Neither Spare Nor Dispose

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

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By the rivers of Babylon,
there we sat down, yea, we wept,
when we remembered Zion.

We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof.
For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song;
and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying,
Sing us one of the songs of Zion.

How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand forget her cunning.

If I do not remember thee,
let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth;
if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.

Remember, O Lord, the children of Edom
in the day of Jerusalem;
who said, Rase it, rase it,
even to the foundation thereof.

O daughter of Babylon, who art to be destroyed;
happy shall he be, that rewardeth thee as thou hast served us.
Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth
thy little ones against the stones.

- Psalms 137, Holy Bible, King James Version

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[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

"What is it, Rosie?"

They arrived on the golden fields surrounding Inveryne, looking down upon the old fortress from the vantage of one of many of the Highlands' high hills. From here, it appeared the home she had shared with her first husband for nearly ten years had sprouted out of the ground one rainy spring day and kept growing.

She could see where Domhnall's great-grandfather Laomain Og had built a new grain silo, and where his grandfather had torn it halfway down before realizing it could not be rebuilt elsewhere. There were scars of where buildings had been before fires reclaimed them, of where innovation had installed sparkling new stone amidst that green with moss and lichen, of where war had torn asunder and crafty hands had formed it back together again. Or not.

Inveryne still bore scars from her ransacking five years ago. Since the Campbells tore down the walls to avenge Arthur's death, the fields had gone fallow, the water wheel decayed into the stream, and rooftops went unthatched from the fires that ripped through the fortress. Animals not slaughtered to feed Campbell men had been allowed to run wild. Nearby villagers still told stories, more often than not entirely lacking fiction, of wild boars that stole naughty children away into the hills. Corpses grew flowers in the still room, where Rosalind had once overseen the processing of medicines and household oils.

In five years, Inveryne had had many stewards. Lamont, Campbell, gypsies, ruffians, thieves, transient Scots looking for a windbreak -- all had called Inveryne's empty spaces home at one point or another in her absence. Not all had been so kind as Domhnall; not all had been so cruel as the Black Campbell of Loch Awe.

Fearghus began its revival one year ago this very day. The fields would not be thick with ripening wheat without his stewardship and her money. Villages would not be growing and the silos would stand empty. There would be no water wheel lazily turning the frigid water. The rooftops all gleamed with fresh thatching. The walls had been restored, patched with sand, clay, and small rocks. In time, they would fade to match the gray of the rest of Inveryne's materials.

The steward now was a good man who had sworn his fealty to Aldric. Rosalind exchanged infrequent letters with the man. She gave him a tight budget, but he was thrifty. She made high demands, but he was capable of meeting her expectations. She did not wish to ever live within those walls again. He never wished to leave. She loved and loathed this isolated piece of land with a passion that still made her uneasy. She wanted everything and nothing to do with the homely little collection of buildings at the epicenter of her greatest despair and earliest love.

Here she stood five years ago, with her army of starved, beaten Lamont men. Here she wore her husband's armor, and told them if they could lift their swords, they could fight. They had all been so tired. Her arms ached recalling the deep longing to drop the sword and surrender. The bone-deep grief that called to her, and the morose longing to lay atop Domhnall's grave until the Campbells allowed her to join him in the elsewhere. Once, she let the fresh-turned soil drop through her fingers, wondered if the Lord would look with compassion upon their ruins. Inveryne, under her fingernails and staining the fabric of her gown, and slowly filling the spaces around her husband's decaying body.

There, she could see, she clung onto Colban, buried in sacking and hidden under his cloak, her face white and lips blue-tinged, believing death preferable to this hell upon her. There had been so much blood. She sat upon her own horse today, back rigid, but gloved hands light upon the comfortably worn leather reins.

The sun shone down now, as it had not that day. That day, low gray clouds swirled overhead on their way to the sea, and the gulls from Kilcreggan had been visible even so far inland as Inveryne. Only a hawk lazed in the afternoon heat, and Rosalind touched the flesh of Colban's arm to find it warm, and comfortingly real, even through the glove's fabric. The light was growing soft as evening approached, and the shadows lengthening down the hillside. Kine lowed in the pastures, and there was a man leading a horse through Inveryne's restored gate. He stopped to converse with the guards. The fading, shifting light ignited the new stone on Inveryne's other surviving building. The brilliant, new-painted white cross at the apex of the building explained why it had managed to survive Inveryne's invasions, while the walls around showed signs of scorching. Here, Laomain Og and all the subsequent generations of Lamont men lay at rest, including Domhnall. The world was for the living, and Rosalind barely glanced at it before turning her gaze down to her horse and the reins resting in her gloved hands.

"Let's go," she said, failing to answer his question. Colban knew what lifted her spirits also held her poised to drop on so many jagged rocks. This world was for the living. Rosalind had come to say goodbye to her dead. And in the morning, she would say goodbye to him, too, as he rode onward to Lanark to resume his duties at the Campbell fort.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

The weather held throughout the night. Rosalind surprisingly slept in late, dawn's rosy glow completely washing her bed and brightening into clear daylight before she roused from her bed to the sounds of an active keep well into its usual routine. She slid over the side of the bed and put her feet on the cold stone floor. It was the same room she had lived in with Domhnall for most of their marriage, though in retrospect, a good portion of their life together had been spent apart. He, on diplomatic missions with the Campbells or at war. She, with Arthur at Dunstaffnage. This was not their bed. Their bed had been irreparably damaged, and this one was new, with fresh down that still made her sneeze if she moved too suddenly.

She grabbed the heavier dressing gown and slid it over her head. The time for a servant to come and attend to her in the morning had come and gone, and the girl had likely moved on to other tasks, if any such servant actually dwelled here, with such a rustic steward as Inveryne currently possessed. So she dressed herself, brushed her hair and left it loose, finding her fingers not up to the task of braiding today. She went into the kitchens a few moments later to find something for breakfast, and found a bowl of porridge waiting for her.

"It was a cold morning," the cook offered cheerfully, acknowledging his lady's presence, and then realizing she was more than just his lady. He bowed low and Rosalind sighed. Of course rumors would have arrived at Inveryne. It was one of Scotland's greatest achievements -- a gossip system that rivaled her postal capabilities. Losing her appetite, Rosalind left the kitchen and walked around the keep for some time, seeing what had changed and what had remained the same before the Lamont men finally made their way to Inveryne to drag her into countless meetings. For now, she had time on her own, a rarity in her life. Under the painfully clear blue early autumn sky, she turned toward the kirk.

She set a foot down in the dusty courtyard, tying a scarf around her hair and holding it in place against the stiff breeze. Something was amiss at the gates, and when Rosalind turned to look, was confronted with the sight of men in Skye livery demanding entrance. Impatience won the war over hospitality. She told the page in clear tones to bid the men find rest and sustenance in the kitchens, but she had no need for men of Skye here. "Lamont is well-armed and able to defend herself."

"It is not for a Lamont." The voice boomed against the brash surface of the carved face of a lion, an Oriental design like that of a samurai to tie better in the head of the beast, while the wings of the eagle broke in the breeze printed upon the fine light fabric of their cape. "It is for a Campbell, father of your son. We have word you left with him, and now harbor him here."

The men drew forward to flank their leader, all upon horses looking wild from their ride over the braes and through the burns of this inhospitable spit of Scotland. Rosalind searched masked faces, looking utterly unperturbed, though she had yet to hear the charges leveled against Colban.

"He is charged with prostitution and the soliciting of whores. It was even brought to our attention he spreads a rash that kills within the following moon, and must be returned."

The crowd forming began murmuring. Rosalind stiffened, catching on to the slightly mirthful tone of the leader, and disliking very much what ammunition these servants were given for gossip. She leveled a steely glare on the knight. "He is no longer on my property. And no matter his crimes, you shall address Sir Colban with proper respect. He is a knight of this land, a veteran of Bannockburn, and a Palmer. His name commands only respect from me, and it should of you. All men have their foibles, but if soliciting is now a crime, perhaps you ought focus your attentions on all the sailors you left behind in Turas Lan. One man does not keep the harlots in the money."

