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Post by Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont on Jun 30, 2009 19:55:44 GMT -6
“You do know that I am not the only one looking for him..” The voice came in and out of his mind as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Peregrine knew he was still in the holding, as for the smell of the mixed body fluids and the dried blood around him swelled in the heat. How long had it been since he had last seen the sun? Blue eyes parted with the feel of the warmth of it slipping in through the cracks in the window.
“Daylight..” He whispered more of a gasp, as the air he took in was forced and even hurt.
“Aye, that it is Pirate—your last..if you do not tell me where he is.” James spoke pointing the tip of his blade over the exposed chest there where once a fine silk shirt had been; Jean-Claude’s finest. He had trusted him with it, the Frenchman, and now look at it!
Peregrine could not lift his head, every part of his body ached from being hung there for what he felt was eternity. The blonde strands of his hair were matted to his face from the sweltering heat, but on the inside he shivered; ill from the infection. He had felt himself slipping between reality, shifting himself from one cycle to the next, but they all ended with her warm smile.
“What’s a matter? Don’t you wish to see her again? She is a fine one, a sweet little round behind. Would be a shame to see it wasted, after I finish you.” He pressed on the Pirate’s chest and he started to swing, each pull on his arm torture! Lifting Peregrine’s chin, the pirate would meet the man’s eyes and James had expected something a little different…
A fire burned inside those eyes, of wicked intent that certainly did not match the exterior of the chained Gypsy. Perhaps he had expected him to give in so easily, but no amount of chains could ever hold this one down.
James stood close; too close, and he just said the magic words..
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Aug 2, 2009 9:18:59 GMT -6
The entirety of the court was in motion.
Rosalind, her half-brother Etampes, and their comparatively small household were its vanguard. Her home in Auvergne was a modest castle. It was no fortress, for there was nothing to defend in this country of lush, sleeping volcanoes, and its white-washed sides glowed visibly from miles away. Charles halted their progress and took Rosalind's reins briefly in his hands, then pointed to the castle. "It has been emptied for many years, but it will shelter us this one night. I do hope you forgive the discomfort."
Rosalind shivered beneath her summer travel garments. It was perhaps one of the most beautiful sights of her life, and it was hers. It was her mother's, Ghislain's, and once belonged to the grandfather she had never met. His ancestors smiled down on this land, which had been held long, long before Valois or the Capetians, and welcomed her down the hillsides and into sanctuary. Sunlight streamed down between fast-moving, fluffy clouds, and brushed the afternoon landscape with a golden color of benediction. "I think we shall survive one night," she said softly to Charles, and freed her reins from his hands.
Things had not been well between them since her betrothal to Aragon had been signed at court. They had walked through long halls filled with smiling, giggling, gossiping courtiers. They had signed the betrothal agreement under the eyes of Valois himself, who studied Charles like a cat contemplating its catch. Nights filled with dinners and disgusting Aragonese wine had left her feeling scoured and empty inside. Without Peregrine, this was beginning to feel like a punishment for crimes she had already atoned for. Had she not suffered Scotland as one of their own, as much victim to politics and war as any native-born lady? She must she now endure sewing parties with Queen Jeanne and toast to Spain, confident Valois was forcing the world to turn from behind closed doors, as he invited new favorites to keep counsel, and maps were carried through the wide double-doors by harried pages. While France geared for war, neither ally in this country knew of Peregrine's location, much less of his safety, or if he even lived.
She took a deep breath and nudged her horse into action. Her wedding was soon. Aragon was on the move home from Sicily or Genoa, it no longer mattered -- they would fall, and she would have one more title to claim kneeling before His Holiness in the cathedral of Avignon.
In the morning, just as Charles promised, they continued their journey toward the new Papal residency in the south of France. Her new husband would need merely make a slight detour to collect his bride before making his official return to Aragon, departing France before the first salvos were fired to reclaim Brittany and the Aquitaine.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Aug 2, 2009 10:13:12 GMT -6
Rosalind: It was a great honor to be chosen as the temporary home of the Comtesse d'Auvergne. Though numerous offers had been submitted to Charles, he was very shrewd in choosing which home he would use. The effects of his choice immediately washed over all of France, sending ripples over Paris that Charles had finally regained his father's glory and was once again a player in the French court. Rosalind was not ignorant to the games afoot, but she chose to remain apart from them, occupying herself with the ladies of Avignon, preparing for her wedding, worrying about Peregrine, waiting for word from Jean-Claude or even her uncle Ghislain -- waiting for the arrival of Alfonso of Aragon. Avignon was beautiful this time of year, and she spent most of her days outside, walking the gardens, listening to the poets, entertaining her guests. She went to Masses, since her wedding would take place under the Papal See, her absence would be most notable. All of it was dull. All of it was exhausting. And then one morning, a messenger arrived at the house, announcing Alfonso's vanguard was in sight, and the king himself would arrive by nightfall. He requested, in a private missive to Rosalind, a private meeting if it would not offend her virtue. Rosalind wrote back that she would not be offended at all, and would receive him when he was settled into his own quarters, and had washed himself of the road's dust and the day's grime.
Alfonso: He had arrived in all his glory, jewels and gold chains around his neck like whips upon the jailers wall. Yet, set behind his dark almond eyes there was a humbled King who spoke of victory like it was old wine within the back his mouth. They were of the same vintage he and this woman at which he had yet to meet. All of what he has heard of her, her idle beauty like a rare rose waiting to bloom again. She came in rags, or so they said, without a smile and walking with a limp--it intrigued him. The room was to his taste, though all that mattered was the cool linen sheets, and the wide open room in which he planned to spend his eve. Let her come to him, he was King right? With the moon at his back, he rested upon the edge of his bed, with politics looming through his mind, that this match was nothing other. He had loved his first wife will all his heart, but it had been his muse he had most admirably thought of in moments like this. How she loved Paris, and spoke of it often in the times they had spent together.
Rosalind: Perhaps she had allowed him too many liberties in telling him she was willing to meet in private. One instance of permission did not mean Rosalind was the type of woman who would come to a king's bedchamber at his bidding, but she instructed the servant with more diplomatic words to convey the king to the private solar. It was now quiet at this time of evening, with all the glittering courtiers transplanted from Paris drinking wine and dancing to music at Valois' expense. The sounds of music and laughter reached her ears as she left her room. She was dressed piously, but Charles had exacted a promise that she would wear some jewelry. She was no pauper. She was the Comtesse d'Auvergne, different from any other woman or man of her station, because Auvergne was different from any other province of France. Having seen it on her way to Avignon, she had to agree. Picardie would always hold a place in her heart and Beauquesne would always be the most beautiful, because it was home. But Auvergne was hauntingly beautiful in its green beauty, the volcanic mountains rising out of lush green valleys, all through the window of her carriage. In a shade of virginal green she came tonight, emeralds at her throat, her long chestnut hair braided and captured by nets of gold mesh. But her face was bare of makeup, and still as youthful as a girl's, and though she strode with a limp, it was still a powerful stride. She timed her arrival to a few minutes after the king's so that he would see this, curtsied elegantly, and waited for him to take a seat in one of the plush chairs before she did the same.
Alfonso: "Welcome, welcome." Would she expect him to greet her face to face, standing before her upon the door dressed down, and with a smile upon his face--flask in hand. He was a humble King, one who no longer cared of proper motives and the line of how a pair should properly meet. Words were exchanged with a serf standing just beside him, and the man would fire off into the direction to fetch a small box, at what appeared to be for a hat. "Of many days have I looked forward to this meeting. Tell me. Rosalind, Comtesse d'Auvergne..of your travels." He would extend his arm, turning to join her in his walk. A very strange meeting indeed, but when you have done this three times..it had lost it's order.
Rosalind: Ah. A man who chose to walk and do business. Already, Rosalind liked him. She was not looking forward to sitting with him, a stranger, for so long. Even if she was entirely sparkle and charm tonight, it was admittedly more difficult to hide how much she needed this marriage to go through if they were seated. "I have looked forward to it, as well. And of my travels? I believe your own are far more intriguing. I have traveled this world so little -- this is, if you believe it, my first time in Avignon. I have spent most of my life in Scotland." She took his arm. She was glad he seemed to be so warm, and so eager to leave this solar and move. He made it easier, though she still wondered if there would ever be enough time in this life for the penance she must say for how she was going to use this man. "I hear you have returned from Corsica. Your ambassador -- a charming man, de Barbastro? -- attempted to sing its praises of honey and figs." She smiled warmly. "You must be tired from your journey, no?"
Alfonso: He would chuckle then, a hearty laugh that called her bluff like pinning a fly to the wall, "Barbastro is a bastard, and I am surprised he did not make me look the fool." The laughter spilled down his body, and deepened the lines around his eyes proof that he was a man fond of laughing. "But he served me well, spoke of you in such flattering ways, but described your suitors as flies swarming fresh fruit." His hand came to rest against his full stomach, one that stretched his belt, that often had to be sized up after so many nights dinning in finery and living in vineyards of fine wine. "He spoke of their rags, and how poorly they were put together; how could he not be enchanted?" He would admire her then, a kindness there under well groomed features that fit a King. "Scotland I hear just became a very powerful nation, over threw England in a single year--Impressive. I hope to visit soon enough. Have you much family there?"
