fool." Turning on her then he felt that demon bang against his chest trying to compete with the heart that broke behind him. It pounded under his chest, beat so hard it hurt this heart of hearts; the ace. (d


Rosalind:     Rosalind remained perfectly still despite his anger.  She watched him, assured he would never turn his violence against her, but never did her eyes leave him, in the event that he might.  She would never lose that fear, of any man. He was furious, but with whom?  Fate, luck, her questions?  She let her breath out carefully, slowly.  "Whoever this woman is, Peregrine, she will hate you for what you have done to her husband.  You may have directed her heart, but  she has made her choice."  In Rosalind's mind, at least, women were fickle creatures capable of changing their minds like the weather.  She was as guilty as the rest of her sex.  But sometimes, in all that counted, women could be as stubborn and immovable as mountains.  "Peregrine."  In a look and a few words, she had ended her authority to take him by the shoulders and soothe that pain.  She smiled faintly.  "I do not know what you are, but you are right.  You are not the man I need.  The man I need would not tell me what I need.  He would learn to listen when I tell him I do not want a father for my son or a king for my kingdom.  I have one, and I am the other.  What I am looking for, though, you are correct.  You are not capable of giving me love, not yet.  This I cannot wait for, though I wish....  I wish I had the patience to do so.  I, more than any else on this entire isle, believe in you.  Ah, to hell with this," she added, rising from her chair and shedding whatever rules she still adhered to, that had kept her firmly in that chair and not as his side, where she wished most to be.  She pressed her hands to either side of his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  "No.  You are no fool.  You are too smart for your own good." *

Peregrine:     He stood there stripped of all his armor, heavy thick steel that had been made of smiles and laughter--forced over the ages, to only be what he was: the lost boy. Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--of cabbages, and kings. The tinker closed his eyes with her kiss, and opened them only to fall back into her own. "I've been in love with you from the first time I met you. When you refused to smile." Words fell out all at once, as  it was very clear he held that in for far too long, "When you refused to smile I loved you, when you did I loved you more. I love you so much that I can't keep you. I'm stuck Rosalind, I've got an entire underworld depending on me. What kind of life is that for you? It's selfish of me to think you would wait. So I don't ask, but.." A hand carefully came to touch her cheek with the warmth of his palm and brush his thumb over her smooth skin. "Can I ask you not take the first suitor who calls? Find the right man..? Court them all, that way time will pass quickly and when you realize you love me too..I'll be home." Home, the word sounded so foreign on his lips, like finding a land that was his own. ( :wink: ) a well known territory that was familiar and welcome. (d

Rosalind:     She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  Love had found her once with her first husband.  Eventually, inexorably, intolerably -- for only faced with its permanent absence, did she understand.  His admission struck Rosalind to the core, and breathing did not seem to help with the sense of breathlessness that now plagued her.  He always changed the rules on her.  He always made it impossible to keep her footing.  Did he enjoy throwing her off balance?  Finding what heart beat beneath the marble?  "That we cannot be together does not preclude love entire," she reminded him softly.  It would not hurt so badly to say farewell to him if she did not love him in return.  It was unfair that he should make the admission, while she merely bent her head, and pressed her brow to his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him loosely.  But eventually, she looked to him again.  Coward.  "Not the first, no.  I think I would like to try living, for once, on my own terms.  So I ask you one thing in return.  Do not lose yourself that you cannot find your way back to me."  She could not follow him where he went.  Through twisted passages to darkness she understood all too well, or in the realm of love -- she was unwilling on one count and unable on the other.  But in the physical sense, she would never leave.  Rosalind's home was in Skye. *

Peregrine:     The Pirate wrapped his arms around her hips allowing a hand to smooth over her spin towards the bend between her shoulders and he slowly started to sway gently. "I'm your rebound, Rosalind. I've never held you to anything. I've only ever wanted you to smile and be happy..with yourself. I haven't wanted to hinder what judgment you make, or choices you take. I've just wanted you to be in the right mind to make them on your own. I've held back my heart from you for many reasons, but that is number one.." He whispered against her ear, "I've offered you very little of me, because you need to find you. You need to find your ground, and not depend on someone to hold you up. You are so.." His lips brushed the flesh of ear as he continued, "So close. You take this time to find your heart, and don't hold back. If someone comes to love you..then love them back if you feel it is right. That is all I ask of you." So spoke the Pirate in a Frenchman's shirt! (d

Rosalind:     "I do not believe in rebounds.  I believe we walk this world blind, holding out our hands, for some stone to touch, to remind us of where we are.  We meet others along the way and some, a blessed few, may be capable of giving love and taking.  But we are all still sightless."  It was easiest not to look back, to have a cleanly severed limb, if she had believed him incapable of loving her.  But he changed the rules.  Now she was responsible, truly, for whatever it was that kept her from saying those dangerously simple words.  "We all learn."  It was time to leave before he made it impossible for her to do so.  If he knew how capable of he was of healing that heart and yet exposing its tender spots, it would likely make him an insufferable pain in the ass; if he was aware, however, he was a gentleman not to point it out.  "To adapt," she concluded, taking a step back.  She was not going to dance with him.  She couldn't.  "I merely ran into others first, others who were also blind.  Do not be so self-deprecating, Peregrine, it does not suit.  You make light of your own heart, and I will not have you do that on my account."  Rosalind rarely spoke without meaning, but it was hard to believe she spoke this much merely to cover for the words she couldn't bring herself to say.  She took another step back, the corners of her lips twitching into a wry smile, and then she made her way to Jean-Claude's door, to begin the trek back upward, where the stars were shining down, and the full moon was bright. *

Peregrine:     There was a great big part of him that was everything the scoundrel could be, but the one true thing to ever come from him was the small little task of any gentleman..he would forever, walk her home. She wasn't going to go on those streets alone, even if she did not speak or even know he was there; the Pirate would see her to her door. With a pull of coat over his shoulders he hissed forgetting about the fresh wound, and about how real they felt. "What? Not thinking of myself doesn't suit me?" A shadowed face gave a coy grin as he closed a few of the buttons, and though he still spoke in a quiet just-not-himself sound, there was a hint of his jest. "I thought chics dug a man with manners." He laughed lightly pulling the door closed and locking it.   He would return to where he slept, and let Jean come home to his private life. (d

Rosalind:     "No.  Being humble," she said dryly.  She shut her door to find Colban passed out before the low-burning flames.  She helped him into a more comfortable position, took off his boots, and pulled a light blanket over his large frame before going to check on her son.  A warm feeling filled her stomach even before she opened the door on her little boy to find him fast asleep.  Rosalind went into her own room next, where he had slept at her side so many nights, guardian to her dreams, but where his scent no longer lingered.  And that, as they said, was the end.  For now. *

[Adelaide d'Aquitaine]

Peregrine: Carnival lane had been busy with the rise of the sun, and the full moon now on it's last leg the gypsies found time to unwind. The day's tasks were tedious, and long..filled with much to do, but that was why all gathered around the fields of passage, the gate between the city and their haven on the hill. Cheers rose with laughter high as a sparring ring had been formed and where hands would dance in circles; closed fists danced over faces. A sea of dark hair, long black raven strands of man, woman, and child always made the Pirate stand out. The one golden leaf upon the sea of green, he clung to the branch with pride as it was clear he could very well hold his own. Pocket size, pirate..his ass. Hell Peregrine made more money from little matches as this then Colban would in an entire week. Always had it been a mystery for a man who held very little ability or showed much strength, that he gained so much. Horrible with the blade, always had been, better to wait in trees for hours to pick of his enemy one by one with direct perfect shots, fired upon the edge of his fingers. However, a second wind had captured this man, and thanks to a very large big brother, he held his own well upon well double his size. Laughter fell like rain from his lips as he was pinned, and a bare back would return covered in mud. It felt good to get this out, this pent up rage as it was easy to imagine Colban behind his fists, but boys were boys; no matter how they refused to grow.


Ada: Adelaide. It rhymed with so many creative words. It made for good gossip, and of course, the marketplaces were always rife with gossip to make a man, even a sailor! blush like a maid. Ada, from the small and sleepy Alpine town of Embrun, and then the sprawling slums of Paris, had never really had the flushing sensibility of these well-mannered convent girls, always feeling perfectly at home among foul-mouthed and tattooed sailors, pierced purveyors of snake oil and dirty drawings, and fishwives with their blunt stories and crude mannerisms. Only the noble could afford elegance, and she had not been born with the proverbial silver sgirl-thingy. She took her baskets to the gate. It was not mushroom* season yet, but hunting was to be had, and prey found under nice, juicy logs and forgotten bits of timber, along with herbs and flowers that could possibly be transplanted to a garden razed in the invasion. But as she crossed toward the guards, a tinny burst of noise met her ears, and Ada turned toward it, layering her baskets one atop the other so that she could hold them all in one hand. Gypsies. Ah, she missed them, too -- gypsies with their mother worship, laws of cleanliness, and heretical beliefs that were nearly tame in comparison to her own.