She did not acknowledge the crowd gathering. Yet in all fairness, she would not allow them to leave believing anything less than good of Colban. He was a good man. "Go pester the Campbells of Campbell matters, but if you must, we have bannocks in the kitchens, and porridge to spare. Never say we did not do you a kindness. I beg your men refrain from the meat. I've folk of my own to feed."

She turned her back on them in obvious dismissal. It was enough in any other household that the men would be immediately shuffled off toward the kitchens. The lady had no more to say, and after such a disastrous meeting, most men would choose to flee toward food and a warm hearth. The Lady Inveryne was as cold as a northerly wind; her word was also law in these lands. The servants began moving, some crossing the yard, others closing off the path between Inveryne and the guards, to prove their loyalty or to continue on with their duties.

Not seven steps were taken when an arrow snapped through the air and embedded itself near one of her finely booted feet. She whirled, the cold fury on her face never faltering, even as it was met with Peregrine's revealed expression of open rage. They were nearly matched in height, but armed and garbed as a man-at-arms, she appeared outmatched -- if one was entirely unfamiliar with the Lady Inveryne's ability to hold her own in an argument. "Worry me sick! Without one word! Nothing! To run off with who?" He clenched his jaw shut, but could not resist one more word. "Why?"

"I left word with the nanny. If you came through the door and actually inquired of her, she would have told you." It was cruel, but she was hurting. Their last conversation hadn't gone well, either, and all she could do was continue with that momentum, unable to change her course now that she was so angry. He shut her out of his life and raged at her for doing the same. He told her to lock her doors without explanation. Now, he stormed after her through Scotland, and slandered Colban before her son's servants. Firing an arrow at her certainly didn't help cool her temper. "And I admit nothing save Colban is a man of unusually large size and happened to be riding in my direction. Few are willing to harass that man, and by proxy, me. Rest assured, my virtue is as safe as it will ever be." Here she did take a step back. She didn't like him in armor. She didn't like him angry.

His hand came to touch his arm, brushing away at nothing as he could not reach his skin. He was cold. Even in the leather, heavy plated armor, and fabric meant to help the bruising he still felt the chill. Her words cut like knives, they always had, but he wasn't about to let her see. However, in a much quieter voice, one that came when his back was turned to her--facing the crowd, "She did tell me, I just didn't believe her." His eyes narrowed on the gawking fools until they one by one turned away. The sun was warm now as it hit his face, no longer at his back and he closed his eyes if only for a moment to live in the light. "Well. I see that you are safe." He spoke back then anger fueled by the warmth, "No kidnappings this time. Nothing of the sort hmm? Come here to do your woman thing and sulk. Feel free." With a wave of his hand, "I'll just go back to being your midnight play thing. At least whores get paid..perhaps I'll start charging." He turned to her then, hands coming to be upon his hips like some scolding parent when in fact it was clearly the other way around. "Go go," He motioned for her to carry on with her day, "Go do these things that I should be at your side for without me."

"You wouldn't be paid much, given recent history." She picked up a rock from the ground and hurled it at him, close enough he should know to move. There were more where that came from. "Go away, Peregrine. If you think I am being unfaithful to you, I am tired of arguing with you. And if you think I am stupid, I do not know what to tell you. If nothing else has convinced you thus far." She couldn't see as she grasped another stone, but she found it, scraping nails along the dirt. "I do not know what I need to do to prove anything to you, so I will stop. And if you take one step closer, I do not think that armor will protect you." She swore at him, dropping the rock, and marched off toward the kirk. Even with her lame leg, she managed to hop the fence containing all the dead Lamonts. She found an empty corner and sat down to gather her breath, taking time to genuflect, reaching into a pocket for that accursed d'Evreux cross. It was cool to her touch. Jet did not seem to care what temperature her body was; lately, it always seemed to be cold. Or perhaps she was merely running hot lately. When she was certain she would not instantly combust if she saw Peregrine, she slid her gaze back across the yard. Sulking was only part of it. She frowned and looked down to her hands. They were trembling, with nothing to hold onto except her mother's cross.

He would not move, he had little need..was wearing armor after all. "I know you are not being unfaithful! I never said that. Why would you go anywhere else, hmm?" cokey bastard. "And that's not what you said last time!" He called after her, wanting to make chase, but certainly not sure he could simply hop over that fence..this whole knight gear was heavy! He stood there watching her walking away, never one to look before he leapt took his first step. The anger had driven him without thought across the yard, but now that little pouty frown of hers. UGH how it killed him! One right after the other the straps were undone, until like a trail of bread the armor followed behind. What he could not reach would be left, but it would only be one shoulder strapped to the back--the open arm guard that rest against the shoulder most often exposed. Stripping away, even his feet would soon be exposed as the boots were made to attach the threads of steel. He stood on the other side of the fence, hands coming to touch the posts before he pulled himself up soon crossing it with ease, the steps as fluid as a feline, and soon finding himself at her side crouching with his jump--to be upon his knees before her. HERE in all his glory, he could stand up do the right thing..say he was sorry, but of course in a very serious manner asked, "You done throwing rocks?"

"I'm not sure. Are you finished acting the ass?" It did not come out as caustic as the words might have otherwise sounded. Rosalind was irate, but she was not oblivious to how horrible they were being. She closed her hands into fists to steady them, then relaxed her fingers, dropping them into the grass beside her. She leaned against the fence, angry, but too drained to do much about it. She swept the scarf from around her hair and dabbed her forehead with it, consciously making an effort not to meet his eyes. If she thought about it, and she did not wish to, she might think it was impressive he'd ridden like this to Inveryne. The surrounding territory was unpleasant, and he must have ridden hard to make such good time. Had he really thought she'd been kidnapped again? That thought softened her a moment, until she recalled his speech about Colban when he entered. Her fingers tightened again. She wished one of them would just throw a punch and have done. Colban had already retreated to Lanark. What more could Peregrine want, save total annihilation of his competition? It was clear she was thinking, but she wasn't willing to talk.

"God damn it, Ros you scared me. We had that little fight, you ran off, what I was supposed to think?"

He took her hands and stilled them. He spoke honestly, anger gone from his voice, replaced with genuine worry. Rosalind listened, and even if she was not finished being angry, she let him talk uninterrupted, and did not sling any more horrible words at him. "If you never came around -- this question is easy to answer, Pere. I would not be sitting here. He would have killed me, and married a more biddable woman. I understand the flaws in my personality. And I know that I am a lot of things, but I am not biddable. I wanted to come to Inveryne, and I was too angry to tell you I was going. So I went. And," she stressed the word, eying him, "I love whom I love. I already married lairds. Twice. I have had my fill of them."

He gave a snort, "Your flaws are great indeed." Peace settled between them. It was reluctant at first, but his exhaustion made prolonging the argument futile. She motioned to the graves and told him that she hadn't come to sulk. She'd come to say goodbye. This was not the home she would build future dreams within, but one she had come to say farewell to, that she might give it to Aldric with no regrets when he came of age. This home was filled with too many terrible memories, and she preferred to remember the good ones.

She led him to a small grave. "Fearghus told me Domhnall was incapable of giving me a son. Yet ten years into our marriage, I was with Domhnall's child. Domhnall thought it was his foster-brother, Arthur Campbell's, Lord Dunstaffnage. He called him to duel. Both men died that day. Out of retaliation, Neil Campbell decimated Lamont forces, and marched his army down through that pass there. We held them off for a time. I even rode out in Domhnall's armor to defend Inveryne, but it was too late. I lost the child." She was silent for a long time. So was Peregrine, listening wordlessly to her story, as she told him how Colban had sneaked her away from Inveryne to recover at Lanark. He'd come back for the body of her son, and buried him in the kirk. God had been looking away the day two hundred men, women, and children were slaughtered at Inveryne. Even He could look away one day more while the unbaptized son of the Laird and Lady Lamont was put to rest in holy ground.