Rosalind: "He was a credit to you, your majesty, but he was eager to make a sale," she teased, glad he had a sense of humor. He would need it. Rosalind cast a frank look at him. He really was as handsome as Barbastro said, and tall -- always a factor in Rosalind's dealings with men, as the average height was still about an inch shorter than her 5'7 frame. Now that she could see both lines of her family more clearly, she knew where to blame her uncommon height. His eyes were intelligent, as were her own. Her hazels showed kindness and wit, but easily darkened when she was in a foul temper. He had none of the pockmarks of disease, nor the sallowness of a poor diet, despite his military campaigns. He was, all in all, a very well put together man just a year or two older than herself, and if she was not so completely in love with Peregrine, she might have considered a long and happy life as his queen. But she did not, and decided to enjoy the conversation for what it was, moments of happiness being fleeting. "It has, indeed. But I am glad Scotland has found a time of peace at last. I dislike being under siege." She smiled, not meaning to dwell on memories of war, and decided not to ask him the next obvious question about his campaigns in Genoa and Sicily. Instead, she shook her head. "I have no family remaining there. It is why I have come back to France. But you, your majesty, have quite the brood! When did you last see your children?"
Alfonso: "A fine collection they are," He mused walking with her. "They will enjoy you. Just so long as you have stories to tell." He thought of his children fondly and wondered in this very moment if they were happy and content. Perhaps he would bring them back something nice--as always. "So you look forward to being Queen I would assume. What woman would not." A little cokey, but he was King after all! The night air was warmer then he had expected, and he would quickly remove his overcoat. "Scotland has not seen it's last, for this I am certain. How could the English just sit by this? They will bow for now, but if it nothing I have learned..will rise again. You would be wise to remove any family you have there. They will be welcome in my Kingdom."
Rosalind: "I hope so," she said warmly, though in truth, her heart skipped. She was very good at lying. She had been lying for so many years, it was interchangeable with the truth, with every consequence in the world for the one person of her family she would do anything for. She would, and had, given her life for Aldric. How many justifications would she find to continue this habit? Now was not the time for philosophical debate, nor doubt. "I do look forward to being queen, I cannot lie. Though I have never been to Aragon. I do not know what to expect. Certainly, you have noticed, I am not so young anymore, no? I do not know if I can give you more children. In ten years of marriage, I gave none to my first husband. I am lame of leg. And I have opinions about war and politics, your majesty. I have studied philosophy and mathematics. I have led my clan when my husband died, and went to battle in his armor to lead his men. I held his fortress when it was under siege. I am not your typical woman, nor will I be your typical queen."
Alfonso: "So what has happened to this clan? What will happen in your absence? You did say your clan yes?" Into the gardens they would go, and as he lead her to take a seat upon a bench surrounded by flowers he would press his own back against the bench and weave his hands over his lap. "I am not your typical King. I have long since out lived any in my country, and my people are not upon the edge of revival as with so many other. I do not look for a Queen to help me raise my country, it is thriving with or without one. I simply wish to have a warm hand to walk these roads with. You will be a happy well kept woman, with every luxury a man can give his wife, but..you will not have right of passage across the kingdom. I need not a strong willed woman at my side, I need a positive figure my children can look up to, my people can love." In the short of it, he wanted a lover not a fighter. "So tell me..is this your worst? Is this all the reason you can give me not to marry you? I have not heard yet a single reason against it..other then an opinion of your own..this I can respect, but it will matter very little in how my kingdom is run."
Rosalind: Rosalind was greatly amused at the irony of this situation. While any woman in her shoes would fall on her knees in gratitude to the king for choosing to overlook her storied past, Rosalind was about to press even further. Rosalind had nothing to lose. If he spurned her, she was free to return to Scotland. Rescuing Peregrine would be tricky, but she could manage it, now that she knew Ghislain was on her side. If he did marry her, she would be crowned in the same ceremony, and while she was not as powerful as a man, she could order the release of Peregrine, and sort out her affairs from a much better vantage. Of the two choices, it was clear her best path lay in deceiving the King of Aragon and saying No. But Rosalind had always dealt fairly in every bargain and negotiation for her life. Perhaps she was precisely what the King of Aragon needed in a wife, and her quiet misery would hardly be an original trait in the life of a bought queen. She sat down and quietly listened to him, waiting for his voice to cease before debating her next words. "That may be, your majesty. You may be willing to forgive any number of trespasses for the money de Barbastro promised you, no? Oh, do not be surprised. I know the details of the arrangement. You do not mind a barren wife because you are proud of your son. You do not need competition when your empire is growing so strong. But you do need a wife, perhaps for your children -- but her king's ransom of a dowry does not hurt. With it, you will take Genoa and Sicily. What is next, Catalonia? You already own most of the property within. So you seek to unite Spain and make it the next Catholic stronghold, to compete with France." She could continue, but she had already overstepped her bounds. She held up a hand and briefly closed her eyes. "Am I so appealing if I do not have a dowry at all?"
Alfonso: The King would look down from the bridge of his nose at her, studying her as he was reminded then of his first wife, his most beloved. "What I find appealing is your bravery..what would have happened if the money was discovered gone by the will of my people? They would have you killed for lies. What would have happened? You are a brave one to come this far, but there must be a deeper meaning..tell me. Is it love? Bribe? Does someone hold you against your will, or has it something to do with these whims I hear women go on when their spirited mild temper changes. They are most intriguing." Perhaps she would think him a nut, but on the throne now for so long an idle mind had plenty of time to dream. It was what made him so successful. "Or is this simply a game?" Whatever it was she held his attention.
Rosalind: "I suppose it is all of those. But it is no game." He was astute. And curious. For thirty years old, he had been in a position of ruling his country for a very long time, and had been very successful at it. She was rather bold when she took his hand in both of hers, lightly resting one on top, so that her fingers brushed his rings. She gazed into his eyes. To any other, they looked just as a couple about to wed ought to look. "I have a life in Scotland to which I am eager to return. It is my home. And yes, I have family. I have a little boy. He is three years old. He loves horses and he wishes to become a dragon when he grows up. His father is the youngest brother of a great clansman, one I did not have the luxury of marrying before my son's birth. My son will lead his clan some day, when he is big and strong, but if I stay with you -- if I go to Aragon, someone else will take his place, and I cannot promise peace for the men and women I left behind. I tried to ensure all would be well. Lives are fragile, and the life of a three year old's more so than others. But if something ill could befall me, it has. If there has been opportunity for malchance, that is what I have faced. So I wish to be there for him, and I wish.... for a bit of good luck. That good luck is in a jail cell, perhaps in Paris. He came to save me." She smiled. "My plan is a very good one, but I am afraid, our marriage will be very short. I think, from our brief acquaintance, that you are a man who appreciates a good joke, no?"
Alfonso: She was very bold, but he was just the same. The King would curl his fingers around her own, listening very intently to a woman who could very well be one of his daughters, or younger siblings. He listened to her with content happy eyes that in many ways was thankful for the night. When the wind would blow a loose strand into her face he would return it, the tips of his fingers brushing along her cheek. "It is exciting this news. How would you see it played?" There was something very deep about her eyes, the longing, and the poor fate that she had. Perhaps he would change it, and perhaps he would have chance to be part of another great war. For what kind of Scotland would there be without their strong clans. "And does he have your likeness? This Aldric. Such a lovely name..How long has it been since you last held his hand?" A return on her own question, but one that tested her compassion. Did she miss her son? Of course, but how much.
Rosalind: Among all his well-deserved queries, she began with his questions about her son, gently squeezing the royal hand beneath her own. "No, he does not resemble me much. He is entirely his father's son. Blond hair, big blue eyes, and he still has chubby cheeks. He will be tall. His father is a large man, but despite his size, he's a man of science and wit. He is a Palmer." After Bannockburn, Colban left Scotland entirely and walked his way as a pilgrim to the Holy Land to receive a palm leaf in Jerusalem. Like Rosalind, they did not talk about religion often, but they were both deeply religious people, perhaps more in youth than as adults, but much had happened in the interim. "I think, no matter whom he resembles most, Aldric will have a fascinating future. I saw him ... " she blinked. She could not remember. "Just an hour before I was taken." She had to change the subject. The unknowns were too great. She would drive herself mad wondering what if. "Well, my plan. It is audacious. But I hope you will not be offended. You see, His Holiness and I have met before. Rather, he refused to meet me, because he had been very well paid to turn me away. My marriage to my second husband was not legal, and the priest who conducted the ceremony confessed as much. The signed confession is in the hand of the High Lady of Scotland. Alone, it would not devastate anyone, for this is business as usual, but there is more to the origins of my dowry, and reasons it was so well protected by my husband's family." She explained everything to him, from the proof of her mother's true identity, to the hidden marriage to Evreux, the compensation to Avalle, hiding nothing, and going into detail when he asked for more. By the time she finished, it was dark in the garden. "If you will still have me, your majesty, we may marry. I will take the Crown of Aragon and use it to free my love from prison, secure safe passage back to Skye, and finish this matter once and for all. Who would ever wish to marry a disgraced queen? His Holiness will have no choice but grant an annulment. I believe you could ask for compensation in the form of Sicily." Her eyes glinted with humor.
Alfonso: For a good long moment he remained silent, unclear of what road he would wish to take..should he take the low and wash his hands of the matter..leave her sitting here upon the bench, and speak of the news? Or should he take the high and fulfill every dream that a sweet child of God would have. She had seen such a path of luck that could rival the devil himself, and this King wished not to add to it. "You have thought this through..but have left out a very important detail..What would happen to the King's heart? There is still the matter of his empty hand..that does so long to be filled. If all of this is done for you,,what would be returned? I made a very long trip to meet my Queen. My people expect her..what are you ideas on this matter?" He rather liked the idea of all of this unfolding as he wished, perhaps now he would have a little say in what kind of wife he truly wanted--not what he needed. "What say you now?"