Peregrine: A good solid crack, the sound of his breastbone left the pirate grinning, but breathless. A sick twisted mind found just a little pleasure in the pain, but he was finished. Blood carried down from the wound, stitches broken and all that crossed his mind was thankfully he had taken Jean-Claude's shirt off, as he would never hear the end of it. "Nais tuke..My friend." The Romany words never sounded as natural or as willing as his French, but frankly was he really one to care? The oversized hand of his opposite, the ever battle ready horseman from the night of the dances, extended to help the Pirate from his back. Once upright his lungs gave way to his cough, from the blow..from the smoke..it was hard to tell, but in the right mind he finally felt. Ocean eyes settled then upon what hearts grace made his catch; something familiar, something new. The Captain threw the Pirate's coat over his shoulders, but turned back to the fight leaving the Cheshire Cat to grin at the little shop keeper from the nights before. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mon Ami, but the reward has been lifted." Dark eyes narrowed upon her as he closed the distance, the warmth of the sun still clinging to his skin, and the presence of the sea everlasting. However, perhaps if walls came down this pair would find out what they had in common was uncanny, and if she wanted the finest mushrooms all she would have to do is ask. Peregrine knew the earth better then he knew the back of his hand, the rich deep forests his castle and much of his problem was that he did not spend enough time in the company of trees; anymore they were too judgmental.


Ada: Ah, it was the rogue. The pirate. The rapscallion. Speaking of scallions. She jostled the baskets, setting them swinging between them, and canted her head slightly to better study him. Ada's intuition was uncanny, but the title of witch was no honorific. She came from a long, long line of wise women, women too wise for the likes of Peregrine, who taunted knights in dark alleys and disappeared into shadows before responsibilities could catch up with him. Who left her, seated beside Gauthier, her hands drenched in his blood. "I sought no reward, though what a swagger for a man who might have been swinging." Her words had a musical quality to them, more so than the average French voice. Knowledge and directness, with a certain elusive quality to what she knew and what she guessed at -- it made her an infuriating know-it-all, even if she knew nothing at all. "I am hunting mushrooms," she added, changing tacks like a sailor, reeling in her lines and setting the sails to catch a better breeze. And never once did she offer to help clean him up. Ada was a healer, but the sort of healing sought by this one wasn't hers to give.

Peregrine: Healing of his body, would be more then he could ask for if she dug too deep those walls he built would not serve well as they were new and the brick had yet to dry. "Mmm, my swagger is indeed still intact. Does that surprise you?" He added darkly a passing of his tongue inside his mouth as he felt it water as the scent of her trade washed well from her flesh. It warmed him, deeply, "Was that an offer?" He asked quietly never once letting his eyes break from her own, or allowing hers to divert. "To hunt mushrooms that is..of course." A coy grin displayed well across a flawless face. "I had hoped the guard would have thought it you, and I would have gotten away a free man..but fate is not upon my side, and Danae's brother has much respect..so soon. A good humble heart, vs. my wild one. I must be transparent. Tell me..can you see right through me as well?"


Ada: "No," she replied honestly, the shortness of the word perhaps catching him off guard, if he was not prepared for honesty from a woman who looked as enticing as Ada always did. "Oh, I never make offers, my dear. That leaves them open to be turned down, and no one ever says no to me." With a light roll of her shoulders, she straightened her gaze, letting her dark eyes rest on him. What Ada thought was often readily apparent on her face, though since she usually thought the same things, it was easy to believe she wore a mask like any other. "Though we must all have firsts," she added, the tone of her voice similar to her earlier shift, coinciding with a turn of her body toward the gates, where the mushrooms waited. "I had thought so. But I suppose, like you, I am not meant to live behind bars nor swing from the gallows. No, my lovely, I will go in a great burst of flames not soon to be forgotten. It will be glorious." If macabre. She motioned for him to follow, her odd sense of humor lighting her dark eyes to a glitter. "See through you, possibly, with that hole near your heart. It bleeds again."

Peregrine: "A hole in my heart that will fill in time, it always has." His petite hand came to close over the wound, "Already the blood dries." Closing the coat over his chest he would start the walk to the gate turning to allow her to catch up. "It is the wrong season you know." A dark comment over his shoulder to her, as the wind rustled through blond tresses that were well on their way to being brown with the bit of mud. "In the Autumn is the best time if you wish to profit. The company we keep in the seasons change shift well into the lives we live, so I am told. A man could make good money if he knew the right spots. For queens and kings will always dine on fresh foods, and what a better treat? But..I would have you pegged wrong if you planned to sell them." His hand came to close around the handle of her basket and lift it in an offer to her. "There is a little pass between the hills, a freshwater spring runs there you'll find your mushrooms, and I'll find my healer." He spoke with a small grin offering her then his arm.


Ada: "Is there a wrong season? Mushrooms are a fungus. They grow where their spores drop. With water, they abound." She pried the second of the baskets from the stack and held her own. He could carry one if he wished. There was a satchel lying on top to keep the mushrooms in. "They merely taste best in the autumn of the year. Allow me to show you my own hunting grounds." She changed their direction, toward fallen logs discarded behind an old woodpile, trees that had fallen in a storm but had not yet been hacked into burnable sticks for fireplaces. She crooked a finger at him to come closer. "For one who does not eat meat, these are as close to steaks as the stomach can determine." She squatted down low after grabbing the sacking from him and carefully slivered off a few of the broad, thick caps with a wickedly sharp sickle knife she always carried, a tool of her trade. "Not for pickling," she added, letting him examine one if he had never seen the sort before. They looked thoroughly inedible, though of course, a man of the forest knew the ugliest were often the best treats. Unless they were poisonous, in which case, he would have no time to consider their innate beauty before dying most unpleasantly. Soon they were off again toward his stream, her free arm looped in his.

Peregrine: "I just know my ex wife would gripe the most about how fast they grew in the Autumn, all around the base of her tree. They made her sick, but our daughter and I loved it when they grew in circles; we'd wait all night to watch for fairies." He mused with a small smile at moments so long ago, that stole his breath even today. "She always fell asleep though, Emma could sleep on the drop of a hat." Perhaps the memories should have phased him more, but they did very little as the years passed. He shed very little tears, cried the least of all the men on Skye, and felt his heart closing more and more each day. Something had upset the balance in the man's spirit, and his soul suffered the most. Her words had hurt him, but not as it should. He did not feel angry or transfixed on revenge as he should. The pirate felt..cold. Was this a depression? A deep hollow hole in the space of his chest, could suck away the heart that beat if he did not fight it, and with keeping busy he did just that. "Do you spend a lot of time here in the woods, Sage? Hunt with your companion? Or..did you really say you didn't eat meat?" He eyed her with a coy grin as he released her arm like a perfect gentleman and saw her settled. The bubbling spring was deepest here, but lord how it was cold and already his body protested. However, the salgirl-thingyer burned cuts this deep, and the spring flowers that fell in did well to cover the smell of the sea.

Ada: The Sage listened as they walked. She was very good at listening, after all. More so than speaking, though she was good at that, too. She listened to his memories, what few he allowed to trickle out. But why did he share them with her, of all people? A captive audience, she decided, unless he had sustained a few blows to the head, which addled his brains and made him near charming. But his eyes were lucid, and she caught that small smile while she observed him from the corner of her eye. Like everyone in her world, she was forced to look up at him when she wished a facial cue, sweeping black curls out of her face with a lazy gesture from the basket-wielding hand. He seemed content to merely have her ear -- but as long as he was not twisting it, Ada was willing to give him one. Ah, so there was a hole in that heart indeed, where emotions welled and scar tissue formed, never quite the same as before. Mended, indeed, but never the same entire. "I do, indeed. There are herbs to be gathered and plants studied. Mushrooms hunted. Nature is willing and I am motivated. My companion?" She quirked a smile of her own this time. "We do many things together," she said slowly, wit causing her words to singsong, "but we rarely hunt. And I have never had a liking for animal flesh." She sat down and organized her baskets, observing him for a few minutes without any sign of modesty, but she was a healer, a peasant, a former Parisian street rat.


Peregrine: He held little modesty of his own, one to never be shy or ashamed of his body would however be respectful and mindful...for the first time in his life! He was in no way a very tall man, but what he lacked in height he made up in spirit. Years at sea had kept his body lean, the mass burned as quickly as it came, but now going on the better part of almost a year he had gained weight--toning it well. When there was nothing, it was easy to build..the body of a youthful sprite, but the mind of a crazed madman. Though the sun played through the pines a hide and seek the warm feel of it across his back was welcome. His skin was flawless beside his trade, holding very little scars and a bronze undertone stretched it well. The grass upon the hill grew tall and fast with bluebells peeking out, and this would hold his attention until the bitter chill seeped away. "How about we don't tell your Companion that I'm doing this no?" He turned a smirk over one shoulder before returning them to the flowers. They would match her dress..He thought to himself, she could..Crossing the stream he reached over the rock for the bit falling over the line, but stilled his hand inches from the flower. Nope..he told himself, as words echoed across his mind. For he too feared rejection as he had never known it..why would he push it?