"Fearghus knew of the child and that I was faithful to Domhnall. Or he would not have wed me. There is no point, marrying a barren woman, and expecting a legacy. Yet in the stories, I am Jezebel. Gossip is rarely as heartbreaking as the truth."

Rosalind was not near tears. She did not need to be held. But she was glad to have Peregrine at her side. He knew what choices she had been forced to make, and always at the expense of her relationship with Aldric. When he promised her that she would have that life with her son, she believed him. When he demanded the opportunity to kill Fearghus again, she dared a smile. How could she not love this man? He knew her, from the fault lines in her personality to her saving graces. And he gave her the space she needed, to remember how to be herself, if she only dared tell him her reasons for fleeing. She watched him leave the graveyard, where he took the more respectful route through the gate back to the main house, and left her to say her goodbyes to Joscelin mac Domhnall.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Rosalind: Dust motes shimmered down through the high slitted windows of the new barn. The paint and wood still smelled fresh. She walked down the center aisle, peeking through the different stalls. An occasional head peeked back, with wide chocolate eyes in varying states of curiosity studying the noblewoman's progress. "Madam, your horse," the groom offered, stepping from around the cross aisle with a bay mare's leads in his hands. Rosalind smiled. The mare was docile and had big, friendly eyes. Judging by her insistence on assuming her own stance, no matter where the groom found his, she was just prissy enough to be of interest to Rosalind. "She is perfect," Rosalind said, and turned with the groom to walk out of the barn. Aldric waited just where she'd told him to wait, though upon their arrival, he lost all interest in the toy horse in his hand. Rosalind explained carefully what was going to happen. Then she mounted, and just as she'd told him, held her arms out for her boy to take a seat in her saddle. "You are getting too big to ride this way, Aldric," Rosalind laughed, shifting her son's weight so it rested more comfortably against her. "Now, hold the reins like this, lightly in your fingers. The horse has a soft mouth and we must be gentle." She slid the leather straps into his fingers, and with an imperceptible squeeze of her legs, the mare took off at a leisurely stroll around the arena.

Perry: A different change, his heart then watching from the distant tree, it swelled to life bringing forth feelings he had once thought he shut away. She was beautiful, this woman before his eyes ridding on her horse like the natural born Queen she was--inspired those around her. Lunch had come and gone, the lazy afternoon kept him at bay while his own horse grazed lazily below him. Peregrine had a title to hold to, even though it was false--here he was simply a nameless knight sent from Skye to escort her, but hadn't it always been? It was strange to find him up before she was, tending to the horses, the messenger birds, and even the small group of men; like a ranked lead he did them all with a smile. He tied back his hair each day, keeping hands as well face clean, his clothes pressed and matching. The colors of Skye though were not worn with pride, he still wore them well, and with everyday's exercise he filled them out well. The armor was not so heavy, though traded for lighter leather in place of hardening steel. Dropping from his tree, slow careful steps carried him to the edge of the arena where he folded arms over the rails to watch the gentle bob of his love..and the golden haired son she shared with another. "You know, I was going to get you a horse, but she's not as pretty as this one." He called out, as his kind was known for their vanners, large horses who were painted as if the Lord could not make up his mind on which color he wished.

Rosalind: Rosalind leaned down over Aldric to whisper something into his golden hair. He grinned and nodded, almost so vigorously, Rosalind narrowly escaped without impact on her chin. She wrapped an arm around his middle, and rising elegantly in the saddle, beginning to post the trot. She counted for Aldric, and even if he did more bouncing than posting, he could hear and feel how natural the movement was, and how much less she hit the saddle than he did. She gently slid the reins out of her son's hands and slowed the bay to a smooth walk once again, angling toward the edge of the corral where Peregrine watched. "She's a good girl, isn't she? The lads in the stables call her Gypsy, but I hear the steward calls her Miss Priss. She's a mind of her own." As if hearing the nickname, the bay sidled closer to Peregrine, despite Rosalind's firm grip on the leather straps. "I was thinking about going for a ride through the hills with Aldric. Would you be interested in joining?"

Perry: His hands came to smooth over the bay's nose rubbing gently the smooth texture. "I would.." He smiled then turning for his own horse who wasn't ready just yet to pull away from her feast. The horse was stout, much like it's rider a simple splash of black and white, with hair the color of the clouds. Like a draft horse it was built for pulling wagons, it's large body lean but thick. This horse was not a war horse, but it's rider was not a warrior. "I'd like to see more of these lands. One of my favorite times of year." Liar. Though the horse suited none other then it's name, he would have gone with the first. "Priss." Locals had talked long and hard about the blonde headed knight, in keeping with their lady, but rumors flied when they discovered he did not share her bed. Peregrine refused to sleep where her husband had been, out of respect and duty, of all things. He did not want her name to fall, or any to question it..was bad enough Aldric looked much like him. "No bad dreams?" He asked Aldric then as he came to step beside them. "Soon he'll be able to ride his own horse. I was." A stretch, but so far the truth.

Rosalind: Rosalind was at ease here as she wasn't in Skye. At ease, with something of a guilty conscience, she knew Perry had found her at an odd place. She knew, too, he was being respectful of her past, and was giving her space. It meant more to her than words could express, but she missed being with him. Like now. She wanted to share Inveryne with him. At one point in her life, it had been the most beautiful place in all the world, filled with those she loved, where life had an interesting but gentle pace. It wasn't that way any longer, and she had to make certain that the Inveryne she once loved was gone. She was giving it to Aldric's hands, and hoping he would be able to hold on to it much better than she ever had. "It's my favorite time of the year here," Rosalind said lightly, smiling to Aldric. "The fields are just the right color and the sky is perfectly blue. It is the only time of the year," she added to her son, "that you can see the firth from the hills. And the wildflowers in the valleys, rolling all the way out to the sea." She glanced up at Perry. "He will be four in December. Four is a good age for a P-O-N-Y, I think. No?"

Perry: "A good sized one, small sized one. The ones from the side shows." He laughed nodding then, looking out over the hills and inhaling gently, "You love it here hmm?" He asked a bit quieter, watching as Aldric was happily content watching each mound roll over the grass, "Feels good to be home?" God, he missed her. It amazed him how every time he saw a different part of her he fell even harder. "I would work to keep weight off...the cook. Mmm. She made me the best salad with boiled egg. Thought it strange though..but I could live here..if you..wanted. To stay..be part of his lands." It had become hard to admit, hard to see where he was truly happy. Though she had given up so much, he would not stand in the way. "Just..find me somewhere to fit in." A constant struggle. "Give me room to practice my joust." He grinned, "So I can rematch your father, Aldric." The boy's face shifted, "Good horseman that one. Knocked me clear on my bottom." He laughed then, the air was a sweet scent then of summer's last bit of honeysuckle and as the horse would pass she would make a swipe for them. "Raise our children here..grow old watching the grass grow each year. Would be an adventure no?" He gave her a side look that went along with his tease, as one could never tell if he was being serious or not.