Rosalind: She sighed, but the smiled remained. The first touch of doubt entered her voice, but her hands were steady on his own. "I assumed you would wish to be rid of me as quickly as possible. Only heathens and heretics blackmail the Pope." She was quiet for a long time. Ideas flickered in and out of her mind, and she judged them based on the kind expression on his face. He had been nothing but generous with her. Generous in meeting her in Avignon, generous in listening, generous in not commending her to the guards to be burnt at the stake. History would not remember her kindly for running off after a day of marriage to the King of Aragon. It would remember her less kindly if the Comtesse d'Auvergne lit up the town square that night. "It is a Scottish word, you know. Blackmail. I was accused of having gone native once. I rebelled at the idea. But now I think it has some credence." That wasn't what she meant to say. She listened to the faint music issuing from the manse behind them. All of France was celebrating the marriage of one of their own to the King of Aragon. Since she dealt in truth, she gave it to him now, speaking so plainly that her cheeks flushed in the darkness. "I would be your wife, your majesty, if that is what you wish. I can think of no other woman in all of France who could suit your needs as I can. I do not think I can give you children. Auvergne draws considerable income. Not enough to finance a war, but enough that any other man would find me appealing as a second wife. I ... do not believe I could be faithful to you. I never considered myself an adulteress. But so must it be, if we stay wed." Rosalind could be content with that arrangement if he was. She wondered if he would be. She wondered if she had finally crossed the line, and his next move would result in his back disappearing into the darkness of the garden. "I have found, in my few years, a great capacity to love many at once. And I would love, honor, and obey you as my lord and husband, as I have never been forsworn before God."
Alfonso: He would ponder for a moment, bringing his hand to run through his beard in thought. She did make a good point, as now in return..so could he. "Your lover would be ok with this? Constantly being second in line, for if you were my Queen I would come first." She was honest, he liked that, and as he sat back with a small laugh, he shook his head, "We have entertained this idea for far too long, and now..I wish it to end. You will have to do a might amount of persuading to see your wishes come through..tell me then what it is you have to offer." He would ask her in round about ways, pretty much the same any other man in his position would. Yet, here he was testing her, and perhaps any other man would have already seen her naked upon the brush. "I will call for my guards within any moment, what then? You know very well I could have your head simply for your confession, but what a shame that would be."
Rosalind: Her heart stopped. And then it beat again. Once. And again. Nothing shifted on her face. She had dealt with far more demanding negotiators before. Rosalind could not bring herself to respond to his first question about Peregrine. She did not know how much he would like the arrangement. Not at all, she assumed, but as long as she could see him, that would be enough. It had to be enough. If this did not work, she could ensure an annulment without the king's consent, though her safe passage from Aragon might be an issue. The logistics were complicated, and if he was testing her, he would not wish to see her flee into excuses or threats. She could not wave her evidence before him and remind him how much she did not need this marriage, only that granting her the favor would be easier -- just as granting him the favor of calling her wife for a few more years would be easier than blackmailing the Pope. "I assure you," she said wryly, "my leg is the only lame thing about me, your majesty." But she could not hold the straight face for long, and rose from her seat. Her skirts brushed against him. Her bodice, very modestly cut, nevertheless passed before his face as she leaned down and placed a kiss upon his forehead. Angling that royal face upward to stare into his eyes, her own hazels were kind, but they did not beg. "If you call for my head, there will not be much to enjoy of your royal privileges tomorrow evening, my lord." She stepped back deliberately and held out her hand. Though all rules of etiquette had been thrown out the window tonight, they were the only two aware that the book had been re-written. If they left together, they should return together.
Alfonso: "So then we are to be married..for a day. One day, and one night. I can see it will be a fair trade." He mused watching her rise, and the kiss to seal the deal. "Tonight you will sleep like a Queen, tomorrow you will become a Queen. The night I will find my Queen, and the following morning..you will return to Paris, and then to your son." He was pretty content on this arrangement, it was exciting and new. A shift in the direction he wished to take in his own perhaps he would finally catch the eye of the She Wolf, and marry that one in place! He would take her hand and rise, wrapping his arm around her and bending his own neck so that his lips could brush the top of her head--an advantage of being so tall. "What a plan we have."
Rosalind: "One day. One night. And what will your people do in absence of a queen?" He had raised a legitimate concern. But it was his concern. She curved into him as his arm wrapped around her. Beneath the alabaster complexion, Rosalind thought she would be sick. But to his face, she smiled, her eyes showed her excitement for the day ahead, and her hips were unmistakably closer to the king's than was necessarily polite. As they walked, though, she parted to a safer distance, linked only by their arms. "Though I have no doubt .... Your Majesty will comfort himself somehow in his next conquests, be they land or flesh." It was the last frank comment she would make, choosing to leave the brutal, sickening honesty in the garden until they reached the warm glow of the manse. Rosalind was the perfect courtier, adapting to each situation as it arose, modifying even her personality to suit, to shape, to mold. One could do so much with a glance, a gesture, a subtle inflection of the voice. And in perfection was the ability to blend each of these motions beyond recognition, lending an air of authenticity to even the most blatant of lies.
Alfonso: "My people are strong, and I am a rich, powerful man..I will have little trouble finding a Queen. That is..after tomorrow night I do not change my mind. We shall see how promising this will be." He was of course a jest, but it was her smile that held her to his heart. "I have no doubt this kingdom will carry on without you." Though he could not help but think how nice it would have been to have shared with her in the venture forward. "A lucky man, who holds this heart that refuses a kingdom, royalty, and riches..even for your son. You would be wise to think about this, over the night."
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Aug 5, 2009 15:28:49 GMT -6
"Are you ready?" the lady asked, fingering one of Rosalind's chestnut-hued curls. It gleamed from the fresh washing it had received hours ago. The midmorning light was kindly gray today, glowing dully from open windows and draining the color from Rosalind's rich wedding dress. The lady used her fingers to slide the last of Rosalind's hair into the wimple and veil, letting the latter tumble down Rosalind's backside so that it met the pooling cloth imported from afar, the damask and burgundy still of little match for a sullen day.
She looked as a queen should look.
Gems glittered from fingers and around her neck. They had been sewn into the fabric. Rosalind could barely walk, but on her body, she wore the jewels of Auvergne and France, and before His Holiness, she would add to the collect the wealth of Aragon. When she did make a step, the stiff cloth of gold scratched her legs beneath the flowing layers above and the jewels twinkled and glittered. She was frightening in her awesome beauty; not once did she seem, despite all the luxury that surrounded her, for a moment lost or meek.
"I am ready." She heard fabric rustle as her ladies backed away, hands attempting to hold the fabric of her impossibly heavy dress aloft until they reached the nave and the gathered dignitaries of Europe, overseen by the most powerful man in Christendom. They were breathing hard with the effort when they arrived. They waited. From their vantage, they could hear the murmuring within. The Comtesse d'Auvergne, at this precise moment, was the most powerful and least known woman in France. And she was to be married to the most powerful, and least predictable, man of Spain. After this day, France would never be the same, nor would Europe.
The doors opened.
No one saw her suck in air through her thinly parted lips as she took her first step down the aisle. No one heard her heart slow to a steady swing of the hammer to stone. They rose, and sank deeply into bows and courtly courtsies as she passed, glorious in her jewels and rich gown, a wave of rose of damask her scent. Valois, and the woman who was said to rule France when her husband would not, were seated near the front of the spectators. They, too, sank deeply as she passed.
A lady placed a cushion beneath Rosalind's knees as she sank down beside her husband. They all bowed, now. Led in Latin by His Holiness, they prayed. She prayed forgiveness. She prayed for a moment of benediction, for she had had very few in her life. She prayed for peace.
Then, a hymn. Rosalind did not know what was said. She did not know what words of meaning were spoken. His Holiness' reedy voice floated out, and she realized he was deep into his reading of the Old Testament. "But thou shouldest not have looked on the day of thy brother in the day that he became a stranger; neither shouldest thou have rejoiced over the children of Judah in the day of their destruction; neither shouldest thou have spoken proudly in the day of distress."[/i] He was reading from Obadiah, something that rather perplexed Rosalind. She cast a demure look to the left. The king beside her was not so distressed at the prospect of his upcoming annulment, nor did he seem particularly bored with the ceremony. He caught her eye for a fraction of a second. Rosalind looked away.
"...and the kingdom shall be the Lord’s."
He bade them rise; they rose. Rosalind turned to face her groom. Overseen by the Pope, they exchanged vows and then rings. Sunlight finally parted the thin gray layer of clouds covering Avignon, and it flooded into the vaulted cathedral, radiating up walls and windows, glaring upon every gem set on Rosalind's dress, causing the d'Evreux cross to flare brilliantly. The audience murmured. The King of Aragon pulled his wife to him in a most unseemly gesture for the House of God, but the people of France were an amiable sort when it came to love. They smiled at the obvious attraction he had for his good queen, and watched with amusement as she mometarily resisted, as if caught completely by surprise by this part of the ceremony, and then relaxed into his arms.
They did not know the icy fear that snaked through her veins and chilled her heart when he put his lips to hers. But when he released her, she had the good sense to smile shyly and turn a deferential eye to His Holiness. They kneeled again, and in a ceremony that she blindly and deafly attended, Rosalind was made Queen of Aragon and all its attendant provinces.
She took the body of Christ upon her tongue, second to her husband. They drank the blood of their Savior. They prayed. She rose on a creaking, painful knee, her back screaming at the weight of her dress. Her ladies hurried to surround the royal pair, lifting and rearranging their queen's dress that she might descend the few steps without harming herself. She felt, rather than watched, them depart. On the King of Aragon's arm, she left the Cathedral. Tonight, France would feast as they had not done in years; they would drink as if wine were water.