Ada: How the heart ached, and the soul quaked -- here was a man lost, a man scarred, despite the youthful body and boyish gleam. When eyes were as soul-weary as his, Ada found it difficult to believe that humor was not laced with razor-sharp edges. He was a man in need of healing, and time was no longer his friend in the balm he sought. He was a fool to think time would cure him of this. Ada rested back on her hillside, lacing her fingers behind her head. Think her modest if he wished, Ada was merely enjoying the sunlight on her face, turning her lids red when she closed them. Grass towered above her, and occasionally, a tiny white moth flitted close to her vision. She was not above making a few snatches at it with her lean hand, but had long since lost the reflexes necessary to capture it. So she pressed her elbows back into the earth to stretch the muscles of chest and back, and let her mind wander. He moved about, here and there, but she was as unconcerned as a cat basking in sunlight could be, framing a response as she might ponder a formulation for a virulent disease. "What fault would my companion find in my enjoyment of the sky and the sun? Or do these, too, have carnal implications?" She rotated to her elbow, propping her head up in her hand and watching him through narrowed eyes. He had his back to her now, illuminated by sunlight on the stream's sparkling surface. "But you are uninterested in me, I think, and this you should not deny if you love her as much as I think you do." The witch was merciless in her advice, but nothing changed upon her expression, nothing altered, as assured of her words as if delivering prophecy. A man, after all, did not ponder flowers for his own gain.

Peregrine: A deep heart felt laugh fell from his lips rising well from the depths of his chest, as the sound carried across the pool. "Let's just say Ren has very good reasons for removing my head, and I've got far too much to accomplish..When the time is right, I'll be more then happy, but you see." Turning to face her ran a hand through his curls to dampen them, but not completely soak them..Lord he'd never dry. "So many things to do, but no motivation to get them done. Do you have a cure for that doc?" Why was it everyone seemed to know how he felt, was he that easy to read? "It's a classic story, told by campfires all over the world, trust me I've heard them. Boy meets girl, girl pisses boy off because she won't smile. Boy finds out girl has abusive husband, and seeks to destroy as boy is clearly from the wrong side of the streets, and has no problem taking lives, but girl says it's not that easy. Boy wants to strangle girl, cause she shows up with more marks." Upon his reenactment he would clench his hands in U-shapes to act as a neck would be closed. "You know?" Lord he really was just beside himself, "Boys got things he needs to do! But I don't want to leave her...Why am I telling you this?" It hit him then, a almost complete stranger across from him, perhaps didn't even know his name, but knew where his heart rest? It was a small world, Peregrine, always had been, always will be.

Ada: She plucked a mint leaf from the plant growing nearby and crushed the leaf between thumb and index. The sharp scent was refreshing amid the meadowsweet and grass, the floral of the bluebells and nearby musk of the woods. Mildew, damp, and the cleanness of fresh water. The apothecary's nose was second to none. She listened to Peregrine's words, though made no movement to confirm his story or encourage he continue. She merely listened, letting her mind journey between the sentences. She was a woman, after all, and intuition and imagination did a thorough job of speaking what he left silent. She sat up eventually, rustling her hands through her dark curls to rid them of grass and leaves and doing nothing but encouraging her illusion of being little more than one of Pan's minions. "Ren would not kill you. Not immediately." Words were powerful things, after all. They knew without speaking what they were to one another. She was the hunter's, and he did not share. She waved the mint leaf beneath her nose again and smiled. "Did you rescue her?" she asked, resting both hands behind her now, leaning back upon her palms and observing him with those dark eyes of hers. "The best cure for bruises, despite what all the healers say, is to rub the wounded area briskly. To hold it, and soothe it with the heat of your body. But I find this cure is like tickling. I can never quite do it on my own. Tickle myself, that is. I must have another do it for a good and proper laugh. I do not know why you are telling me this. I came for the mushrooms. But I do love a good story. Tell me more."

Peregrine: Like pulling the trigger on the gun he made a clicking sound with his tongue and let his index finger tap the air, "I like your way of thinking..this cure." He purred and should he actually be a feline his tail would whip side to side as his head fell curiously upon his hands, elbows supporting his weight on the bank. "I think she'd beat me if I tried that now, but the Good Lord knows I didn't sleep last night, fought myself the whole way to my bed." He motioned with his head to the hills, were his 'home' was in thick woodland trees, homes made for the summer months but served very little purpose in the winter. "I did rescue her, like some brave idiot knight in shinning armor." His back turned upon the stone letting his eyes fall to the sky and closing just as the healers did. "But you see, when the dust settled and the armor wore away she realized there wasn't much too noble in me..This Princess of distant lands, you know, no body you know." He smirked, knowing very well it was no secret anymore. "Her knight needs saved now, he's fallen down a rabbit's hole and can't get out." Easily put, and truthful as the armor rusted well, and frankly was too big anyway. "You know, wondering in a wonderland looking through a looking glass for clues on how to escape. I'll be chasing my tail for the rest of my life. What kind of life is that for her?" Turning again to face the sage upon the hillside a forlorn look made eyes seem larger, so full and vibrant of memories he wasn't ready to let go of yet!

Ada: "I am very good at what I do," Ada replied dryly. "Of course my advice is good. She needed rescuing. Unless she is a statue, her heart was bruised. You helped it mend." However he wished to interpret rubbing the woman briskly was up to him, but the wording and the metaphor caught in Ada's mind. She waved the mint leaf beneath her nose again to keep from grinning like a fool. She was successful, but barely, a faint smirk the only hint at what the healer assumed. "But what of yours, ah? Do you know what I learned from my hunter friend? What a wounded animal does as it races through the woods -- it leaves a trail of its hurt behind it, leading the hunter directly to his quarry It is very barbaric, I think," she added with a nod, rising to her feet and casting the leaf aside. She grabbed a birch in both hands and swung herself around the other side, wrapping her arms around the silvery trunk and pondering the rusted knight at the stream. "How can the lady cure her knight, when they are both bleeding? But to mask the wound is to act as you are not, and is perhaps the most infuriating trait in a patient. Stoicism." The wind rustled her hair. She looked up, catching the silvery wave of leaves overhead, and then back to the rogue. "Your knight sounds very stubborn, but he masks it as her concern. Oh, but now I sound as addle-brained as the court fool, and I am tired of metaphor. Stop, Peregrine, and smell the mint leaves. Let yourself heal. Be who you are and stop reacting. Stop. You are not on parallel journeys but the same plane."

Peregrine: He shook his head slowly, but pulled himself from the water the tattered torn tunic that was stuffed inside the coat would be his means of drying as it needed washing anyway--Jean-Claude would have a fit. Pulling on the pants he had left somewhere upon the bank the leather almost refused but eventually it was laced. Bare feet would as well pad along side her, taking that mint leaf and enjoying very much how the scent did clear his head. "Where does your wisdom come from anyway? Do you speak on experience? Have you traveled the seven seas looking for the answers to single questions? If so, can you answer me this?" He turned to face her, cut her off with his back to the woods, and her own to the bank--trapping her there, a habit that died hard. "Who am I? I'm searching..looking everyday for more clues, but I know very little about myself other then I'm in love with Rosalind, and I like to dance.." Brows rose with surprise as he admitted it to himself, and instantly started to imitate another voice asking but the same question, "Perry, you love to sail. Oh yeah? That why my ship sat in that harbor for nearly 6 months? Sank there too. Perry, you love to find trouble..yeap..that's why I went out of my way for a woman who sits on a high horse, and her little brat. Now I've got an entire underground wondering where their next meal comes from, and don't have the insides to go fetch it. Lord, I'm a mess huh?" He bent over to pull on his boots, but just like the change from night to day the subject he would switch, "So..stitched a man up did ya? This lover of yours..or is that what it takes to get some real work done? If so..I know this nice little spot just down the way, clover covered and one of the best places to lay naked." He grinned then, a face that was his own mask, but one he would forever be known for.

Ada: "Do you expect me to say, 'Peregrine, when you find yourself, you shall find her'?" She smiled at him, hardly minding she was cornered. "That is not how the world works, my criminal friend. What if I say to you this -- that you are so very good at telling me what you are not, and I think she is very good at telling you what she is. Does this sound like a disparity to you?" She arched a brow at him. She was wise and she was naive. She was an old melody and a blush-worthy sea shanty. What advice she had to offer, however, was usually much more straightforward than what she offered him now, with enigmatic eyes and a vague smile. She watched him pull on his boots and resume his usual facade, but this did not bother her. He had been perfectly exposed in more ways than one until a few seconds ago, and that had been enough for the Sage. "Your lady may have it right. But what do I know? I drag my bleeding lovers through marketplaces and attempt to dump them in your kingdom. I would have, too, if it were not for your little knight friend." It was very amusing that Ada made diminutives for all the men that dwarfed her. Including Peregrine, who still stood several inches over her. She gave her tree a little pat. "Ah, and I know many secret places in these woods, but I rarely like experiencing them on my back. There are better positions." With a wink, she went to collect her baskets.