Rosalind: "I did, once,"[/i] she said with a light shrug, turning her eyes to him meaningfully. "It has changed since then. I am not sure I could live here again, but it would make a good home for someone." She ruffled Aldric's hair. "Perry teases about the food, Aldric, but I saw you eat everything on your plate this morning. Was it good?" Aldric's enthusiasm with a little louder than Rosalind had been expecting. She had a slightly dazed look on her face as she nodded. Her boy was always hungry. There were certain luxuries of being his age. Not having to worry about his figure was among them. "Would you stay here, Perry? Eggs and porridge and bannocks for breakfast every day?" It was Rosalind's turn to tease, but she was already shaking her head no. She didn't want to stay here. It was difficult being so close to that graveyard, and there had been definite purpose in not coming to Inveryne on a particular anniversary. There had been a time when she had kept count of all the days between hope and death. It has been how many days since her son was alive. It has been how many hours since Domhnall might have come home still breathing. She once knew the precise tally, but now the numbers were too large; she had stopped counting, and started living. "We heard about the joust. I thought it would have been a good match with Colban. You are quicker than he is. But I think you would have to eat far more than you do already to match him in weight." With a grin, she blamed Priss sidling away on the horse's finicky attitude. "Where would you live?"

Perry: "If I lived here long enough I'd out weigh him." He chuckled, but let his eyes fall on the road ahead as they came to where the trees covered the road. His attention was on them, with each swaying branch he listened to the voices of a thousand years pass back and forth; was enchanting. "I'd sleep at the foot of your bed if I must. Just to keep you happy." He spoke though his eyes were still on the branches watching, as if something waited in the darkened roots. "I lost because you weren't there..all the other knights were getting kisses from their ladies, all I got was a kiss from the Duchess." He made a face that was full of jest. "It hasn't rained yet...once. Must be a sign. Though..." he lowered his voice, making up his mind he wished not to say it out loud about Fearghus, but the idea of him once sleeping in that bed..what he had done to her. It was almost as if he could hear the man in his sleep, his voice barking orders to her. It was funny as nothing in Skye made him think about that horrible man, but all of this land did--and he wasn't even certain they shared this home. "I can feel him here." His lips flattened on his face, narrowing his eyes it was not a surprise to know which "him" he was talking about.

Rosalind: Rosalind was busy watching the land, saying goodbye to every familiar hillock and scraggly stand of trees that had somehow survived this sparse part of Scotland. But she turned when he teased her about not being at the joust. "I think it is best if Neil and I never breathe the same air again, Perry. I was diplomatic with Arthur, Colban was my childhood friend, but as for the their Campbell brother -- our debates were infamous. I doubt his temper has improved over the years, and I know that mine has not." Just thinking about him put a sour taste in her mouth, though there was a rather strange twinkle in her eye. Did she like debating with the Black Campbell? Once, perhaps, before he had slaughtered every man, woman and child at Inveryne. Once, she had loved very much any family gathering that allowed her to shout down one of Scotland's most pompous lairds. "Besides, you can have a kiss from me any time you want." She sighed lightly and wished she could draw her horse near enough to Perry's sturdier mount. Instead, she merely shifted Aldric again, who babbled for a few minutes about the trees they were passing. She listened intently to him, nodding along to what he said, but of no heart to ask any questions of her own, after overhearing Perry's comment. "He rebuilt the buildings that were razed during the massacre. That's his hand, on some of the walls, and the new barn, I suppose."

Perry: "I thought about challenging him..and had I known, I would have. I'd make sure Jean cut the saddle, or tipped the lance. Would have been a quick fix." Shame on him for saying such before the child. "He did that? Cost you this?" Ok, yeah, perhaps it was time they took Aldric back. "Your.." Son. "You will have to forgive me, I've been at sea a long time. I have little understanding of clan laws." Guess he should get some. "But, would the Bruce not destroy him? He K-I-L-L-E-D thousands. Let his men, do as they pleased. Let you marry that..M-O-N-S-T-E-R, Where was the justice?" Look was talking about justice! "And your temper, is fine love. He so as to looks at you funny, I'll take his..man..h-o-o-d."

Rosalind: Rosalind knew he was angry on her behalf, but she planted a hand against her mouth to keep from laughing at the spellings. When Aldric truly had a grasp of at least one of his mother tongues, at least enough to spell a word, they would definitely have cause to worry. "The Bruce did not care," Rosalind said quietly in French, the switch in the conversation not remotely affecting Aldric, who was used to both languages. "The law of the clans is self-governance, and always has it been. When the Bruce rallied the clans after Wallace's rebellion a decade ago, not all of the clans fought, and it was a devil persuading those that did, to fight against the English, and not their clan enemies. The only exception is the Chattan Confederation, in the central highlands. They represent a few dozen clans, MacKenzie and MacGillivray among them, and have unified law from land to land. But if it is for personal justice among the Lamont, I have to rely on the Laird Lamont." She arched a brow, letting him know precisely what she'd thought of that arrangement. "No Scotsman is at a lack for justice. My late husband believed he was just. The one before that thought he was, too. And Neil? Thinking his brother wrongly slain in a duel, thought he was very just by invading Inveryne. No one ever thought to ask the Bruce his opinion. I doubt he would have shared one with us. Clan affairs are best solved among clans."

Perry: He shook his head waving his hand, as he switched from English to French, "It's hard for me to talk about him." And it was clear with the shadow that fell over his eyes, and the darkening expression, "He has hurt you..enough that you do not open to me so easy, but I have a hard time thinking he thought he was just." He snorted. "I would talk to Neil..or send Jean," He was the better of the two with words, "But is he still a threat? I'll not leave these people open to threat, or let them fall." Gosh someone check his head! "Do you feel they are safe? From the greed? Skye would not let it, I am certain, but can they stop it?" Too little too late, with so many growing threats it was keeping the army busy, what if they could not come fast enough? "And then what comes of Aldric? Would he walk someday into this if we just let it be? All of your hard work, the sacrifices..what then? Is he still a threat?" The words looming in his voice, as if it were an offer..to remove him. She was sleeping with an outcast who cared very little of his actions. Neil could disappear from the world, be lost in the Underdark and never return..easy.

Rosalind: She shook her head slowly. "This area has seen a harsh hand for too many generations. I will be firm, but it is time to truly have an alliance. Sir Kendrew and I have been at work on one, and through him, we can manage Neil. And Lamont is much stronger than she was five years ago. Neil is held in check by both Kendrew and Skye. I think this truce will last." She sighed. "It would do us all good if I made an effort of friendship with him again, but I do not know what sort of man he is with Arthur dead. Colban went to Lanark to get a feel for Neil, to find out some of his plans. Lanark was the staging ground and center of supplies for Campbell during the last war. It is a good place to listen and watch." She knew Perry didn't like Colban, but she hoped he could admit the man was useful, and one of a handful of people she could trust implicitly. "If he disappeared, it would undoubtedly make Kendrew's life easier. I would not make a move without consulting him, however." She eyed Perry. "It is easy to want to move quickly in this, but let us give it time to heal. It may be Neil does not know where he stands. He could be a stabilizing force among Campbell. He may yet have some sense left in him."

Perry: It was very rare for him to be so firm, to feel so adamant about his actions, but with the events of the past how could she blame him. His tone even shifted enough Aldric looked. "The last time we gave it time, Rosalind he tortured you, forced you into his bed..and hired me to kill you. I doubt I'll catch the hit next time. You are beautiful..he'll be tempted. Any man would. I am." He offered Aldric his water, letting the son have at it happily, "I'm sorry I don't trust easy, I'll sit by and wait for your call..but again, it's hard." He sat back on the saddle, strangely looking much older..more mature, but this was what happened to him when he thought of Fearghus..the danger she had been in. It was proof if nothing else; he loved her. "It makes me sick I don't have more to offer, a title to threaten him with, but I do have your husband's kill...God I need to get my life together. I have two nations at where I could make home..but, I can't just walk into either. Work hard hmm." Ugh, work. "Get him in range of my bow..see who is pocket sized then." Who was he talking about? "I guess I could always ask Kendrew."