The fires would light each hillside in celebration. Music could be heard alongside churchbells in every town and hamlet from the mountains to the seas north and south. In her heart, there was only silence; stifling, debilitating silence. The King of Aragon was building a fake empire. Her part was slight, but no less perverse, for having helped him build it under the benevolent gaze of the Pope, witnessed by France's most glittering elite.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Aug 6, 2009 15:28:48 GMT -6
Ghislain was a man of indeterminate age and great beauty. Such things he had inherited from his father, the late Comte d'Auvergne. He possessed the Norman's thick black hair and sharp, chiseled nose. Less apparent was his inherited sense of right and wrong -- namely, that both were movable. They were transient, depending merely on the day, the hour, the minute. They were compromised by the heart and its inexplicable affections for those who must have no place in the tenuous grasp of power and land. His father had lacked only in commitment. He had never grasped such a concept. In each opportunity that presented, he chose capriciousness.
He had inherited his mother's determination. She was a solid, dark line in his memory, angled in a single destination of purpose. When she told Auvergne she was pregnant with his child, his father determined they should wait. She was not an appropriate consort for the Comte. He had wars to fight and a province to protect from the voracious appetite of the Capetian monarchs. In the end, he married another. She labored alone in the woods. Her family had expelled her; rumors of her contracts with the devil prevented her from finding a midwife capable of safely delivering her son into this world. For these reasons, she did not live past his first birthday. Ghislain, however, always suspected she died of a broken heart, and not infection and malnutrition.
When his father could get no heir from his bride, he promised his bastard his name and his kingdom. Ghislain almost forgave his father for his mother's cruel demise. He shadowed the man, learning every secret of war and governance a child could. As a young adult, he put theory to the test, and made his own name on the field of battle. Court and all its glittering jewels beckoned to him even from Flanders. He heard its call in Espana, chose it over the Holy Lands, and found a dear friend in the last of the Capetians.
And then there was Valois. Despite his sin of meddling to assure his inheritance and legitimate name, Valois took him in. A woman would have exacted promises from Ghislain that he was not able to keep. Valois wanted nothing but his heart, and Ghislain gave it freely. In those days, Ghislain's future was assured, his prince would become the King of France, and all that plagued his thoughts was the suspicion that Valois cheated at chess and his minx of a girlfriend kept company with oracles and philosophers.
He was banned from court now. Valois was his no more. The witch had possibly burned the night Paris glowed from the distance of Honfleur, his sister had perished in exile, and her daughter was now the bride of Aragon and no more an impediment to Auvergne. Perhaps she would give it to him as a regency. Perhaps was not a word to which Ghislain d'Armagnac was accustomed to uttering.
He watched her coronation. Unlike the hundreds gathered in Avignon for the auspicious occasion, he did not inhale sharply as the sun glared down on the royal jewels from Spain. She was playing a game as much as her true father would have, and he did not, of course, mean that outspoken fool d'Evreux. He smiled thinly, knowing her heartache was as keen as his own. Valois was one of the wedding guests.
Where did either of them go from here? Rosalind to her husband's rocky, barren kingdom, to play nursemaid to his heirs? He, to live in obscurity on some verdant fields he'd clung onto despite being stripped of honors and titles by his own lover? Would she ever see her gypsy again? Take him as a paramour? Give the dark-haired king of Aragon a slew of flaxen-haired bastards? He had to hold back his laughter as he watched her dance at her reception, a goblet of wine held in delicate fingers, a rosy flush on her cheeks and her hazel eyes removed of their usual edge.
He had his moment to meet her privately the day after her nuptials. He had not imagined he would deserve any amount of her time, but she sought him out, as much as she was able to seek the company of a banned courtier. They met in the extensive gardens, and he tried not to notice how her uninjured leg, lightly crossed over the stiffer right, bounced in anticipation of leaving. She was a study in composure, save the twitching leg that caused her skirts to sway distractingly around her fine white ankles. "I have gifts for you, Your Majesty," he said, dropping to a knee and bowing his head.
She let him linger there. Despite their newfound respect for one another, she had not yet forgiven him for kidnapping her from Scotland and depositing her in France. He did not bother to justify his intentions. He was ambitious. She was his last chance. He would ruin her life, once again, to prevent his from unraveling. Finally, she let him stand.
He unfolded his lanky body, and as he did so, produced two things of interest to her. A letter, and a small brown bottle of bone with a waxed cork stopper. She took the bottle, and slid it into one of the hidden pockets nestled within the embroidered fabric of a queen's day gown. Gems glittered; gold gleamed. Her brown hair was elegantly pinned in a caul of gold mesh, and when she moved, her hair shone like rich amber. "What is this?" she asked, waving the onion-skin-thin sealed letter between thumb and index as if it, and not the drug in the vial, would bite.
"What I did not have the chance to tell your majesty on our initial meeting," Ghislain said smoothly, if a bit sadly. "Your majesty must also inform me of her next movements. If we are to reach Paris in a timely fashion, we must leave promptly."
"Do so," she said without hesitation, and slid the letter down the top of her dress, securing it between breast and brocade. "I am ready."
He had little idea of what she had planned in Avignon to make such a journey to Paris possible. He decided it was best if, she too, held some secrets from him. He bowed once again, backed away, and finally rotated on his heel and strode back through the gardens toward the stables.
The ostler was a busy man these days. His sleepy position of shepherding monks and priests across southern France had suddenly been elevated to securing mounts and organizing hunting parties for both the Spanish and French monarchs. He was determined to aide both as much as he was able, but without names, he could not be expected to ready so many mounts for such an insignificant knight. Ghislain folded his long fingers around the ostler's upper arm. It was, at this precise moment, Valois re-entered his life, gently clearing his throat.
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Post by jelenahdvorak on Aug 9, 2009 13:11:18 GMT -6
Jelenah Windsor: The day had started out a pleasant one as the Lady Windsor rose from her slumber with the sun slowly rising for its morning greeting. Breakfast was served by the servants of the house hold and once it was enjoyed, the Lady and Lord Windsor set off to do their daily rituals. He with his duties as the Lord Marshal of Turas Lan and she with her duties as the Duchess Lady In Waiting. The husband and wife had agreed they would meet up for lunch and then from there likely to meet again for supper. The morning hours passed quickly it seemed and soon, mid day had come. Jelenah would move off to meet Balian at their chosen destination, spend a little time together and then it was sure to be back to seeing to more work. Balian Windsor: The Lord Marshall spent the early half of the day making men out of boys. By the look of him no one would have known he had been riding hard, crossing swords and throwing the candidates around the sparing field. If it weren't for the dirt encrusted on his golden spurred boot heels he would have looked flawless. A perfect shine against his chest plate and greaves. Long locks of wheat carefully tied back with a white bandana around his brow. He galloped along down the market street of Turas Lan and passed the docks, occasionally lifting a gloved hand to wave to a person heralding his name before he found the quiet road nearly over grown from lack of travel over the weeks until he found the large oak tree leaning off the shore. And just beyond was there secret rock formation against the shores. The place they had come to be together once before. He smiled warmly seeing it just ahead and urged the horse on faster. Jelenah Windsor: Jelenah remembered just where they were suppose to meet, and with her she brought a basket of goodies that both she and Balian enjoyed very much. A few of their favorites, like her summer fruits, his sweet rolls, some jerky, bread, and two skins of drink, one with water, one with wine. It was a good thing Jelenah had become such a good rider now and that Dulcenea was use to her Lady master. It would not be to long after Balian arrived that Jelenah would emerge, and in tote, all the things they would need for a pleasant meal and private time. Once she spotted him, her full lips quickly curved into that bright happy smile that only he was capable of provoking. The Lady Windsor was quick to greet her husband with a kiss to his cheek while they moved inside to the cove. Once there, she handed to him the basket of food and drink before rolling out their large blanket. Her hands moved to draw up her skirts just enough so she could get comfortable with her sitting and once Balian joined her, she'd take from him the items and begin setting it all up. "How was your morning?" she asked as she glanced to him for a moment with a soft smile while setting the last of the picnic items before them. Balian Windsor: He dismounted the saddle, laying the horse to roam the shores. The well trained animal wouldn't stray far from his Master that much he had confidence in. With the kiss to his cheek he smiled warmly and followed her into the cove. Accepting the basket of goodies. He wasted no time in starting to dig in for something to maul. He was a big man and had an even bigger appetite. Though admittedly he knew if it weren't for his wife he would hardly eat. He never really had time for himself and she had a way of making sure he made that sort of time for the both of them. He settled onto the blanket beside her. Leaning over to place a tender kiss back against her own cheek while he drew out one of those sweet rolls. "My morning?" He wanted to blurt out the facts, the candidates were a bunch of weak ass no talent boys. Woman the whole lot of them! But instead he smiled softly and lift his blues to hers. "Eventful.. ..The new boys..They have courage but lack the wisdom I suppose. .. And your morning my love?" Jelenah Windsor: She chuckled softly as she watched him take to the sweet roll as quick as he had before they were even settled. She of course would not scold him for such, as he was right. The man rarely ate unless he was around her and so of course she would encourage his want for food, no matter how it might look. Jelenah smiled more with the kiss to her cheek and nodded softly with his reply, she knew he was holding back but wouldn't let on to such. A wife knew her husband well and Jelenah could read Balian like a book. "At least they keep you on your toes. Someone has to do that... yes?" she asked with a chuckle before grabbing herself a sweet roll and indulging. "My morning was pleasant...busy but pleasant. With Rosalind's disappearance, there is twice as much work that is needed to be seen to. But I worry not, for it will all get done just as it should." she added a moment later before pouring herself a cup of water and then he a cup of wine. She set his before him and lifted her own to her lips, drinking the cool liquid and washing down the moist bread. Balian Windsor: She did read him look a book and Balian knew that she did