Peregrine: "I don't mind being on my back." He spoke very matter of fact, "You can ask your lover's sister. Lord.." He smiled, tossing his coat over one arm, and bending to take her baskets. This time he would be a gentleman, but she had his attention else where, "Woman liked to use ropes too, would rock the whole boat." Though he spoke of Danae with ease his eyes watched the path for those flowers, bending to pluck as they passed and tucking them under his arm..to hide? Of course. "We're not a dumping ground, but there be many-o-men who could use the extra coin in their pocket if you wish him dead and gone. None will trace it back to you, trust me. I got my eye on a few in town as we speak..could be a fluke accident you know, a flu..I hear chickenpox are horrible to have this time of year." He spoke dryly as the moved again upon the path and towards the town.

Ada: "Ropes, hmm? I doubt brother and sister are aware of each other's proclivities. Nor that they share that one in particular. At least, I hope never to be in a conversation in which they compare. Stars, Peregrine, my mind is now dirty." She laughed, though, and offered him one of the baskets. She hadn't found anything worth digging up, and had plenty more where these came from. "Do not crush them," she advised, and would not stop insisting he take the basket until he actually took it. It at least took her mind off imagining the terrifying Danae wrapped up in ropes. No, the image was back again. She fluffed her hair with her free hand and tried recalling, in alphabetical order, her store's contents. "I do not wish him dead, just gone for a while. He will consider things before he comes back. He is not dear to me, really, but I would not wish him dead. I am sorry if I assumed incorrectly -- I do not think it a dumping ground, but I thought it might keep him busy, attempting to stay alive precludes him from making social calls to me."

Peregrine: "Hey it's the least I can do to return the favor. You want him gone for a while you got it. My Pub tendress will charm his socks off, he'll be a wondering lost pup in the woods for weeks if he tells her no." He smirked as she handed him the basket. Of course his mind kept wondering back to the little always have her hair covered Queen of his heart, the suit fit well, and wondered if she even liked the flowers he brought her. They were never arranged very nicely, nor asked for her hand upon the eve. Perhaps he'd pull one over on her, and actually send someone to fix them, light a candle on the bar, and share a real meal. Hell they never even went on those sorts of things..courting.."If Ren is anything like Danae..then I admire your strength. I've never been so worn out in all my life..That woman had me tied in knots..So good luck with that." He truly felt she would need it, though Ren didn't strike him as the type to tie his women..but there was no doubt he held the same stamina; must have been a Greek thing.

Ada: She snickered -- couldn't help it, really. For all the teasing she had been doing since meeting him earlier, he'd finally won a round. "Ren is a very, very happy man," was all she said, choosing enigma over the bawdy. "But I think, unlike yourself, he is more amused in doing the tying than being the tied. It suits me." She shrugged, threw one more grin his way, and spotted one of those flowers he was searching for, carefully removing it from the ground and setting it in his basket. "I like that idea, about your tendress. But I have always accused him of, well -- not being a particular fan of women, and so far, I've seen no proof he does. So, good luck to your woman. She'll need it." Ada was good at saying very little about herself, and even less about those she cared for. But she did enjoy chattering, and could talk about nearly anything at great length. She was also a fan of silences, comfortable but wordless silences, when she could abstractedly ponder everything she could later talk about, storing up information for a more talkative hour. She was quiet now, occasionally observing him, but had little else to contribute. Something about him seemed a little more satisfied than it had been earlier, but perhaps she was imagining things.

Peregrine: A smiled pulled on his lips, knowing well how lucky he must be. Though it was quick to his own relationships in the past, there had to be more then just great sex. He had loved with his body many, but loved with his heart very few. Carmen will cure him of anything..Her drinks are the best, and if it wasn't for her we'd have very little coin rolling in. Even the General's men come to our side of town to put down their arms at the Cat. "I could be amused too, but the last thing I wish is another rumor of a lover not of my own..and frankly..I bet he could take me." A wink then, as they came from the woods the village of the gypsies a welcome sight, but once again a reminder of the different worlds in which they came. Upon the edge of the streets he could see men in black dusters the fabric thick and long, and they questioned the men who had fought in the ring. "They are looking for me.." He hissed quickly jumping behind the stable at the mouth of the city. "Quick go..go..you didn't see me."

Ada: You would not wish to be," Ada said darkly, but would not clarify. The healer had her secrets, and would not be telling fairy tales to explain it to Peregrine. She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Then I guess here we part. Do let me know how the story ends," she added, and swinging her basket, walked away. She rarely asked questions without already knowing the answers. She had rules as solid as if carved in stone and infrequently broke them. But those were just two of the quirks for the Sage, sagacity and stubbornness, mixed with a few other subtle scents that made a fragrance like none other. She passed through the gates with her mushrooms and made her way to the Briar Rose, where Rose already knew Ada's recipe and told her she would get after pickling the smaller button mushrooms as soon as she was able. Ada returned to her shop, rescuing her new apprentice from an overbearing woman with a severe weight problem. Though she busied herself in the daily tasks, she honestly did wonder after the pirate-without-a-boat, and hoped she would not have to explain, like she had had to with Gauthier, her newest unsavory friendship.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Hoskuld: The afternoon was lazy save for the tedious tasks of the castle, though with the military to the South, and the Duke along with it; so many were beside themselves with boredom. Upon the evening hour, just before the last bells were to be played a man passed well into the halls before they closed. His missive was clear a small directory in his hands. From the Abbot he had been sent, to fetch upon beauty's fair--a legendary woman. She needs her heart saved just as her soul, my friend, The old friend had spoken his hand upon the suitor's shoulder. An abusive husband, a rival clan..and a pirate..The last word had been a hiss for the merchant, as he had been victim of the very word. This man smelled of the sea, carried with him the ripe underbelly of his trade as well. He carted livestock from isle to isle, or whatever paid the bills. His name was noble, his trade was perfected, but it was his face that held all compassion. Of Norse decent his long blonde hair was braided down his spine acting as a pendulum as he walked, a rope for Rapunzel's prince. He was taller then tall, a massive frame of nearly 7 feet, and could even rival the General. However, where many of men were built and lean, this man carried with him the pounds of countless days at harbor. He was not the sort to take a risk of leaving his ship to the hands of fools, and where back mountains were taken, he simply remained. His belt was upon it's last notch, and even as his hand came to knock upon the door he feared it would snap within any moment. Meurig had told her to expect him, to enjoy..relax, but would she? If any woman saw what stood upon her door they would no doubt run.

Rosalind: "AH DUN WANNA!" Aldric's voice shrieked through the thick wood of the Lady Inveryne's door. "NOOOOO!" Thunk. The sweet and mild-mannered future chieftain of Lamont had his limits, apparently, and then extended as far as bedtime without a story from his father. Unfortunately, Colban was running errands across Campbell lands for his oldest living brother, Black Campbell of Lochawe, and Sir Kendrew. There were no bedtime stories laughingly told in Colban's broad, deep Scottish voice, and all the stories Rosalind knew lacked a certain something. And the toddler had long since accepted this, and demanded tales only from the best. The thunk was Rosalind's peace offering, one of the boy's favorite stuffed horses, knocking over a large book on the table across the room. Rosalind had merely to offer her son a thousand-yard stare to stop the tantrum, her dark curls framing a face that compromised on no treaty, and even the three-year-old paused. There was a long, hard moment of silence between these two forces of nature -- Rosalind, the unyielding Norman and her son, the hot-tempered Scot -- until finally Aldric relented and snuggled down into his covers. Rosalind tucked him in firmly, gave his forehead a kiss, and finally checked her reflection in a basin of standing water. Meurig had told her to expect a gentleman caller, but he had not offered her any suggestions as to who would watch Aldric while his mummy dearest had her date, save the nanny -- who had children of her own to look after. She took a deep breath, splashed a bit of perfumed water on smooth curls, dabbed some on the pulse points of her wrists, and finally decided she was ready to answer the door. She was not unreasonable nor unmanageable. She was not as unfriendly as most of the court assumed. Rosalind simply had her own set of rules and priorities, established after a very long and very hard winter. "Take care of my son," she instructed the nanny with an amused glint in her hazel eyes. There wouldn't be much to take care of now that he was passed out asleep. She opened the door, glanced up at the giant, and closed the door behind her. Men did not come into ladies' rooms, no matter how recommended they came of abbots. "Good eve," she offered, inclining her head politely. Sweet Christ, Meurig had sent her a giant.