Rosalind: Rosalind helped Aldric with the cap of the canteen and then handed it back to Perry, squeezing his hand as they met. "I did not have a choice with Fearghus. I have a choice with Neil. And Neil, it is quite clear to me, is no Fearghus." She knew he worried. How could he not? She had carefully walked the halls of the castle with powder over her bruises; he had put her back together again. There was no value she could place on his love, or his patience. It had not been clear to him why she did what she did, but even if her plan left her out of safety's reach, it had saved the lives of her clan, and kept them on the right side of the war. The most important part of her and Aldric's survival, though, was not any planning, but Perry's intervention. His opinion mattered to her. "We will both talk to Kendrew about Neil. And I hope you will listen to Colban when he returns to Skye to report. Then we will figure out a plan. I think this is the most reasonable approach. I hope so. But I have not been involved in Campbell politics in more than a year. I am certain of none of this." Aldric perked, hearing his father's name in the mess of French, and Rosalind rubbed his head. She pointed at a little spring barely visible from the road. "Fresh water, Aldric. Your father showed me that spring when we were young together. It is so deep, you cannot touch the bottom. And so cold, your skin will turn blue!"

Perry: "I can agree to that. Just new..a change." He smiled then watching, the road before them. However, just the splash of the memory of Rosalind, her childhood, made him come back down. It was a great feeling to be so close to this side of her. "I would not mind so much to take a dip..if you feel up to it?" He teased, though was uncertain if she could even swim. Aldric was a bit small, but he was a bit tired of being on the back of a horse..not to mention Colban's hit still had him a bit sore. However, back to French he would go, "Kendrew and I get along..well enough. He respects my brother, and would not mess with baby brother." Blues brightened just a little at having always been called the baby. "Or should we get him back home, and come back? Hmm?" A wiggle of his brow, and none could blame him!

Rosalind: "It is something to think about. For now." She glanced down at Aldric, who was watching the spring with an intensity she recognized immediately. He was not a particularly demanding child, but once he put his eyes on something, he had to have it. She whispered in French, "If we leave now, he will never forgive me. Have you ever seen his lip quiver? Heartbreaking." She put the reins in Aldric's hand and helped him guide Gypsy to the spring. She handed Aldric to Perry after he dismounted, then slid down herself, shaking her skirts back in order once her feet were on the ground. Riding in pants would be so much easier, Rosalind thought, even if entirely indecent. She could not imagine having that much of her lower half exposed, just for a ride through the hills. Rosalind took Aldric's hand and led him to the water, picking up a stone and skipping it across the surface. It made Aldric's eyes light up, this boy who had only ever seen ocean waves, never a calm surface of a Scottish spring to skip stones in. When Aldric tried, however, he merely sank his stone into the unfathomably deep water, and looked up to Peregrine for wisdom. "I suppose I am not his favorite teacher," Rosalind teased, taking a seat on the grass to watch the boys at play, and sliding off her boots to maybe dip a toe in the water. It was too cold for a swim!

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

(Adult themes ahead)

Peregrine: The moon was high in the blackened sky, it's silvery shadow casting figures across the floor as the turning leaves of trees whispered in the night. Venturing forth, Peregrine found his mind a lost cause as it could concentrate on but one thing. Aldric was tucked away, settled deep into the feather down of his bedding, and so too was his love. It amazed him, as the vision of her was always most at peace when she slept. Her skin seemed to glow in the moon, a golden hue that could marvel the sun in the dead of the night. The silken tresses of her hair, could not be hidden--no wimple could deflect this beauty. It had grown stagnant in his mind, embedded permanently for treasured times; this memory of her hair down. Under the window, where he slept he watched her, spread out across the seat his hand fell over his bare chest, to keep his heart at bay. Though always fool, he grinned on this night not of love and butterflies; sweetness and cherry pie; but of the thrill of knowing he had hidden every single jar of honey in the keep. A devious fool who would question her will to make it through the night.

Rosalind: Rosalind had spent too many busy days interviewing with crofters, attending to clan business, and taking in reports of Neil Campbell. There were letters to answer from Skye and Lanark, and never enough time in the day to do all the things she wanted to do. At least, there wasn't much possibility for not sleeping well. She always fell exhausted into bed at the end of her days, rustling awake for only a few moments to have a snack. Her favorite lately was a hunk of bread covered in whipped honey, and though the servants knew Rosalind always preferred sweet snacks as one of her few indulgences, there never seemed to be enough honey around lately. She put it in her herbal teas, and when no one was watching, sneaked into the pantry to lick it straight from the spoon. As fall crept in on Inveryne, she wanted even more savory dishes than usual, as if she could chase away the chill with rich foods followed shortly after by mulled wine and sweet desserts. Her waistline was not much improved by this visit home, but her heart was at ease. She felt happy, particularly with Peregrine staying at her side, and Aldric so rosy-cheeked with the day's activities. She shoved the covers away from her and started sliding toward the edge of bed. She'd already noticed the jar under the bed had gone missing, but it could be a servant's mistake. There was more in the pantry.

Peregrine: He sat across from her, coming to rise when she did much different then the man who had started on this journey. He had never been a man to carry weight, but now with the daily activity and tending to the men who traveled with him like a proper lead he had deepened lines, darkening skin. Though it had never been a far stretch, as there was not a man in these lands who could navigate rigging as he. The blanket he had been given gathered around his hips, but up from under his hands came to rest on his knees. The air was cool, but never cold enough for him. It was the life he had lead that kept him warm, the constant sun of the warm waters of the south forever tainting his body with internal heat. "Looking for something, Your Highness?" His voice spoke out with a curl of his lips, "Your honey was taken by the Fae if that is what you seek, but...I do know where you might find some..but.." He yawned, propping his arm on the window while his head rest against his hand, "It would require you to put on your slippers and your robe, and I know you well enough that no desire runs deep enough for you to go out in the cold..when it is so late."

Rosalind: "No, it does not, but perhaps you could go and get it for me." She grabbed one of the pillows and pulled it against her, glancing at him from over its edge. Perhaps she had been willing to sneak into the pantry, but she was not ready to go outside. Autumn weather in Scotland was cold, and she didn't have an inner furnace quite as hot as Perry's to make leaving shelter seem like a remotely good idea. She yawned and buried her face in the pillow, almost ready to give up, except that she really was starving, and nothing was more appealing to her in that instant than something sweet. Like honey. "Oh, or apples. Apples sound very good." Covered in honey, of course. She pulled the covers back up over her shoulders. He was already out of bed. Let him go get the food. The decision already made, she closed her eyes and waited for him to do as she asked.

Peregrine: He chuckled deeply, rising from the bedding and giving a stretch. "Yes, My Queen, anything that you wish." The hem of his sleep pants were a tattered mess, as the garment made out of old ship sails had seen better days. "Maybe that little hot cook is down there, and I'll even have them cooked. She did say I could come visit any time." He then started for the door, but stilled himself..wait wait, was he just jumping at her will? "But then again," He turned then lifting his hand of the knob of the door, "I am afraid of the dark. Would not want to go alone." Crossing the space between them he came to pull back the pillow she curled into to reveal her face, mmmmm. Falling then his lips to touch her cheek, where even the apples could be envious. "Your uncle was right, about you being fit for a queen no? Bossy. Asking of your faithful servants, but expecting to give nothing in return. Perhaps.." He stood up then, crossing his arms over his chest, "Good thing you're beautiful, and you don't get fat easy. I'm not fond of my women round."

Rosalind: She grumbled and turned back onto her side, lowering the pillow. "You should go visit her. She seems quite fond of you." Unlike Rosalind, who didn't get this much argument from servants. She smiled, though, and reaching for his chin, kissed him lightly on the lips. "Who says I give nothing in return? You have never complained before." Frowning, she turned onto her back and wrapped her arms under her breasts. Despite the covers, all the moving around in bed had caused a draft, and she was chilly. "I suppose I am blessed with an active lifestyle and good blood. I shall have to keep that all in mind. I would not want to lose you over a few extra pieces of bread." Her eyes twinkled, but she still made no move to get out of bed. "If you are afraid of the dark, why don't you take a candle to light your way? I promise, the rats do not much like the light, and the ghosts do not haunt the path to the kitchen. Honey?"