and he also knew when she knew he was holding things back for the sake of being a gentleman with his wife. He loved that little game they played and never spoke of. He could only smile just a little when he saw the moment pass and that look in her eye that told him she understood what he really wanted to say and that was enough. "You keep me on my toes enough." He chuckled softly. "They will be fine in time." When she started speaking of her morning he starting eating the sweet roll, listening intently while she spoke. "I was wondering about that.. ..You taking on more work in her stead. ..Has there been any word about Rosalind?.. .. I feel sometimes like I work in a cave with how little I hear about the current events these days." Jelenah Windsor: Jelenah paused with the second bite of her roll in one hand while her other held the cup of water. "Do I?" she asked with a grin before she chuckled once more. The Lady Windsor nodded with his comment on the men he was training. "I am sure they will, they have you as their leader. That is saying a lot in itself." and then she nodded once more in reply to his question as she gave her answer. " I am... there was much that Rosalind saw too, and now with her absence, someone must see to them as much as possible. I try... and I hope I am half as good as she, let us hope I am successful." Jelenah then shook her head and sighed."No.. I have heard nothing as of yet, hopefully in time, news will come and I pray it will be good news at that." she softly said as she finished off her roll and then chose a piece of jerky for her next item to enjoy. Balian Windsor: He to had finished off the roll just when she grinned at him. He nodded with a wink to follow. "You know you do Lady Windsor." He licked his lips and brought that wine up and to his lips before grinning back at her. "I imagine word will come soon enough of Rosalind. .. Is there anything I can do to help you in the mean time?.. Perhaps you would like a few of my candidates ?" When she mentioned him being their Leader and the sweet compliment he smiled at her and leaned right over to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. "You are to good to me.. ..I love you my Jelenah." Jelenah Windsor: She took a bite of the jerky and smiled over at him. Her bright sapphire blues beaming with the happiness she had and all because of the man beside her. Where he thought Jelenah was good to him and for him, she thought the same of Balian for her. Since their meeting, she had come to grow and open up so much. Of course she would always have her fears, but at least with Balian's help along with a few friends, she had come to better handle them at times. "No, thank you though... your men belong with you, learning the skills that are needed to defend themselves, their lands, along with their Lord and Lady of the Isle. " she replied back before washing down the jerky with a swallow of water. "You are good to me, so I am good to you and with that... comes my love for you as well." she said as they kissed. Jelenah of course returned the affection and added. "I love you too my husband." A free hand came to cup the side of his face as she pressed her forehead to his. Balian Windsor: He lay his forehead back against hers, exhaling a soft breath when he felt her hand against his cheek. His blues slipped closed. He had his own fears and troubles. Though they never spoke of it she helped him through a great deal as well. She made him want to be a better man. She kept him here in Skye where he would have moved on years ago to continue his journey. Now he couldn't imagine his life without her. "We should make time. .. We should make time to go away for a while. Just me and you..We could take a couple of weeks and travel south where no one knows our names... .. Stay up late.. and sleep in half the day together. " He smiled softly and tilt his head to press his lips to hers once more. "I miss you...Even now.. I miss you. " Jelenah Windsor: She watched as his eyes slipped closed. Her own hues disappeared behind creamy lids and just enjoyed the feel, the smell, the sound of him before her. Neither of them felt the need to speak on things at times when a look or a touch said it all. When he spoke next, she softly nodded against him. "That would be nice. For us to spend some much needed time together, just you and I." Not that she didn't love her friends and those she considered family, and not that she didn't love her home here in Skye, but she did like the idea of visiting another place where she and her husband could be just that. A man and a woman, a husband with his wife, and spend their days with nothing more planned than when to remove themselves from bed and for what reason. "If you wish it... I will speak with Bess...let her know of our plans and we will go. You my husband, all you must do is say when." she replied as she felt his lips press against hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed back before pausing long enough to whisper. " And I miss you...." The words were followed by another press of her lips to his. Balian Windsor: Her words were enough to make him want to scoop her up into his arms and carry her off there and now. They needed that time together and he longed for it. He nodded and lift his head from hers only to place a is to her lips and gently slip his arms around her while she wrapped hers around his neck. "Dare me not my love.. Or I should say now.. ..But I know we both have our duty to see to. .. Promise me soon?" He tilt his head just a little having his eyes searching hers for the answer while a hopeful smile teased the corner of his lips. Jelenah Windsor: The little Slavic woman reared back her head just enough to look at her husband. To allow her sapphire like eyes met his own sparkling blue hues. Slowly her lips began to curve from one end to the other. "You are your own man Balian Windsor... and since when does a man listen to his wife to begin with?" she teased with a smile. Both blonde brows were arched with curiosity, wondering just what her beloved husband would have to say about that. She was sure that whatever it was, it would be very amusing and only have her smile more if not laughing. "As far as us getting away to somewhere new... I am sure we could speak with my good friend Kaori and her husband Captain de La Costa and have him sail us away. I would be willing to get on another ship for the right reasons and with the right people." Jelenah didn't care much for ships... each time she had been on one, nothing good ever came of it. The first... she was taken as a slave, the second, ship wrecked here on Skye when coming to visit Bess. The third? Some filthy Captain had recognized her from years ago as a slave and decided to have his try at her now by kidnapping her and sailing off. Luckily... Balian had rescued her, for there was no telling what would have came for her next. "But yes... soon my beloved, soon." she then promised shortly after. Though, it wasn't until she saw the searching gaze and the crooked smile that teased his lips that made her wonder just what he was hoping for. A trip... or.. an intimate moment with his wife. Was Jelenah daring enough to push his buttons and see? With a little grin, the small blonde woman wrinkled her nose and leaned into him more. Having her body press comfortably against his before she nuzzled him gently. [d]
Balian Windsor: When she nuzzled into him more he wrapped his big arms around her even more. Just to hold her into his warmth. That lopsided grin on his lips could have meant a number of things and more then likely did. He never would pass up an opportunity at an intimate moment with his gorgeous wife nor would he pass on the chance of swooping her off into a trip away from the world they both knew. "Then lets leave tonight. .. I dont care whether its by sea or land so long as its far away from here." He chuckled softly. "Just for a few days." Not that he wanted to leave Skye, he just needed a break from Skye to find time to be a husband loving his wife. He smiled warmly and leaned down placing a soft kiss against her cheek before laying his head to lean against hers while a soft breath passed through his lips. Jelenah Windsor: She absolutely loved it when her husband wrapped his big strong arms around her. Each and every time he did that, she always felt like nothing and no one could ever harm her again. The warmth of his body, the weight of it again her own was a welcoming feeling. It not only added to the security she felt but also that admiration that she as a wife had for him as her husband, her friend, her lover. "Tonight?" she asked, as the fingers from hers hand behind his head began to gently toy with the hair found there. "Then tonight it shall be...for when I return to the castle, I will speak with Bess or Adam. I will then see to the rest of my duties for the day and by mid after-noon meet you at home so that we might pack our things and be on our way." she said smiling up at him. She turned her head just so as he planted that kiss to her cheek. The tension of her smile as he did, made it full and an easy target. She then looked back to him and nodded softly. One hand remained behind him, the other came to caress and cup a side of his face. "I've missed you so much, with our being apart due to our duties as of late, we have had very little time together.... even when we are together, I still miss you." she whispered against his lips before kissing him.
Balian Windsor: He smiled warmly with the touch of her hand against his cheek. He lift his own hand to lay over hers while she spoke. "I miss you too my love." He leaned down placing a soft touch of his lips against hers. "I will see to my men. Leave the command to my second and ready to leave for when you are." He couldn't wait to go. To be just them for a few days and find that peace and calm together they both longed for. Jelenah Windsor: With his response and his reply, Jelenah's smile seem to grow slowly and she nodded against him while pressing a few pecks to his lips in between the exchange of words. "Why don't we finish up our meal here. You go and tend to those very things and I'll stop by the castle to inform Bess and Adam. Let them know we will be leaving tonight...then I will ride to our home, pack our things and by the time you get there, we will be ready to go where ever it is you my husband, wish to take me away too." she whispered. After one last caress of her hand and a another kiss, Jelenah pulled back, reluctantly of course before finishing off her meal as well as her drink. Only after Balian had his fill would she begin to put things away and back in the basket she brought with her. He could take as long or as little as he liked, she wasn't going to rush him, but she was just as eager to have them on their way as he was. The small Slavic woman was looking very forward to spending some much needed alone time with her beloved husband. To long had their duties stood in the way of what made a man and a woman a family. It was time for a break... just a small one.
<to be continued>
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Sept 3, 2009 14:24:34 GMT -6
The whore had been a mistake. The men of Lamont had not been his fault, but the competition. But the little maid Annabella -- he personally had wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed the life out of her. It had not been pleasant, but there was method to the madness. He made the Lamont household uneasy. Guards fell in the line of duty; it was an occupational hazard. But pretty maids in the service of kidnapped ladies did not often meet their doom on their way home from Mass. He scattered the Lamont men, made the servants return to the city, and it was one less clan to be wary of as he kept his eyes on the castle. Messengers came and went from Aragon and France, detailing the discovery of the Comtesse d'Auvergne and the wedding preparations. An envoy asked Beathag permission to release Rosalind from her service, and the man went running for his ship with a host of soldiers ensuring he boarded promptly and was out by the next turn of the tide. He watched, and he waited.