Hoskuld: Never would he have passed the door frame even if she should invite him, but he was relieved he did not. "Hello." It was clear with his short word he was nervous, as a man of the sea had very little time to spend with ladies, and the giant was in fact shy. He did not do this often, did not court as this, or simply ever ask..He did this with a favor in mind, but upon seeing her it was then clearly written across him he cared very little of begging the abbot. One look from the pretty pretty princess and he would gladly do it again. "Abbot sent me to have dinner with you." He spoke almost all at once, "A fancy one." His hands closed together over the little flower he had been given, crushing it without realization, but then gasped lightly...still handing it to her. "You find them deeper in town, but I can't be gone long." And then he went silent, the halls only opened up further, and as every passing face watched with wide eyes, rumors went flying. "So take your pick.." A man who was lead by women, no doubt would bring home the coin, a fine match for a woman of her own mind. Rosalind would have clear and total freedom, but a man waiting in her bed every night. Was this why the holy man picked this one? There wasn't much behind his blue eyes, a mind bent on work, but they were kind at least. "My name is Hoskuld, but call me Hoss don't expect ye' to pronounce it right."

Rosalind: Her confession to Meurig that she was uncertain in her future did not mean she was as uncertain in her heart as he seemed to believe. But perhaps she was. Perhaps she merely needed to open her mind to ... someone who was not Peregrine. She had been trying very hard since the letter came from the abbot not to think in this way. It still made her hands shake when she did. She took the flower and smiled lightly. "Thank you." Even though it was crushed, she still held onto it and gave it a light sniff. At her height, it was rare to find a man who was taller than she, particularly in her own place of origin, but she had been lucky enough to always be paired with bonnie big Scotsmen. Colban was just a few inches shorter than this man, and his hair had darkened with age, but when she had first met him -- he had been as sunny. "Monsieur le Abbe is a meddlesome man, but I do value his opinions. If he wishes us to meet, well -- I could not think of a more pleasant companion for the evening meal, Hoss." Hoss. She wondered what his surname was, but only briefly. Rosalind had gone from French to Scottish, and this had been challenging enough, as it had taken her a good six months to stop pronouncing Lamont the French way, and place the emphasis, as the Scots did, on the first syllable. "And there is no need to use titles or my ladys, I do not think. I would not mind if you called me Rosalind. I know it is informal. I hope you do not think me forward."

Hoskuld: When she spoke a blank look crossed his face, putting words together as he spoke English just fine, it was..well..women were not like this. He had money, and lots of it for he had no reason to spend it. He did not dine in fine places, or buy the most expensive attire. This was a simple man, with a simple mind who would have called her Rosalind anyway. "I'm no proper suitor." Clearly. "I just have no way of meeting women with my trade. My life is on my ship, so he does us both a favor." And there was that silence again, but he would turn to start the trek down the hall until they reached the falling night. "I'll take you to see my ship after we eat, just had a few new upgrades put in. You like the sea Rosalind?" Very good, she had him talking, this tall behemoth who seemed just as out of place as any fish from the ocean. The doors of the tavern were pressed open, held for her but out of forced habit, and not so much the proper manner..but this was all new a break would have to be cut.

Rosalind: Rosalind was determined to make the best of things. She wanted, truly, to give Meurig's idea a good chance. Well, maybe not truly. Maybe, if she was honest, she had already decided she would rather stand alone to see if she was able. She did not need someone to hold her hand and walk her through life. She did not want the false comfort of having a man to come home to. And with the language barrier, she wondered how long it would take before she even wished to bring her worries to ... Hoss. Would he even care? He was a merchant, not a courtier. Maybe that is precisely what you need, Rosalind, she reminded herself. Her doubts checked, she smiled and nodded. "You are doing fine, and I am flattered that you came." Visit his ship? She glanced at him. He wouldn't cast off the lines on their first outing? He wouldn't! "I like the sea very much. From a distance," she added. "I know how to swim, of course, but ... I cannot really explain it." She laughed awkwardly. "But that is your domain, non?" She was surprised their fine meal would be in a tavern. Ladies generally did not eat in taverns. Harlots and loose women, yes, but not women like Rosalind. But she went with it, slipping in graciously before him and waiting for him to indicate their table.

Hoskuld: A fancy one the abbot had said, and this was a fancy as it got with this man! They had plates, uses forks and knives. It was a higher class place, where everyone knew each other, and instantly when Hoss walked in cheers came with a riot of raised drinks. "You start without me?" He questioned the men and took hold his own tankard and before the froth of the drink could even settle it was slammed back. "Order what you like!" Like off the value menu, seemed to trail in with his words as it was VERY clear this one held very little clue. "Fella's this is Rosalind. You treat her with respect ye hear!" Pulling back a chair at the bar he would be so kind!! Was this his idea of a night out? So informal? With the scent of the sea, and the hide of every animal in Skye the room was compulsive, with every sweaty pig in his two sizes too small pants. This was what she would have to look forward to. However, it was but the first right? "Don't be shy now, woman. Order as you please! Drink what ye' wish!"

"And forget that man ever paid you to take her out!" one of the men howled.

Rosalind: She was going to kill Meurig. Yes, that was what she would do. If she fasted, prayed, and went with good intent, it would not even count as breaking one of the Commandments. Not technically, at least. As for the sins, she might be accused of wrath, but you would never see it upon her perfect face, placid as the summer lake. She did not sit down and she did not order. She did not greet the men, either. This reminded her, with a violent inward shudder, of her last wedding day. There were, she knew, many differences between this man and her dead husband, namely his sheer and unwitting ignorance, but even one comparison was too many for Rosalind. Though she had a limp that would rival a peg-legged sailor, she was graceful when she spun on her heel and left. Woman. She was from Beauquesne, a frontier against the English and salvation of Picardie and France herself! She was the Lady Inveryne and Chieftain of the Lamont! Meurig plainly had to die, no doubt thwarting his ambitions to become bishop, but such were the casualties of attempting to marry off the Lady Inveryne with a rude, uncultured, and bold man like ... Hoss! Such behavior was only acceptable from Peregrine.

Peregrine: Laughter chased her all the way to the door, but directed towards her it was not. To the giant they laughed as it seemed he always had a way of saying the wrong thing. Was this man doomed? It would be no question that the abbot would find himself a higher class man next time! However, with the night upon it's first breath, the darkened sky a shadow cast well over the horizon; it seemed even the stars were lost upon this black velvet, and this was his night. It would be when the door shot open, and the little lady stormed from the tavern would the Pirate reach out to take her hand, and it would be then he pulled her against him. With his back against the tavern wall, he had been waiting..listening, but had not expected the night to end so soon! The restless flirt didn't get to have any fun yet, for news travels fast, but upon the wings of birds did he hear this secret. It was Meurig's prayers upon the dove's back, and in the man's eyes as the bird found heaven did he know the truth; for what kind of demon would he be if he did not keep close eye upon the enemy--Peregrine had many enemies. Against his chest he would trap her, hands coming to close behind the small of her back to keep her, but that Cheshire's grin could captivate her if she wished. This man knew it well, as eyes burned with his malice cause, and the laughter spilled out in words, "So soon..You gave me no time to gut him." Would she be angry with him? He was not giving her space as he should..smothering, but how could he resist? In many ways he felt himself victorious. Against who? The Abbot.

Rosalind: Peregrine. She drew in her breath quickly at the surprise, but not out of fear. Her hands were resting on his chest in an instinctive grab for balance, his hands closing upon her own and holding her steady. Firmly. Was he trapping her or rescuing her? Her eyes, usually a clear and reasonable hazel, were dark like clouds passing over the moon, and narrowing upon his own pair, glittering with something innately feral. He would note she did not struggle against him or even attempt to back away. And now he held her as gently as if they were still lovers, hands on her lower back, pulling her toward him. "He called me 'woman,'" she explained. And then she suddenly remembered herself and wriggled free. She would have slapped him, too, but she reserved such gestures when she was truly infuriated, rather than offended. Which she was now, on both counts -- Hoss for his crudeness and Peregrine for breathing down her neck. "Do not gut him. And do not gut the Abbot. The one is an innocent, if a bit simple, and the other means the best for me." Besides, she wished to kill the abbot. Peregrine always intervened before she could deliver any final blows.

Peregrine: "Oh then, that is reason enough alone." He mused at the accusations she set against the man. A kind smile then, one that met half way from the brightness of his face to the heavens inside his soul. However, he would let his mouth as well his face fall still with the next words she spoke, and continued to listen as he pressed back to rest upon the rail. "Rosalind.." Only did he save such a tone for moments as this, quiet, endearing, and dusted with a hint of concern. "Of everything you take from this..us..of all the fights we've been through, of all the heartache, the good the bad..When will you figure out that none will know best for you, other then yourself?" A scoff then as he kicked his feet with hands folded between his knees, "And how does this Abbot know what's best for you? People inside the church are two faced, and those who go to confession are as well." Though he could not help but think her beautiful, even when she was so mad, he did not like to see such a face upon her..However, he simply couldn't resist, "So..Did you confess your soul? A pirate in his craft blew in from the sea to capture your heart and your thighs? Is this the reason for this entire thing? Those paths you can't follow, the ones that aren't paved in gold, well..Ha! They'll be DAMNED before they see you unhappily married again." He let his feet find the ground again, and pushed back his sleeves; over forearms,to prepare and drown them in the blood of the merchant swine. "Perhaps I'll just send Monsieur le Abbe a message, hmm?"