Peregrine: "God..it is no wonder men throw themselves at your feet." He snorted, pulling at the nightstand beside her bed to reveal the honey. "I will go and get your apples.." He pressed his knees against the bed pushing on to the window, where he would take his leave. Why in the world would he use the door? The night air moved through the room with a quick rush until his return and the glass could be replaced behind him. "Fresh from the trees..it is that time of year. When all the leaves turn gold to scarlet, and then to brown. Falling first for freedom and then to the ground." A poet..who knew. He hated this time of year, and longed for the winter so that it could be spring again. "This Neil was in my dreams," A random subject change as he gathered the dagger from his belt and would start to slice her the fruit. "I dreamed I killed him while he slept..blood lust." Propping himself on the edge of the bed he bent his head forward to concentrate on his cut. "Perhaps I'll have Jean-Claude make us up something special for him hmm? I fear for our child that I don't. I dreamed of that too."

Rosalind: She nearly fell asleep while he was out, but the second cold draft of air roused her. His words were such an oddity, only in that they were rare, not unexpected. He had an interesting way of words that she had always admired, but getting him to commit any of it to paper was not a request she might have any luck with. She turned to watch him, cushioning her head on both pillows now, listening to the warm tone of his voice and the crunch of his knife through the fruit. "Autumn is my favorite season. The colors are impossible to describe. I think the world waits all year to see them, and God never disappoints in this matter. The harvests and feastings, the fresh apples from the trees, how can you not like this?" She smiled, but the gesture flickered at the mention of Neil. One thing she had learned in her life was that not all enemies could be slain. Nor should they. Everyone played a part in Scotland's complicated politics. The absence of Neil, though she would personally feel relieved, would upset Scotland in unpredictable ways. This was the Scotland her son was to inherit, and the idea of the Campbells disintegrating was more terrifying than gratifying. "He -- pardon?" Her hands went from folded around her body to her stomach. "Ah, yes. That."

Peregrine: "Everything dies in the fall, forgive me, Your Grace, for not sharing the same opinion. I just miss the leaves." He handed her a slice of the apple, wondering if he should check on Aldric. Quiet he fell, and of serious reason as the question plagued his mind. She had never told him of her time with the King, or of any misfortune that had fallen upon her in her travels. Rosalind kept him from her secrets, and this would only add fire to that flame. In a quiet that one used when walking on eggshells or asking a question that could have him banished out into the night. "It's mine right?" Blue orbs of deep pools fell into her own, his hair falling to shadow parts of his face, as he was ashamed he had to ask. "I've never been very good at knowing that part of a woman. Blood moon rises, and I just leave you be. Come back in 3 to 5 days." She would just slam the door anyway.

Rosalind: "There is nothing to forgive. It is only a difference of opinion." She patted a seat near her. She didn't care if he got apple juice on the bed. It wasn't hers anymore. She didn't want him sitting out of her reach, with an expression of what she assumed was hurt on his face. She was often cold and far more callous than most women, but she had somehow survived. She was not, however, indifferent to hurting Peregrine, and her heart panged that he even had to ask this question. "It was in Avaria. I had a dream." She was quiet for a few moments, which seemed much longer given the topic, and finally took one of the slivers of apple and coated it in honey. She watched him, waiting to see his reaction in the dark. For once, she realized there was legitimate concern that she had been unfaithful, and it made her cheeks burn red. "I had my mense before Avaria. It is not wishful thinking. It is the truth. And this dream -- it was so strange, Peregrine. It only lasted for a moment. I did not want to believe. I do not give much credence to prophecy and omens." He couldn't see, but her fingers twitched, as if she would cross herself just for having mentioned witchcraft.

Peregrine: He had not doubted her faith to him, as he knew Rosalind would do what she must to save her people, or her freedom. Her heart would never have strayed, but just the thought of that King..it turned him red. "Avaria is a bewitching place." He sat beside her pulling his feet beneath him to warm his toes. "She is in fire now, but I cannot tell you how many times I have gone there and heard my mother's voice while I slept." He turned to face her then touching her knees and smiling at her bite of apple, "I will not think any less of you for telling me the dream, if you should not laugh at my last confession." He shook his head and closed his eyes, listening to the wind outside as it sounded just the same, "There were so many things I wanted to show you there. I felt as if I did you would believe me. The mountain alone held a voice that was a thousand years old, that knew all of your troubles..your name..so I am not surprised of this vision you hold, but still curious."

Rosalind: She sighed, glad he wasn't angry. She had wondered about Avaria, but she had been in such a strange place after her time in France, she hadn't given herself a chance to feel very adventurous. She knew it was important to Perry, so she went. "I saw her. Maybe she was our daughter, or someone years and years from now. I do not know. She had very strange eyes. She had your nose, and my hands. And wherever she went, she walked between two worlds, living and dead. She sees the ghosts of her ancestors as if they are living today, and cannot distinguish between those that are here, and those who have passed. And when she dreams, she dreams of Avaria." She had a strangely abstract expression on her face as she spoke. Rosalind was always clearly logical, seeing only one point and its multiple solutions, but this dream did not fit into her way of viewing the world, and it confused her. But it also comforted her -- she had noticed this child of theirs was happy, despite her strange gift. "Some day, we will go back, and you can show me all the things that are important to you. I want to go."

Peregrine: "Someday, My Love, you'll rule those lands. Hmm?" He listened to her story of their child closing his hands over hers when she spoke, having wondered himself at how their children would look. This would be a strange place, returning to how he was long before he had known himself. He worried though if the dream would mean truth, what kind of life would be lived if she could see the dead? What of Feargus? What of Autumn? Would that confuse her? Scare her? "We have this little time of peace, those dead will remain just that." Brushing his fingers up her arms he bent forward to touch his lips to hers..she tasted of apple, and of course honey. "I can pretend only for a little while I'm a noble man, and will have to return to the Underground. I worry then..forgive me for doubting, but what would come of our child? Would she follow in my steps? Rosalind, that scares me very much. I would lie if I did not admit it. I'm not so easy at covering my steps, and often forget. Like you I have many that depend on me..Jean-Claude number one. I'm not sure he would know how to even survive on his own in this world..would you want to raise your children around him?" A packaged deal they were, but how surprised Peregrine would be to learn of what has happened since his departure.

Rosalind: Rosalind took his hand and held it still against her heart. It felt right there. "I cannot undo it now. And what path our child chooses does not have to be ours. In fact, I would like it very much if she became what she wanted to be, like Aldric. He is not his father, and he will never go through what I did. He will be a new chieftain. A new kind of leader, and this I have worked so hard to achieve for him, I know we could do the same for this one. But does it ease your heart? To know that I worry, too?" She sat up in bed and curled up next to him, taking the blankets with her. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I do not know what will happen in the future. It is difficult to worry about what we simply do not know. The best we can do is prepare. For me, that means starting differently with this one than I did with Aldric. I will be there to hear his first laugh, watch him take his first steps, say his first word. I will worry about what he becomes later. We'll build that house, on the land Bess gave me, and you'll leave your troubles in Turas Lan while you are with us. That is a start, no?" She wasn't naive, but she was surprised at how optimistic she sounded. "As for Jean-Claude, I've become quite fond of him." In fact, she liked him very much. She owed him a lot, and even if he was a bit peculiar, she counted him as a close friend. She supposed there was a role in her children's lives for an eccentric uncle.