The Spaniards searched for the buried treasure, but the French knew where leverage could be attained for a far lower cost in lives. Beathag, the so-called High Lady, would do well enough. She was a fighter, so rumor went. She had led battles. She was damned near indestructible, if he went by local lore. He was not looking to take her yet. There was far too much at stake to act as brashly as the Spaniards, so greedy for treasure, they forgot what they sought was not gold, but power. He took a walk in the country, wishing to soak in some of this Scotland. It was bleak to him, holding none of the charm as his native land, with its scraggly forests and barren hills. It made her blonde hair easier to see. He sucked in the breath through his teeth. Yes, now was the time. She seemed to be alone, her mind too preoccupied to note she had company. He settled into the tall grasses lining the road, and waited for her to make her way back to Turas Lan. It was after she and her husband had enjoyed themselves a little picnic in their secret meeting place, and now she was making her way back home to pack up their things and get ready for their trip. She had meant to go by the castle first, to speak with Bess, but thought it best to return home first. She could inform their servants Della and Roric what was going to happen. Then she could pack first, ride to the castle, inform Bess and Adam of her and Balian's trip, return home with him long enough for him to get a bath and change of clothes before they would be off on their way. She was certain Bess nor Adam would have any disagreements about it. As she ushered Dulcenea forward, she could hear Drest, their family dog barking at something. He was likely chasing the chickens again and she was going to have to teach that dog a lesson. He was just as troublesome as her husband at times! As the steed continued it way down the path, she was nearing their land, just over the hill, and she could see the chimney to the house top. She wondered at this point what it was her husband was doing. If he had made it back to the barracks or the tower to inform his men what he was about to do and who he'd name to run things in his absence. The idea of them finally going off to spend some time together brought a smile to her face. Little did she know what lurked in the foliage near by, waiting patiently to strike just at the right moment. He was not a large man. There was nothing distinguishing him from any other on the street. But when blending in meant the difference between success and death, he was remarkably well equipped to blend into any surroundings. He judged the situation carefully, drew a knife from his pocket, and gritting his teeth, sliced the flesh of his leg open, ripping through the fabric of his breeches to make a shallow but bloody wound. He did not need to feign the groan that escaped his lips. Staggering to his feet, he fell out of the tall grasses lining the road just as she came over the hilltop. "My lady," he called out to her, planting his hands on the wound to lessen the flow. He could not outrun a horse, but even wounded, he could outrun a woman in skirts. Fortunately for him, his features, though obviously in pain, were as angelic as any youth's, and his distress was obvious. "My lady, you must help me, please!" She continued to ride, simply enjoying the afternoon weather and even though she had traveled down this roads many a times, she always found something beautiful about it that she didn't notice before. Long blonde hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and lay over one shoulder. Though, there was and always were a few golden strands that seem to work themselves free of the style. Today, she wore a dress like she did on any other given day, simple, yet a little more decorated than a normal work dress. It was a pale green with beige accents about mid sleeves, the cuffs, the neckline, the waist line and the hem. As she rode over the hill, Dalcenea's ears twitched and folded back as she heard the man's movements before his voice. Jelenah's eyes drifted from a lovely blossoming bush to up ahead where she spotted the man making his way from the grasses. There was a look of fear, but as the distance between them grew less and less, she saw he was injured. "M'lord... are you alright?" she asked as she had the steed come to a stop a few feet away from him. Only a few paces were taken then by the horse as the mare was not one to stand still for to long a time. "Perhaps I can go and get you some help? I live just up the road. I have servants that would be willing to aide me in helping you." she offered with a concerned voice as worry slowly etched itself across her face.
"No, no," he said, rolling slowly to a sitting position. He grabbed the sleeve of his tunic and ripped it, separating the sleeve from the shoulder and holding it out to her. "It will not take much of your time. My hands, they shake too much. I must tie the leg. You are such a generous lady to offer, but I fear if you go to get help...." He made a despairing face. If she left him, he would die. Or he would let her think that he would. He wavered even in a sitting position, and his face was deadly pale. His was a completely believable story, and he could see by the concern in her eyes that she was willing to believe it, if she just let go of her suspicions.
He dropped his arm, letting the fabric flop lifelessly to the ground. "I was hunting and I fell. I stopped to climb a fence, and I fell on my own knife. I am such an idiot. Such an idiot." He sighed, and then his features rippled again with pain, causing him to lift his hand from the wound. His entire leg was now covered in blood. He did not have to pretend to be close to passing out, at least, and the wound looked very convincing. He looked down at it, groaned, and sank back against the ground.
Jelenah's blue eyes studied the man a moment before she bit at her lower lip while internally debating whether or not to go get help despite his objection. She watched as he tore the sleeve of his tunic to maybe help him use it as a tourniquet. She sighed to herself and nodded before dismounting her mare and moved to the man's side. She took from him the offered piece of cloth and moved to kneel down on her knees. The blonde began to apply the fabric to the leg as her eyes lifted to his face while he gave thanks. She only nodded silently while she worked, not hurriedly, but perhaps more quickly than necessary.
As she tied the fabric in place, he explained how he had recieved such a wound. "You should be more careful." she offered with a faint smile. The Lady Windsor then sat back on her heels, taking a moment to judge her work before slowly rising to her feet and looking down on him. She saw the pain that etched itself across his face she was obviously worried. "Now that we have that in place... please, let me go and fetch my servants. They are much stronger than I. We could get it cleaned up for you once at my home and even see you get a ride by wagon back to the city." she offered as she looked from him, over her shoulder to where she could see her home and then back. Though, with him sinking against the ground, she began to doubt if even leaving him for those few moments would be a mistake.
"I should, my lady, I should." He let her finish tying up the leg. As if a sheet had passed over him and left a different man before her, his face returned to its usual neutral expression, any sign of blood loss rapidly disappearing. She would not have time to think about how she had been conned. She should have listened to her instincts, and left him on the road, but it was too late now. He rolled to his feet, ignoring the little ripping pain in his leg. The wound was nothing. He removed the dagger from where he had sheathed it, and not willing to risk a scream, brought the pummel down on her head. When she began to sink, as she inevitably would, he grabbed her and slung her over her saddle, then mounted. The horse was skittish, of course, but a confident rider could often overcome a horse's reservations. He had been riding all his life.
He had to ride fast. His men were waiting. They were not waiting on him, of course, much less his quarry, but his absence would be noted by now. They would know what to do when they saw him. He rode fast, though not so much that his pace would register as suspicious. She would not stir for some time with such a blow to the head, and for a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt for abusing a woman in such a way, but she would more than suit their purposes. Let their rivals search for treasure. They could command a ransom from the High Lady, and one way or another, this French-Aragonese marriage would be profitable.
He seemed to be slowly looking better with each passing moment. Thinking perhaps the small rest along with the tourniquet was most likely the reason for this. However, he rolled to his feet which of course caught her off guard. She back stepped as he drew the weapon and just when she was about to turn and scream for help, his hand covered her mouth and kept the sounds from screeching out. The hit to her head instantly had her going limp in his arms. She could feel herself being hoisted up, her vision was so blury her eyes watered. She wanted to retaliate somehow but she just couldn't seem to get her limbs to function properly nor have the real strength to put in behind the effort. Soon, she could feel her body rock and jolt as her mare carried her and the man to wherever it was he was taking her. Unfortunately, even though she tried to fight as to stay awake, the blow to her head was taking it's toll on her all the more. Before they reached their destination, Jelenah would become as limp as a rag doll and black out.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Dec 10, 2009 21:54:03 GMT -6
The horizon unfolded endlessly before her, miles and miles to go before Paris was reached. But they rode hard, and the escort of the Queen of Aragon speedily crossed half a country within the week. They skimmed the land she had recently inherited, the hills of Auvergne disappearing in the encroaching fog, and thundered down widening roads leading into Paris. Ghislain had little idea where Peregrine would be, but a great deal of contacts in the city to begin demanding answers from. Even if he was out of favor, he was still a greatly respected man, and largely feared in the lower quarters.
Outside the city, they were met by a lone rider. Jean-Claude in his finery was a sight to behold. Jean-Claude in his finery, upset at the absence of Peregrine, was a fearsome thing. Rosalind did not dismount, but rode up to meet him, her expression never wavering as she spoke with him, learning that Peregrine had disappeared well before she left for her wedding. "I had only assumed," she said quietly, meaning the hideously ostentatious royal wedding the pirate had failed to attend.
They rode together into the city, staying together until they approached the Seine. It was a warm, uncomfortably humid day, and Rosalind was feeling the strain of a week of hard riding and few changes of clothes between. She looked a sight, but at least, none barred their way with such a force of men lining the sides of the streets they passed. Ghislain begged his pardon and went to make his inquiries, returning moments later trying not to look pleased with himself for his success. "He is on trial. You must hurry." He helped his niece down from her horse, and both spared half a second for Jean-Claude.
He would make ready their immediate departure, but Rosalind should hurry. There was not enough time for heavy looks or threats to Ghislain, but even Rosalind sensed something had greatly changed in Ghislain since he met her at the docks on Honfleur. As they walked, he slid a letter into her pocket, looking down at her as he held the door open to the building where Peregrine was housed. The guards filed in first, and then Rosalind emerged, backlit and terrible in her beauty and anger. Who had not seen her this way before, had not met her in battle on field or of wit, and for a lady who happily remained in the shadows of thrones, it was a shock to see she could fill this role so completely and elegantly, there was no existence before the crown of Aragon sat upon her head.
Yet the trial continued as if she had not made an entrance, murmurs rising as the guards took their places, bristling with metal and weapons. Rosalind spared a look to Peregrine held behind bars in the far corner, and then lifted her gaze to the magistrate.
"Though I come for that man in your possession, it is customary to bow before your betters. I am Rosalind, Queen of Aragon, Valencia, Sardinia, Corsica, and by the Grace of God, Genoa. I am the Comtesse d'Auvergne, though impaired by my sex and lameness of leg, let it be feared the might of my forces. You will bow and recognize my authority. This knight belongs to me, and you will commend him to my authority."