Rosalind: Rosalind shook with fury. It felt like an eternity before she could speak without immediately hissing an unladylike word at him. She arched a brow. "I confess everything. Do you think I am two-faced? I am the most honest woman you have ever met." Honest, with the glaring exception of when she had told him she fell on Fearghus's fist, if only to stem an impolite conversation from a perfect stranger. And two-faced, only when it meant the survival of her son. He knew her reasons for everything and she did not wish to explain herself to him again. "You tell me I will be unhappy with you. You cannot be all the things I need you to be. I think you are the hypocrite, for how will I know what happiness is if I do not have a chance to explore for myself where it can be found? I think I would be happiest alone. Does that insult your pride? I think I would be happiest not satisfying the Abbot's desires to be a matchmaker, but who knows? It is an opportunity." She paused, clenching her hands to stop their shaking, releasing them slowly to raise one to the solid cross hanging between her breasts. "If I am not happy alone, and if I will believe you when you say I cannot be happy with you, that leaves this. Do not insult me because you ... are not part in this." That hurt. It was worse than a blow, and she could not continue this conversation. Not without the words she really craved to say to him pouring out of her mouth, sounding cheap because he believed himself a rebound. She threw up her hands in an entirely Gallic gesture. "I left Aldric with the nanny. Good night, Peregrine."

Peregrine: "You know.." He was struggling with words, but not of rush emotion but realization. He was angry that was clear, but as he pointed a finger in her direction another moment would pass before he could continue. "I'm ok with this." An instant cool set in over his face, like a veil pulled over his eyes. "You want to move on so quick, fine, but I want you to get something straight." He closed the distance between them inches from her face he felt so tall, but it anger now wasn't it? "I wasn't the one knocking on your door, Rosalind. I wasn't the one leaving..for once, and I'm not ok with this. I'm not f*cking ok." His jaw tightened, the lines deep upon his face there would be no tears shed, or any sign of hurt, but it was pounding inside his chest. "YOU pushed me out..because of what? Your confessions? Holding your cross why? To protect yourself from sinning again? How am I supposed to feel?" The fool knew he should walk away, close his lips and just walk away, and for a good second he was..until he turned again, clearly not ready to give up this fight. "I gave up a lot for you, I lost everything I had worked for. I lost my ship, my crew, but more importantly I've lost my damned heart..Well,... you just keep holding that cross Darling, because I don't believe you." To hell she wasn't going to walk away! Not now! No no, he had lost his cool, long before she was given a chance to be free from the fire.

Rosalind: Did it bother him that her face showed nothing in the heat of his anger? It bothered her. She felt a chill down to her soul and wondered, not for the first time, how life had been so unkind as to remove her heart without a single warning. No, but the heart was still there -- it was there, and it beat frantically, at a disconnect with what showed in Rosalind's eyes, unable to make the woman who bore it dare another risky venture. Rosalind had considered herself influenced by pain. She could conquer that. But fear -- she would never be beyond that terrifying, all-consuming horror of losing again. So her eyes remained calm, her mouth in an unyielding line, her chin stuck out in defiance. But perhaps something leaked through, a blink, for she did not go with her initial reaction. She did not dismiss him entirely with a curt, Finished? She blinked, and turned away from his anger. "Damn the arrangement, then? Damn whatever that was on the docks, the night you said you were incapable of love? What is your promise this time? What contract will you make and then break as it suits your heart while it patronizes mine?" Christ, why are we doing this? She dropped the cross, setting it swinging, and ran a hand through lightly perfumed curls. "You told me this was temporary. You said you were wrong for me. You do not wish to give me children. You say so many things, Peregrine, and now you ... now this .... This is what I am. I may not want more children, but I am a mother. I may not want to marry again, but I want to love. I may live contrarily to the Church's teachings, but they are not wrong! What do you want?" She looked back at him, some of her seething anger apparent on her face. She was convinced, even after he told her his feelings, she would never understand him.

Peregrine: A hand would reach out for her falling short, as he wanted her to know he was listening, and listen he did. He felt himself close up, the fire dim but still how it burned. His anger left him, upon the wings of doves for this he was certain as the stars came out within this moment. The tavern was so heavily crowded now, that he could not imagine it being here he would confess such a heart, but he did. When her hand went through her hair, he found his palm coming to still his heart, pressing against his chest, wanting so bad to follow her fingers. For a good long moment he kept quiet, thinking of how to put his feelings into words, how to sum up all his desires into a single thought, "I want to find a balance..You have a son, and I'm a horrible father. You serve the Duchess, and I've been commissioned to off the head of the Duke. Where do we meet in the middle? I'd tell you the world was flat if you wished, even though I know it's round. It's been a dark dismal hell, Rosa' the view from where I sit is impossible, but I was told all my life nothing was impossible. Every story I ever told your son, of dragons, or goblins all ended just the same, with happily ever after, but I stopped believing in that a long time ago..does that make me wrong? Or does that make me that hypocrite again because I can see the end..I can see the Happily Ever After..I just can't figure how we get there. We are in the same place, same nation, but different worlds. You've been hurt for so long, Mon amour..What if we can't find what we seek? Can you judge me so easily for being afraid?"

Rosalind: She gently took his hand in hers and placed it against the soft flesh above her heart. Nothing carnal in the gesture, no invitation to explore further south, just a demonstration of their commonality. That her heart beat just as uncertainly. That it raced onward, heedless. "You never let me in," she said softly. "Your arms, yes. Your heart -- " she touched his, with just two fingers, index and middle, through the fabric of his shirt. "I never did understand until," she paused. "Until I said farewell. Was I too early? We can love without reason or logic. Love is not need but desire fulfilled, or it is merely lust, nothing cold water and time cannot cure." She pinned her eyes on him. She could capture him without touch, though she was not aware of that power. "I cannot compromise on loyalty," she said at last. "I cannot compromise on a lot of things." Lest he think that was a finality, her last conclusion, she lifted her hand to his jaw, and rested her fingers along his cheek. "What now? Where do we go? Together? God knows, it has been but a few days and we cannot seem to go it alone. But tell me that I am the one, the only one to give you what you have spent your whole damned life seeking, that this is what you mean by telling me you love me. Perhaps I ask too much. But will you blame me, too, for being afraid?"

Peregrine: Did she understand how much she held him? Like the wild winds that move through the trees, Peregrine could be everywhere at once. He had little care for closed places, locked doors, and windows that were not left open. However, it was his hand that closed over her heart did he never wish to leave it. "I can make you many promises, tell you anything you wish to hear. If would keep you from the arms of another man." Fingers would not trail South no for he felt it forbidden, but above her collar bone and over her neck they trailed--gently. "We do not go..Let me finish what I must do, allow me the time to find myself in some form of balance, and finish. You give yourself time to heal..put behind you those ghosts..those reasons you flinch if a hand moves too fast, or a merchant calls you by your sex. Put away those heartaches..find what makes you happy. Then..then let's take a walk. We'll walk down by the river, on a day like any other. I'll take your hand." Just as he did then curling his fingers around her own, "And we'll make it right? I'll make it right.." With one hand still holding her own, his free hand came to brush her cheek, the soft baby fine flesh made his mouth water with the desire of what pucker her lips did have. "I have waited longer then my whole life for this feeling. I've been wondering this world so lost, without meaning..or mercy, and here Rosalind, I have found myself if only from your eyes. The judgement in your eyes from the fight, hurt worse then the blade of the knight." He spoke pulling back the lace of his tunic to show her just how perfect that blade had come, but his eyes never once left hers--as she held him, very closely. "I'll didn't need to let you in..you captivated it with every visit to my tavern..and took it when you smiled." With that he would smile too, recalling the memory very fondly.