Peregrine: Peregrine wrapped his arms around her, curling the blankets as he went around her more. "But would you worry what I will be when I grow up?" He smiled brushing his cheek against her own. It was a true pain she felt, with missing out on Aldric, one that if he could he would take back so she could live those days again..even if it meant they would never meet. Though fate played funny hands, he carried well the ace up his sleeve, and the queen of hearts before him. "It is hard not to like him, but he's a very strange man Rosalind, even for me to say. He sees life so differently, but I could not imagine my own without him. Though..we won't be leaving the children alone." He smiled then, "You have to come up with the blueprints..and I will leave my boots at the door." His eyes traveled down her body, even the part covered by the blankets, but it would be his hands to snake under the wrap, touching her sides; pulling her closer. "Does it help to know I'm very excited. I look forward to the birth of our flesh. Maybe it will be my wake up call no?" Like an addict he craved trouble, the drug of his desire.

Rosalind: "No, I do not worry. That makes me stupid, I think," she said in a moment of seriousness, but she kissed his cheek. "I have stopped caring about what is right and wrong. I know only that it is right when you are with me, and wrong when we are apart. It is never of our choosing, when we are separated. Inevitably, something awful will happen. I much prefer you here. I have never felt more myself than in moments like these. And they are hard for me -- I am not used to this. But I would like to get to a point where hiding what is in my heart and forcing you to pry it out is the rarity." She slid into his lap and rested against him, her flesh warming under his hands. "It helps." Rosalind had briefly recalled their discussion long ago about what each was willing to bring to the relationship, and he promised not to care for any child they made. She had been worried, but it was nothing she was willing to address, as it was nothing she could bring herself to fix. She wanted to have his child. It was unexpected, but it was something she found herself dreaming about, hoping for. Unlike any previous child, she found herself giddy with expecting the future, rather than dreading it. They could do this. She was confident. It helped that he wanted this, too. She picked the last piece of apple out of Perry's hand, and set it on the night stand. She wasn't very hungry anymore. At least, not for apples.

Peregrine: And that desire was Rosalind. It is hard for me--I'm not used to this. Broke his heart. It had been his first attraction to her, her unwilling smile and strange hair cover. It was the strength he saw below, that mask she wore--she had worn it well. There was much he had to live up to for her, and in this moment he promised himself he would. He loved her too, more then he let on. His love ran deep, a gentle river that pulsed through his veins, and only did he pretend to not be so excited. Inwardly he was beaming, for a real life was to start. A shift in the sands, this child of theirs--a cross between two worlds--something he could be proud of. He settled her across his lap, pulling the covers up around her and he both until their bodies came together under the heat of the blankets. He had made love to her countless times over and over until they both were forced from their breath and fallen in their bed. However, with her now he was gentle as if she were fine crystal and he dared not let her fall. His lips touched the corner of her mouth softly at first hungrily taking the rest with a passionate pull. He would dive into the moment, caught in time as if he walked through a dream, but....the world would come crashing back down as he pulled away just enough to ask, "And have you a name?"

Rosalind: She curled her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer. The world was right when she was just like this in his arms, loved and appreciated, by a man who had a distinct sense of humor and was irreverent enough to live his life as he thought it should be lived, yet so concerned with those he loved, he would give up everything to protect them. He didn't say it, but she could see him already twining this child's life up with those he already guarded. Those thoughts faded away as he took her mind and body in another direction, answering each of his kisses with one of his own, in a rhythm they had established, knowing each other's bodies at this point so well, there was no thought of self-consciousness, only reaction and answering pleasure. When he stopped, she audibly sighed, pulling back for only a moment to regard him. "It wasn't in the dream, but I think, like Aldric, I would rather not name her for anyone living or dead from my past." It was a new life, and Rosalind no longer had anyone related to her by blood worthy of the honor. But that did not mean Perry didn't. She canted her head. "Do you have one? I would like to put more thought into the name, than sending you into the library to find a name on the spine of a book."

Peregrine: "Mmmm nope." He smiled pressing her back into the bed, never one to let her have control for very long. Settling against her, he kissed her neck and followed the line until his lips brushed against the outline of her shoulders pressing her gown back by one sleeve. "Our kind never gave a child names that ever meant anything. Mine was given to me by a bird setting on the tree, the day I was found. My last name is my fallen wife's, and the rest are ones I hide under." God he loved the way her skin held it's sent and the heat that rose below only pressed it all further. Holding his weight by his arms, he was afraid of crushing her..the baby, but would dare not admit her frail. He held gently, unlike those before, and somewhere in the back of his mind he often wondered of how Colban was in his place? Did he rise when she did? He was thankful for once he wasn't an overbearing man, like those of her past. He wanted no comparison to those barbarians. He was a well practiced scoundrel who knew well a woman's body, but he loved to explore hers. She captivated him, more so then even he thought possible...he passed on a sexy cook. Who does that? He kissed his way downward slowly raising the hem of her gown until it gathered under her breast before his lips brushed her stomach, "Let us name her after the first star at night. Him after the first constellation that forms in heavens. Orion out hunter. Columba..my dove. Cassiopeia..our queen." He whispered then across her smooth skin, the part that had not grown yet, a prayer of a swift growth as he was simply not a very patient person.

Rosalind: Rosalind would have been dismayed if she knew he worried about her previous lovers in bed. He was the only one who mattered. He did not need to worry about what they did; she always made it very clear she enjoyed everything he did. Wasn't that the point? She wasn't jealous of his previous lovers. She knew if he was not in her bed, he was sleeping in a tree somewhere, absent from her side only because the thought of walls and a roof were suffocating for him, and though she could follow him into one of those trees, they both knew she'd be miserable. She slid her hands down his back, letting the backs of her fingernails trail lightly until she found a place she was comfortable holding, assuring him there was no need to worry about crushing anyone yet. She was fine. He slid down and she watched him go, laughing as he pushed up her night gown, and pillowing her hands behind her head. She had no idea where he got the idea that she was regal enough to be a queen. "We have a lot of time to discover which name is right. To find one that is meaningful, but will have room to grow on her." She smiled, then reached down a hand to cup his chin, drawing him back upward. She shifted her leg, sliding her calf along his body. "To be named after the stars, with a sailor for her father -- I think it would be very appropriate." Rosalind pressed her finger to his lips, silencing any further discussion. "It would be perfect."

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Rosalind: The glorious autumn weather persisted, though a chill filled the brilliant blue sky, and forced the inhabitants of Inveryne a little more quickly into heavier woolens. There was work to be done and she was out of bed before Peregrine, seeing after her husband's ancestral home despite the fact that it had been nearly five years without her oversight, and clearly got on fine without her. Still, it was nice to be in charge of something, and there were a few things to improve upon. It was not a complete waste, though she knew the pirate in her bed would disagree. There were better things to do with mornings, and more efficient uses of warm bedcoverings. Like sleeping.

The sun was not yet at its zenith when Lamont received its second unexpected arrival. Though Peregrine's men had been allowed in on the nature of their coats of arms, the inhabitants of Inveryne were all startled from their work to the sound of the kirk bell, and the crash of the front gates. Iron screamed against iron, and bootfalls were sharp against stone. "Campbell! 'Tis Campbell men, milady, and Neil by th' standard!"

Rosalind set down her work, grabbed her skirts, and ran to the wall. She took the steps two at a time, the wind ripping the scarf from her hair and sending it fluttering back down on the stone. "Campbell?"

"Aye, milady, look ye there." One of the guards came close to Lady Inveryne and pointed out toward the road. All Rosalind could see was a plume of dust, but somewhere in the cloud, were men who had wet this very stone with Lamont blood five years ago. To God, she wished it was Colban. She heard the sentiment expressed among the guards without such tight filters as herself, and had to suppress a grim smile.

"Wait and see what his standard bearer does," Rosalind said tersely. And they did just that.

It took far too much time, and yet not nearly enough, for the party to draw nearer to a respectful distance. True, it was Black Campbell himself amid the party. She could recognize his distinctive frame, and it sent a chill down her back.

Neil: Of all the errands he wished to accomplish, riding to Inveryne was not among his favored chores. But a little bird had told him Rosalind had returned to her estate, and amends must be made with the whore of Scotland. She was in favor, in power, and ... wealthy. He'd heard the rumors of treasure, and had to see how himself the former Queen of Aragon adorned herself. His brothers had been so smitten with the creature, there must be something worth adorning still. As a child, she had been quite pretty, he recalled.