They bowed.
The guards stepped forward and released Peregrine, dragging him forward. He gained his own feet, and they left as one, rushing out as quickly as they had gained entrance, Peregrine managing to walk long enough to meet Jean-Claude near the docks. The taller man lifted Pere, and with a faint smile to Rosalind, boarded their ship. They would not leave Paris in flames as both men had promised. But Rosalind was uncertain what bridges she had actually burned, and if she would ever come back. She turned to Ghislain, the letter crinkling in her pocket. Instead of exchanging words, he pushed her after Jean-Claude and Peregrine. They would speak later, if God and fate allowed, but right now, her place was on that ship, and she had a family and court to return to.
Rosalind boarded the ship, holding on tightly to the rail as they picked up speed along the Seine and rushed toward Honfleur and open sea. Ghislain became a tiny figure on the dock, and then with his arm still raised in farewell, disappeared entirely.
Then very calmly, she removed the circlet from her mahogany hair, and entrusted it to Jean-Claude's safe.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Dec 11, 2009 9:33:46 GMT -6
Jean-Claude: He had slept for so long it seemed they should reach the Skye within any moment, but still had an entire set of rise and fall before they would see their beloved Isle. In and out of his drug induced slumber he had cried out dreams of lost days gone without her. The fever held it's power well over a heart who loved more fierce with the very knowing of Rosalind. He had worried so deeply that it ached his bones he would never see her again. It was a real fear, one that he lived without for so long. Peregrine was not a man to ever worry, he walked life upon it's edge as if it were a game and the objective just to survive, but even now as he learned to heal; he would dare not risk rushing it. Jean-Claude had been in every hour even as they slept to check for fever or any sign of the blood still seeping, and every hour he only grew more confident in the medicine he created. It took away his pain, enough that Jean was easily able to bathe his captain, strip him of his ragged attire, and return him to the sheets in proper wear. It was a task that was second nature, with Peregrine, but it was as well the Queen who stuck by his side he worried. "He will be fine, Mon Cher." Tender words of comfort as he brushed a strand or two from her face, ordering her a bath, and having the cook prepare her a meal that was better suited. Perhaps he could sense her fear of the water, the sailing, and want only for her to recoil those worries. The crew did not once speak to her however, doing their work like slaves upon the deck. Under the blazing sun they pressed forward, with a Frenchman as their captain, while their true leader recovered.
Peregrine: It was very early one morning, when he finally woke to smell the salty sea air, and feel it's breeze power through the open windows of his cabin. The wind tickled his bare feet, exposed from the summer quilt, and rushed over his chest--perfection. "A good day." For what many would ask, but it was her hand he reached for wanting to hold it for then it would be a perfect day.
Rosalind: It was difficult to convince Jean-Claude he had nothing to worry about with Rosalind. She was rarely below decks. When she was, she stared at the walls with dilated pupils and dreamed opium dreams. If she had horrors that inspired screams, she was beyond caring. They would eventually return to the color and glitter that lured the Dreamer back to the bottle every time. None knew of her dependency. She would not insult Peregrine's intelligence or powers of observation in declaring she kept her usage secret even from him, but he had never mentioned it, and Rosalind was nothing short of discreet. She hid the small, expensive vial of syrupy liquid, and by the time the effects wore off, she was all too happy to return blinking into the sunlight, the pain blazing through her leg a not so welcome reminder of her return, but one that anchored her in the present. She gripped the rails of the ship until her knuckles were as white as the pain, and with a crew happy to ignore her, watched with absurd vigilance for any sign of death approaching from the clear, halcyon blue. Jean's reports swam in her head. In sobriety, she could not tell whether she had dreamed his careful, concerned touch. His words blurred together in her mind, and would not separate in the clarity of day. She yearned to set her feet back on dry land. To crawl into bed with Peregrine, selfishly seeking him for shelter, rather than the bottle of laudanum. It was morning. She watched the sun crawl up over the horizon, turning the sky pink and then soft blue. She watched the wind crest the tops of the waves, and listened to the change in activity from the crew. For a woman petrified of the sea, she had observed enough to know the intimate workings of the ship. And something ... had changed.
Jean-Claude: The crew had always depended upon Jean-Claude's inability to sleep to find rest within their own hours. The graveyard shift was the hardest, for all could go wrong on a black sea without sight. Fog was heavy upon this morning, it's grip upon the horizon like a choke hold, but as always it filtered around Jean-Claude as if it were the clothes he wore. Pulled from it's veil he watched from the ships starboard side on his perch with gloved hands folded over the large ruby of his cane, the handle a brilliant bit of fine craft, and the body itself seeming to be carved of black marble. The cool salty sea air did horrors to his body, tightening scared flesh over his muscles from the lack of motion. His bad leg, though hidden from the world would ache needing the stretch, and it would be only then he would move from his post. Morning had come, he had watched it advance on the horizon, and with that he could not help but think of a healer's eyes back on Skye. Ada always held the dawn in her eyes, it's secrets he longed to discover. Rising from his seat, his heart in his hands suddenly found it beating for the woman now before him. "Mon cher..you did not sleep?" The sound called gently behind her as the silk of his gloved hand came to touch warmly the small of her back. His pale lips frowned, with his black eyes coming to study her face searching for any sign of discomfort, and reading into her expression.
Rosalind: She shook her head. This was reality. Ghosts were not cut of the same detail. They did not walk with a limp. They did not have ruby-topped canes. She smiled, though, glad for his company. It was lonely staring off into the void of night, waiting for change, expecting luck to alter at any second. "No. The night sky was too beautiful to ignore. I have never seen a sky so big." And frightening. Did anyone ever fall in the dark spaces between the pinpricks of light? Perhaps she had swallowed a drop too many the day before. She rubbed at her eyes with her thumb and index finger, massaging the corners as if this would fix all that was wrong in her mind. She almost longed for France again, if it was closer than where they were now. Though fate had been uncertain in the land of her fathers, whoever they may be, the earth had been solid underfoot. Peregrine had been safe. Jean had almost seemed ... happy. At least, he had laughed in the company of her drunken brother, and if it was not genuine, it was a very close approximation. "How is he? When may I see him?" The smile faded as a cloud passed over her vision, darkening her expression to the look of tired concern he was most used to at this point. Rosalind took his arm, the one holding the cane, lightly between her hands. She did not believe one soul in pain recognized another's agony. But Jean-Claude's heart, she had to believe, was infinitely more empathetic than her own.
Jean-Claude: "This ship is a ship of dreams, you will know no other beauty as fine. Many places to discover Rosalind, and this is his biggest venture. This is his heart..you have been very brave." With her hand curling into his arm he would touch her shoulder gently and bend to place a warm kiss to the exposed flesh just below her hairline. "Yes..let us go see him." He would curl his arm to let her take it, escorting her as he should to the door where the pirate slumbered no longer!
Peregrine: Peregrine had made it to the side of his bed, and looked up as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Yeah he knew he wasn't supposed to be up yet, but damn it he wanted to see Rosalind. Blond curls were a mess from going to bed with them wet: atop his head wild. "Damn it..I don't want to lay back down!" He would grumble under his breath, but Jean would raise a fine black brow--Peregrine would swing his feet back slowly over the bed; hissing as he went. Going to his side Jean-Claude would help him ease back, fluffing his pillow so he could set up, and start to check the wounds. As his gloved hand would come to press back the bandage, Peregrine would curl his fingers over the man's wrist, "I'm fine..please..I haven't seen her..or spoken with her.." He would need to say nothing else for with a heavy open heart Jean would bow, excusing himself leaving the pair be. Silence filled the room then, with the warmth of the sun as he slowly curled his lips into a smile seeing her there. She looked like hell run over, tired..worn, but there she was..safe..and sound. "Your Highness." He grinned then, as for now he had perfectly good reason to tease her on the subject; she had been Queen for a day!
Rosalind: She hadn't been brave at all. Perhaps in France. But she'd chased all that courage away, and now felt hollow and tired. She entered after Jean-Claude and let the Frenchman do what he had to do, hanging back in the doorway while Peregrine settled himself back into bed. But when Jean left, she hurried to the bed, and slid in beside him, wrapping her arms around his chest, mindful of bandages and injuries. It was hard, knowing she was the reason he had even come to France, and that he had been needlessly injured on her behalf. He had been right to chase her out of the cabin when they made their escape from Paris. She already blamed herself for his injuries as it was, she did not need the responsibility of seeing Jean-Claude make his emergency repairs on the man who gave her purpose for breathing. "My Peregrine," she murmured, ignoring his jest. She didn't feel like joking. She didn't like the honorific. He looked valiant, as if he'd just chased the last enemies away and was free to enjoy whatever came next. Why couldn't she savor his victory? Put it all behind them? Learn to enjoy the fact that she was in safe hands, and never worry about the next storm? She took a deep breath. He smelled decidedly like Peregrine and something medicinal, but she could ignore the latter and close her eyes. "I missed you. So damn much."
Peregrine: His heart ached for her, feeling deep within the pain she felt, the self sacrifice she gave for each battle wound upon him she felt guilt. He longed for her to know that nothing could have hurt worse then having her ripped from him. His arms wrapped around her feeling no pain, nor any remorse for a bandage broke. They did not hurt, and it would never be his last. He kissed her temple and closed his eyes running a hand through her hair to hold her closer to him. He couldn't help but love it when she spoke his name, in a way that only she could. He had loved his first wife with all his might and glory, everything about him had lived for her, and the destruction she had left, though never spoken, remained with him for what seemed to be an eternity. "They took you from me.." Was all that could escape him, through a clenched tight jaw and tightly shut eyes; he fought back tears, but she would never know! He had chased her out only so she would never know this side of him. Forever, would he be her smiling gypsy carefree with a bright grin and open arms. Never this. He breathed in her scent as if it were all the drug he would ever need, for just the feel of her could cure any illness. "I was blind, and I got caught..it will never happen again." He finally gained control of his emotions letting them swallow back down under lock and key, and his eyes opened once again. "Now we'll go home..get your son..and lock ourselves underground." He teased again smiling, brushing back her hair from her face with a tender motion.