Rosalind: She squeezed his hand, but did not lessen the pressure, instead holding it firmly, their fingers laced together. Something quieted in her soul at last, something that had been unsettled since their last conversation and struggled futilely against cool logic. "I know what makes me happy. He stands here now, and when he rails against the world for no discernable reason, when he attempts to do right by doing wrong, I understand." He had murdered her husband, and she kept the secret. But Fearghus was not here. Only scars remained, and those were fading daily, reduced to an occasional scream at night as dreams conjured a ghost she knew still haunted. "But I want you to tell me anyway. To talk to me and tell me what your worries are, and maybe I cannot fix them, but we can laugh about them." She looked to the wound on his chest and sighed, then back to his eyes. "Do you know that each time Carmen talks to me, I feel like wrapping my hands around her neck until she no longer breathes? She holds a torch for you, I suspect, unless she does truly hate you. It is hard to tell." She canted her head. Not to break the moment, no, but in true contemplation. She righted her gaze. "It makes me jealous." She smiled. "So let me tell you that I love you, and I think about you all the time. And do not dare think to tell me what my heart feels, because it was clear to me, even with all I had had to drink that night at the fires, that I do not feel that way over a man who merely helps me find my sewing basket. I really ... Aldric's nanny .... "

Peregrine: "And you know I love to laugh." He would turn her body into his with a smile as he would walk her home, "And you should know by now, if ever you wished any dead and gone..all you must do is say the name three times out loud." Bending to place a tender kiss to her cheek he wrapped one arm around the small of her back to keep her close. "We will set this right, Mon Cher..A new adventure..and the one thing I wish to not walk away with is regret, and ever since you left I realized I never gave you a chance." His eyes closed in upon the path before them, the shouts of the tavern long gone, and he wished he could walk her back to the shore..but this was responsibility. However, when they reached the castle he stilled his steps just outside the gates, where the shadows still clung to the walls like spiders in the night. "Ros.." He whispered, watching the guards pass before the door, and pulled her back. Greedy palms came to touch the face of an angel, this demon born again simply wanted to live in the moment. It was a forbidden love, but one he would see through. His hands cupped her face lifting her chin the small bit that was needed to close the space between them, and he kissed her then with a kiss that began as sweet as hello, and as cherished as well put good-bye. For his parting promised if she left that window unlocked, he'd chase away all ghosts from her past, "Good night." Again his voice a quiet hushed sound, but as he backed into the night the darkness fell over him until there was nothing.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Guard: Aldric had been confiscated, kidnapped from the safe holding of his tomb to wonder the shores as the day was too beautiful to be inside. A note had been left for his mother with the sketch of two figures. The sticks of their bodies seeming to be fleeing down the lone line of the page, meaning her son had taken off with a pirate on this very bright warm day. Rosalind had too much to do, and for this he was certain. She was needed, could not leave upon her own whim, but perhaps someday that all would change. She had once told him her desire and love for a busy day, that it got her through the tough times...but time passed too quickly. It had been a week since their fall out upon the steps of their tavern adventure; where men learned their places easily with the click of her stiletto. However, the merchants ship still remained in the harbor with a baffled crew as to where their captain could have gone? "He was last seen upon the eve he took the lady Avalle to dine." One man of his crew spoke to the guard who had put up a search party. All over Skye they had walked, scanned every dark shadow they could find. However, finally they could not put off the questions any longer. Her story had been a tragic one, and all of the nation wished her only peace. However, she did keep some rather interesting company. A knock upon the drawing room where the ladies often met, a man would stand waiting for an answer; a guard upon the royal army.

Rosalind: "Lady Inveryne, you have been married. Is that ... well, what I mean to say is, does it ... " there was a flurry of giggling but no real answers to whatever question the woman had tried to frame.

Rosalind, to her credit, only smiled. "Whatever your question, my dear," she responded after the laughter settled, "I am sure Lady Agnes will be sure to have more answers than I. Married how many years?" she asked the old woman.

Agnes gave a toothy smile. "Forty-two."

The ladies opened their mouths to continue the discussion, but just then, a knock sounded at the door. One of the maids answered, and beckoned for Rosalind to attend. Rosalind set down the French novel she had been translating for the women and left the drawing room, her posture naturally shifting the fabric of her gown back into place. Innately elegant, the hue a silvery dark green, she was far more simply dressed than all the ladies she happened to outrank in the room she had just abandoned, only a single bracelet on her wrist and the heavy silver and jet cross on her neck. "Good day, monsieur. May I be of service?"

Guard: "Good day, M'lady. So sorry to disturb you, but I fear I need to ask you a few questions..." His eyes cast over her dark, along with his hair, a fine man tall and well built--no doubt a star in his profession, but the giggle of the girls would have him withdrawal. "In private. Will you walk with me?" He would not offer her an arm, nor wait for her to be at his side; he simply started walking. "Four nights ago, you had dinner in a tavern in the heart of the city with a man known as Hoss, is that correct?" He asked quietly, but a stern profession written well inside his voice.

Rosalind: Rosalind was not used to men simply walking off without attending her. She frowned briefly at the man's lack of etiquette. Part of the allure of court was the routine of movement and manners. There was little diversity within the game, but when well played, was second to none for adventures. If the man wished to advance his career, he would most assuredly benefit from a few lessons. Yet she stepped after him, not bothering to increase her pace to match his. He would eventually see the rumors of her lameness were in fact truth, and she hurried her stride for no one not worthy of chasing. "No, that is perfectly acceptable," she responded, folding her hands at her stomach. "It is your profession, after all." She waited while he asked his question, nothing rippling the surface of her face, though she did wonder what inspired his curiosity. "Why, yes. It was arranged by the Abbot of Neath, who seems to believe my heart best served by re-marrying." She would supply no more information than that, for her date with Hoss had been ... beneath her admittedly high standards.

Guard: "Mmm, so I see. A noble gesture.." He stilled his steps to turn then waiting for her to catch up. "And upon that night, you left alone correct? Witnesses saw you go into the tavern, but did not see you two leave together..but I ask you now..Did he speak of anything out of the ordinary? Perhaps of a trip within the next week, or of any reason for him to leave?" His hands folded then behind his back, watching her with stoic eyes that read of nothing. There was not a single expression across his face other then the absorption of knowledge. "Perhaps of any enemies who would wish him dead? A ransom perhaps?"

Rosalind: "He is missing?" She arched a brow. Then it hit her. Oh dear. She'd told Peregrine to leave Hoss alone. He'd done nothing wrong save act like an ass, and if that was a punishable offense, the human race would be doomed. "I left alone. Hoss was ... not quite what I expected. I am sure he would be charming to any other woman," she added diplomatically. "He did not mention a trip, I do not think? But he is a merchant. I suppose he travels frequently. I only knew him from the one encounter, so I would not know of his enemies." Except Peregrine, that is.

Guard: "He is missing, he did not make it back to the ship after his evening out with you. His crew waits still in the har.." He stilled his words seeing the rush of another soldier, and with the respectful bow the younger man spoke, "We found him, Sir. Or..er..the crew. It started with a smell, and they soon discovered he hung himself in the crow's nest, Sir..Lady..forgive me." Another bow of his head in her direction, "Excuse me, M'lady." With that the men carried their steps quickly down the hall and the silence crept in. She stood alone, but the voices inside the doors started to whisper, over and over again their fears came to life. Was Rosalind cursed? Would she be the death of all their men? A man with a golden touch, the fabled story of a King whose greed extended well into his own wealth, but was hers of death? Through the cracks in the stone, grass grew outside to prove that life wasn't forgotten beneath..and her proof came rushing down the halls. Little chubby hands, dirty, covered in sand RUSHED to see his mother. The child wanted only to show her his new gift. Curled in one arm, a filthy..dirty..flea covered mutt curled his lips with a smile, panting into a happy bark--yipping all the way. Of course, that was in reference to the dog in his arms, and not the Pirate upon his heels.

Rosalind: Rosalind wondered if there was some truth to the curse rumor. She curled her fingers around the cross hanging between her breasts and offered a wordless prayer, though it seemed no matter how many she offered, her luck continued to be absolutely deplorable. Hanged. She would not blame her sudden rejection for giving the man cause for this cowardly exit from life, but what if there was something to the curse? All the men in her life went away eventually. Even Colban had to leave -- there was no way on this earth she could marry a Campbell and live. She sighed. Aldric stayed, though. And there was her little sunspot, racing down the hall with a -- what in God's name was that in his arms?! She dropped the cross and resisted the urge to plant her hands on her hips, instead grabbing her little boy and giving him the briefest and most ginger of hugs, and then spinning him around on his heels and marching him toward the Lamont suite. "This is your fault," she hissed at the pirate, but feigning a smile, added, "And now we are all going to take a bath while Uncle Perry goes to find some very strong juice for maman." As long as the dog came with him, Aldric was happy with this change in course, which suited Rosalind.

Peregrine: "Uncle?" He grinned, inwardly wondering what thoughts would cross the child's mind if he ever woke to find his uncle in bed with his mother? At the door again, little giggles of the ladies passed well inside the shell of the man's ear, and the Pirate turned a smile over his shoulder with a wink causing them all to bashfully turn away. "Something strong?" From the breast pocket of his overcoat he pulled a flask, following Rosalind until they came to the door of their suite. The puppy wiggled from Aldric's arms and bounced at their feet excited for the new world he was to explore. Running back and forth he tracked his pawprints over the rugs, until even Peregrine worried the mutt would wear a hole in the rich floor. "It's always my fault, Rosalind." He grinned stilling his steps in the door of course not extending his invitation. "Wore him out, he'll sleep good tonight." Wore himself out too, as it was much more work then he realized to keep a toddler entertained.

Rosalind: It was as they entered that Rosalind saw Perry's "note" and gave one of her heaviest sighs to date. It was a good thing Aldric did not yet understand the complexities of Gallic sighs and sounds of exasperation, though he certainly knew the look, particularly when it was aimed in his direction. Rosalind sent the maid to prepare the bath, with instructions to find the strongest soap possible for getting rid of fleas. No questions, the hand and look said alike, as she waved the woman off and took the proffered flask from Perry. She pretended to ignore the mud getting tracked all over her new rugs, the ones she had purchased so carefully after purging this room of another woman's life. She handed back the flask and dabbed at her mouth with a corner of her sleeve. "I expect the dog will live here, then?" she asked, arching a brow. "Or were you going to volunteer your residence as his home?" It was not a question, really, but he would know that, as he seemed to know her as well as the back of his hand. With a roll of her eyes, she gathered both her son and the dog and went to rid them both of fleas. She was hard-pressed to say whether the squirming animal was more difficult to wash than her squirming toddler, but eventually they were both let back into the parlor, Aldric's blond hair towel-dried into wheat-colored peaks. "I have not heard from my date. Do you suppose he feels spurned? I am not sure of the etiquette in this situation."

Peregrine: "Mmm, if you could see where I live, Mon Cher, you would think him a king." He smiled as he stood in the doorway, taking only a very few careful steps inside, but pulling the door closed behind him. He felt awkward..out of place, and that he didn't belong in scenes as this. A warm fire to break the evenings chill settling in the hearth, her son's laughter spilling down the hall, how beautiful she was when frustration filled her cheeks, and how her hair came loose from it's hold as the day came to an end. Everything was so perfect, like out of a story, and it pulled on his heart. However, pushed him back to the door. "I would say so Rosalind, you left them laughing." He teased lacing his fingers together before him, and squaring away his feet with his shoulders, "But I would not expect to be hearing from him or your priest anytime soon." He spoke very casually going about the room again with his eyes; didn't she feel trapped behind these walls?

Rosalind: The walls were her home. She belonged here. Well, if she was honest, she belonged at Inveryne. She belonged on the land the Duchess rewarded her with, land she had only visited once. She waved Perry to come in. He was awkward standing in the doorway, and she wouldn't have that. She took a bit of strewing herbs from the basket near the fire and tossed a small handful into the flames. The lavender glowed in a slow burn, a brilliant and lasting orange like pine needles, but slower. She took a seat on the sofa, propped an elbow on one arm, and leaned against it, cupping her chin in her hand with her back to the pirate. "No, I do not think I will hear from Hoss soon. The guards just arrived with the news. But I wondered if I am such a terrible date." Her words were wry, but the smile was gone on her lips. She straightened up and turned to face him. "Why, what happened to Meurig? He is my friend." She could see, no matter how she wanted him to feel at home here, he plainly was not. Perhaps she should put Aldric to bed. He did not need to hear what the adults in the room were talking about anyway. "Excuse me," she offered, and gathered Aldric. She emerged ten minutes later, the puppy curled up at Aldric's side, though thankfully on the floor and not in the bed. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it.

Peregrine: "You are not a terrible date, Rosalind. He was a close minded fool who will only be missed by the lice that lived on the hairs upon his chest." A sudden dark change within a face that was the vision of youth. A well swept hand through his hair would correct the windblown mess, to a more manageable roguish look. "And do not fear for your friend, he still lives..for now, but perhaps this will be a lesson to him." He spoke with a small raise in his chin, perhaps daring her to question him further. Slow meaningless steps closed the distance between them, where shadows played tricks upon the wall and his own loomed over her; though his eyes met hers with ease. His voice once it held the very spirit of the wind, captured now within it's tones the chill of a winter's night. "He deserved it." The hiss came in quiet tones, but the darkened undertone very clear.

Rosalind: "No, he did not. What if he did not know better, ah? How is death a lesson? You cannot learn from it." Did he know how much he confused her? Challenged her every belief until she felt like rubble, to be rebuilt, but without the surety of plans? She cupped his jaw in her hand. "Do not hurt Meurig. He is a good man. He wished the best for me." He did, too. The Abbot was climbing the ranks in the Church, but he was not so heartless as to do so on the backs of innocents. He had taken Rosalind's full confession and though there had been a moment to pass judgement, he had withheld. She had needed that with all her heart, after the rejection she had received from the Pope himself when she had most needed an advocate. "Please. I cannot have his death on my conscience. Rapists and ingrates, I do not mind so much, but not a man of God." She quirked a smile at him. "So, what did you do with my son today? You look tired."

Peregrine: "I would not hurt your friend..unless he upsets you, and I am sorry but there is not a God in any belief that would protect him from my wrath." Her sweet little hand touched his face and with it his lips lifted into a small smile, "Nor would any look you give me..or soft touch." His hand came to cup the back of her hand and he brushed his fingers over her skin. "He did not cry one time, but he's spoiled. I had to carry him much of the day..I was tempted to send for Jean to have him take over, as I have yet to sleep." Up all night, and the day he knew he would need to leave soon, or he would fall within the streets. Curling his fingers within her own he let them fall away from his face, but did not wish to let it go just yet. "You enjoyed the idea of dinners..suitors..the correct passions in courting, yes?" He asked with a coy grin, "Then have dinner with me tomorrow night?" The question came with shift in his face, the tip of his head in her direction.

Rosalind: "Friends upset us and disappoint us, and if they are worth it, we give them chances to improve. People do not do what we expect of them. Sometimes, they want what is actually good for us, even if we are intent on what is wrong. But," she added, before he could form the opinion that she believed this about him, "three is too many for a relationship, and I am determined to ... well, I have not ever been able to dictate my own terms in a relationship before. Not even once." She laced her fingers in his, enjoying the feel of them. She had always been the patient and perfect partner, a biddable wife, an occasional voice of reason. "I have never been courted," she responded to his last questions, amusement tingeing her answer. "I always wondered what it would be like. Certainly something must come between 'good day, milady' and 'I do.' Would you ... would you want to?" It didn't seem like something that would be particularly appealing to a pirate. But then he grinned at her, a smile that immediately spread on her own lips. "I would."

Peregrine: "Then let me make you a deal.." A little twist in his hip as he took a single step closer nearly sandwiching her between the wall and his own chest. Against her ear he brushed his lips, to whisper, "Tomorrow night I will provide you with dinner, but you pick where. Think on it, do not make decisions so swiftly. Send a letter to Jean, he will see it gets to me..." A kiss then to her cheek, a chaste kiss as she had once given him, but the deeper meaning in small sigh of content very clear, "M'lady." He still held her hand, but brought it his lips as he gave her a small sweeping bow, and he kissed her knuckles. Though..was very hard to take him serious with sand caked to his boots, and hems of his attire tattered from the beat in weather. Once he corrected his stance he covered a yawn that crept from his chest with the back of his now free hand, and the wear of the day finally sank in deeply. "I must go," His voice seemed distant and lost as he was very clearly about to fall over, "Sleep..yes.."

Rosalind: "Take a bath. There is already hot water," she offered. "Sleep here tonight." She knew he wouldn't. He hated being inside the castle. She wouldn't keep him anywhere he did not wish to be, but she offered. She could be polite. She smiled. "All right, I will write to Jean-Claude. You will hear from me." The light kisses they often exchanged were so perfectly innocent to outside observers. They would not notice the shift of his hips, or how she responded, as elegant as any dancer accommodating to a partner's shift in stance. How her free hand moved around his back for a moment, fingers splayed across his lower back to pull him even closer, until he stepped back to perfect his bow. She made it hard for him to leave, but always left the option for him to do so. "Thank you, for taking Aldric today," she offered at last. "I could not get out of my duties, not with the lady gone. He actually ... he really is pretty cute, once he's been bathed, in a homely sort of way." In reference to the dog, of course, not her son. Aldric was cute no matter what he was covered in, owing to the cherubic baby cheeks and big blue eyes. All the world, including Rosalind, had a soft spot for a baby with a round face and blue eyes.

Peregrine: "MmmmmHmmm." The sound coming from behind closed lips as he swayed upon his feet, and eyes were now closed. He knew her to be speaking, but all he could hear was the gentle breeze outside the window move through the trees. Snapping from the world in between slumber and awakened moments he opened his eyes to her again, "Aldric is a very fine boy, yeah..yes he is." Turning on his heel he would barely make it to that sofa she had occupied before crashing hard. "He'll miss his father, but we'll keep him too busy yes?" A mutter against the bend of his arm would be his last, as the day's 'hard work' took it's toll.

Rosalind: She watched him go, folding her hands in front of her and observing him with an odd tranquility on her alabaster features. But the shadows shifted and another woman was revealed, where dark hazels followed his every movement, and nostrils flared at the salt, sand, and sun he tracked in with the smells of mud, clean dog, and happy little boy. She found a light blanket and rested it briefly at his feet while she removed his boots and set them aside, lowering the blanket over him, fairly confident no matter how firmly she tucked it in, he would shake free of it within moments. No walls, no blankets, no clothes would bind the pirate. It was part of his charm, she was certain. Rosalind made sure to leave the windows open, cracking open the shutters on the pretense of ensuring fresh air in the room, but Rosalind was nothing if not a study in subtlety. "Good night," she offered, and closed the door on her own room.