Rosalind: Peregrine was her bright and smiling gypsy, but she had seen him wear different masks. If they were masks at all. It didn't matter to Rosalind. She had her own reasons for everything she did, and he had swept it all aside and loved her anyway. She did the same. She could accept everything he was. She knew the man at his very core, and that was all that mattered. "We were very stupid," she agreed with an attempt at a laugh. "But all is well now." Wounds healed. Rosalind was testament to that fact. The shiny new skin of her hand had faded; it looked the same as the pale flesh on the rest of her body, not a trace of the burn to be found. Bruises eventually faded. And his flesh would knit, too. Jean was very good at his craft, and she would expect nothing less than perfection from him. He expected nothing less of himself, so it was not precisely an unfair desire. She crept up alongside him until she sat, curled into him, her arm behind his back. He was so warm, but not feverish. He always burned a little hotter than other men. "Let's think of ways to spoil Aldric," she whispered. "New swords or horses, a dragon as big as a house to play in. Wherever you would like to go, I would follow. Except, maybe I could use a few days on land. The ship -- I have tried to adapt." Rosalind had a peculiar ability to say the most neutral of words in the most neutral of tones and still convey abject misery over being forced onto the ocean for the journey home. She tried to keep it out of her voice, and she was skilled, but even Rosalind had her imperfections.
Peregrine: "Yes..all is well now." For now. He thought to himself, a dark thought but it was the truth. She had so much to learn of him that even he was afraid to share. A darker side she had not known, one he could not show her without it breaking her heart. She knew he lived in the Underdark, but did she know he ran it? That he could never live in the castle with her, or marry her in public. She could never be known as his wife, until their plan was unstoppable? She knew he was a brother of a king, but did she know of where? Rosalind was a fragile yet strong woman he had no doubt she would adapt well, but did he want to force that life upon her? She could be happy never knowing, but then how could she ever love him? "Just think of your son, Rosalind, how happy he will be to see you. I will raise the black flag so he could see you ride in on a pirate ship. You can be my Queen, and we'll kidnap him run off where the weather is always warm and the water is clear." Run and hide. Of course he teased, and in the back of his mind he knew her unease. He felt it in her bones the way they shivered at the sound of the sea. They were on other sides of world but here in the same room. "I haven't been here for you, on this journey home, have you met the crew?" He asked looking at her, "Have you seen the whole ship?" This was a very big part of his past, but more and more he found it less of his future.
Rosalind: Some day, they would have that conversation. And she could assure him, with one more example, why she would not have a single objection to living in sin. Marriage never did go as it should for Rosalind, try as she might to make it work. A religious woman, perhaps even a devout woman, there came a time in life when even she could recognize trying the tried and true and expecting different results was its own form of insanity. She was happy the way they were. She did not need a ring upon her finger. But for now, they would both brush past the issue. They had not truly had time to get comfortable in their relationship yet. What would life be like with Peregrine without kidnappings, matchmaking abbots, devious gypsy wenches, and abusive husbands? Rosalind had to believe it would be far more boring than the past six months, and that was not such a bad thing. "I think he would enjoy that, if he is in sight of it. I honestly have little idea how to explain to him why I left." She sighed. "I met them all, yes, but they are busy. And I ... have been very worried about you." And the ocean, staying right where it was, below the ship and not above it.
Peregrine: "He will be so happy to see you, he will never ask. He was with his father before we left, I sent Jean-Claude to be sure they were safe. When we return if they are not I'll string Colban by his toes to the back of my ship and drag him down." A very serious jest that left the mouth of a pirate, who longed to be free from this bed, but was happy to be in her arms. "I.." He stopped hissing in a breath and holding his chest clearly in pain, as the color rushed from his face. His back arched a little, and stars swam before his eyes. "Mmm, Jean-Claude." He laughed then taking a deep breath to catch from the one stolen from him. "Powerful stuff." His arms would tighten over her pulling her down under the covers and pulling them up around her. "No nightmares ok?" He pleaded settling in beside her, "And call me your knight again..I liked that." Lord how long had it been he had been called anything without a negative response behind. Though the medication hit all over as the sun rose, and Peregrine found himself lost in the sea of his dreams. On his side he would block the sights of the ocean from her, but the sounds could never be forced back.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Dec 11, 2009 10:10:57 GMT -6
Her return to Skye was meant to be uneventful. It would not be an understatement to say that it was not. Jean-Claude took Peregrine underground to heal, deep through passageways Rosalind would not traverse, but ensuring her he would have a speedy recovery and would be climbing through her window again far sooner than he would appreciate.
In her absence, Lamont had almost fallen apart. She was greeted on the docks not by the court – though Bess was there, with her family, waiting to embrace Rosalind – but largely by a phalanx of Lamont men demanding to see their disappeared chieftain. She appeased them, noting she had returned, and Aldric had gone to the land Rosalind had been rewarded for service to Skye. “Had you all not been there yourselves? Did you not bring a crab apple tree to the very ceremony? No, it was no Campbell plot. The boy has a Campbell for a father. Do you look for fault, I assure you, I have heard all the insults you might sling, but I do remind you of your oaths sworn upon your swords and the crucifix of our Savior.”
She tutted at them, shaking her head slowly, but even as she spoke, she was walking through the crowd toward Bess. The Lamonts fell away, leaving only a corps of well-armed guards who would never, on pain of dismemberment or maiming, raise a hand or weapon to their lady. They were sworn not only to Rosalind but to the Griffin and his giantesse of a wife. Some were old enough that they had served Rosalind when she first came to Scotland; some were so young, they had no memory of massacre or treachery, much less of loyalty to her dead husbands. She had to trust them for the sanctity of mind that was so hard to come by in these troubled times.
She walked beside Bess as long as they were able, in which she learned the castle had not fallen apart in her wake, but the honorary princess of nowhere had received several gifts from her most recent husband. That required a lengthy explanation to her lady that Rosalind, sober now that her two feet were on firm ground, began to find amusing in its complexity and the dangerousness of its politics. Finally, when they had parted from most company and walked alone, Rosalind gave Bess the letter she had already committed to memory, penned in her uncle Ghislain's hand.
Despite Ghislain's conviction on that sunny day he met her in Honfleur, there remained some question of Rosalind's parentage that had not been resolved until Ghislain's recent trip to Beauquesne. “I offered him the fortress,” Rosalind admitted. Amaury Avalle, Baron of Beauquesne, was not her father in any sense of the word. He had married her mother, yes, but his blood was not hers, and he had little care for the girl left behind when Isabeau died shortly after childbirth. She loved the land he had carefully cultivated since his victories on Crusade, but it was not hers, and she wished no claim on it. Though Ghislain's efforts to bring her into her rightful inheritance as the sole heir of Auvergne and a tie to d'Evreux had been miserably bungled, she had no doubt his heart was now in the right place. He had been stripped of titles and honors, save those won in jousts, and Beauquesne had no steward. It seemed only right to Rosalind. “He must have found correspondence in my father's study.”
For in the letter was proof positive, short of peering through the window to watch her conception, that Rosalind's parentage was not as clear-cut as an embarrassing banishment from d'Evreux's house. Louis had banished Rosalind's mother because Isabeau carried the king of France's child, one who would displace d'Evreux's line to the throne, and upset all of France if the child ever saw daylight. It forced Rosalind to re-evaluate her mother's untimely death, but if Isabeau had died unnaturally, how had Rosalind ever stood a chance at life? Unfortunately, all mysteries did not have definitive answers, and the only man capable of straightening out these events surrounding her birth, was buried in Beauquesne in the armor he wore to Crusade in Tunis. She did not care who her parents were. She had more than twenty-eight years to prove her blood wrong. If it was heretical, she knew of any of her dearest companions and friends, Beathag would understand. She was neither like her real father, nor her mother, nor even her half-sister, who Rosalind heard was the newest of the castle's guests, but had once called herself Queen of England.
After Rosalind was finished speaking, she learned that she wasn't the only woman to mysteriously disappear. Jelenah did not have swarm of angry Lamonts stalking the harbor each day, watching the flags for signs of a ship's approach, but she did have a furious husband and his cohorts stalking every nook and cranny of the isles. Rosalind was shocked; Jelenah was a soft-spoken lady, shy, but one of the dependable and trustworthy women who helped form the foundation of Beathag's unique court.
“I will see my son and Colban,” Rosalind said quietly, taking the letter back and sliding it into the bodice of her dress. “Then I shall see to the end of this.” Then she was, forever and always, swearing off any further contact with her extended family. By blood or by recent bond to Aragon, they were meddling fools all, and somewhat was at work in the world, some mighty sea change, that did not frighten Rosalind at all. It made her blood come to a slow, roiling boil. In a woman who was given every reason to have a temper, but had remained mild-mannered and polite in the entirety of her life, it was a terribly wonderful thing to see beneath the placid mask that was the Lady Inveryne's face.
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Post by Lady Rosalind Avalle on Dec 17, 2009 16:28:28 GMT -6
Thus concludes On Civility. The next chapter of the story continues in somewhat more chronological order in: Thank you very much for those who read and commented, and pardon us as we try to get several months' worth of logs and e-mail play onto the MB.
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