They rode hard, but Inveryne was well positioned within the restored Lamont lands. It took nearly half the day before the new walls were in sight. They heard the alarm and slowed at his raised hand, and walked very slowly to within hailing distance. He could see her there on the wall, queenly, her chin raised and shoulders back. "Defiant bytch, aye?" one of the men sneered.

"Could wipe that look off her face again," another joked.

"Gentlemen," Neil said, his tone rising, though it held no disapproval. He thought along the same lines. Looking up at her, he did wonder what it would take. To pull those walls down around her again, and make Lamont take its terminal breath. "Hail Inveryne!" he shouted instead. "'Tis your neighbor, Campbell, calling upon the rite of hospitality! We have traveled far and could use a warm fire!"

Rosalind: She looked at the men on the wall. They were all as suspicious as she. "He did call upon the rite," Rosalind said softly, and the men reluctantly grumbled approval. The gates were raised, but if Campbell thought he would come in unmet, she would disprove him of the notion. Her own men rode out to form an unbreakable escort, riding the Campbells through the gates and offering the dismounted men not a hand of welcome, but a sword at each Campbell throat. Even Peregrine was present, roused out of bed and informed of their visitors, instantly transforming into a thoroughly dangerous looking man she wouldn't want to meet alone in a dark alley.

She walked down the steps at a more leisurely pace than she had climbed them and crossed the courtyard to meet Neil. She did not extend her hands, nor make any other gesture of welcome, but stood with Lamont behind her, a single dark brown arched. "Let no Lamont hand be raised to our Campbell guests as they have called upon the rite. But I would dare say, Neil, this is a stretch, even for you."

Neil: He dismounted slowly, and held his hands aloft to let his escort know he meant no harm. He watched her approach. The woman moved like a queen, as well she should. She had been one, once. And before that, she had attempted to keep all of Scotland together, by pressing each of its ruling heads to her rather ample bosom. She was beautiful still. Not all women held their beauty beyond girlhood. Rosalind had, seeming to blossom as the world around her decayed. Taller than the average woman, she still only came to his shoulder, and she walked with that renowned limp of hers. How could a woman so impaired still appear so regal? He was not certain, and the men who would have answers for him were useless. His brother Arthur had been killed by her husband Domhnall, and his brother Colban spoke to no one of his sweet Rosie.

He bowed deeply, and stayed down long enough that she understood the meaning of the gesture. He lowered himself before her despite his pride, and recognized her as master of this domain, though it had, until very recently, been his. He rose slowly. Ah, but after a day of hard riding, such a gesture was not easy on an old, tired back! Of course it was done slowly. "We thank you for your kindness, milady, and hope we do not trespass. We should be great friends, for we are neighbors, and there is much to celebrate in having friendly neighbors."

Someone behind him coughed. "It is a stretch, isn't it?" he said, unexpectedly smiling. "Rosalind. It has been many years, but I would like to speak to you. Privately."

Rosalind: Rosalind watched the bowing with a skeptical eye. He was a showman, and nothing more. He saw his power sliding as Kendrew's rose. He'd lost respect when the truth emerged of Aldric's paternity. He was alive only because of his greed, he had supported the right side in this war, and Rosalind was not ready to show this old enemy of hers any mercy. He was the reason she had stayed imprisoned for nearly five years, locked first behind Lanark's walls and then of wherever Lady Mary Bruce happened to reside. All those hopeless months were not forgotten now that she had found happiness with her lover, and the babe growing strong in her womb. All the hardship of leaving Aldric, of missing all his firsts, for disappointing Colban and attempting to make it to Skye of her own volition. All the long nights of waiting, hoping Fearghus believed her dead, while her dowry rotted in a warehouse. All the violent days of their unhappy marriage, and all the mornings after of routinely applying cosmetics, and pretending all was well.

It was Neil's fault. All of it. The blood in Inveryne, the graves in the kirk yard, the distrust on each Lamont face. It was a miracle her child had not suffered as well. That he held no memory of captivity, and only recalled his father's warm, loving eyes as he filled the boy's head with stories of places he could not go. It was Neil's fault. And hers. And Arthur's. And God above, yes, it was her husband Domhnall's.

Her first instinct was to tell him whatever he had to say, it could be said before her men. But that would be a foolish mistake, and they both knew it. Nothing altered in her expression as she changed her mind. "We'll take a bit to drink in the solar."

She wasn't ready to forgive. She didn't suppose she ever would be, but that was what whiskey was for. It would make Neil's words bearable, and she would endure.

She turned toward the big house to instruct the maids to make the solar ready, and delayed in the larder long enough that she was the last to enter the solar, where Neil sat in Domhnall's chair by the fire, and just outside the door.

[Lady Rosalind Avalle]

Rosalind: Neil was a tall man; all the Campbell lads had been. They also hid their ages well between them. Colban was nearing forty as the youngest, a surprise babe to their mother, who had thought herself past childbearing. Arthur would have turned forty-three this year, had he not been killed five years before. Neil was but a year older, black as a true Scot, though the appellation was not a product of his looks. Both Colban and Neil had added a considerable amount of weight to their already large frames. Colban was trimmer, merely thickening from his beanpole youth and filling out into those large feet God had blessed him with. Neil, however, had quite the belly under the layers of clothes he wore. None of them were young anymore. Rosalind certainly did not feel young herself. She had seen too many things and buried too many loved ones. Neil had been responsible for that.

Did he know he was seated in Domhnall's chair? This is where he would sit after a hunt, muddy boots left on the flagstones at the hearth to harden, a tankard of mead quickly restoring energy the day and his age had stolen from him. Five years ago, she would have joined him on the arm of his chair, and they would have discussed the route he took, and what sort of game he spotted on the way. He was not a romantic man, but he did come near when he painted pictures of desolate hillsides and deep, gnarled forests where sane men, knowing the power of boars, would not ride.

She blinked, and once more, Neil was seated in a chair that had been abandoned these many years, one leg crossed over the other. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" she asked.

Neil: He had never been great friends with Rosalind. Domhnall had married the child for her connections to France. It had been important to his father that he do so, though he should have married a Campbell woman. He had been fostered on Campbell lands nearly his entire life, and shunned his own kind for a bit of gold. He had not thought Domhnall to be the type, frankly, even after lengthy imprisonment. One might think ill treatment was reason enough not to take a frog home for a bride. No, not a frog. A tadpole. He remembered greeting Rosalind off their ship, how she had been as pale as death, speaking nothing but French, and so terrified of her husband, desperate to flee at any moment. Yet Colban, ever the scholar, had been able to tame the child in the face of so many barbarians in her bridal party by speaking a few words of her tongue. He had pulled Domhnall aside and asked if he'd consummated the marriage yet. There was still time to send her back to her people, and get him a good, hearty Campbell woman for a wife.

"Aye, it's been done. Wasna too pleasin' fer either of us. She doesna care fer boats, and I dinna care fer her wee bed. She didna care for compromise, but I wouldna be surprised if she's already wi' my bairn," he'd remarked, and Neil had wisely chosen not to say any more about Campbell women.

As the years had passed, and as Rosalind's Scots improved, he should have grown to tolerate her. But he had not. She was too strong willed, and far too capable of leading of her own volition. She was impossible to read. Unlike the Scottish women in her clan, her face did not turn bright red with anger, she was not desperate to please her man, and she seemed to care very little that ten years of marriage had passed without a babe. She had too many relationships with men, and not enough with women. Certainly, if she had had more women friends, they would have told her to worry about her rumors of barrenness, and to leave her friendships with the men to her husband. Arthur would be alive if she had only focused on her sex's role. Colban would be married. She'd ruined both of them.

Neil smiled slowly and leaned forward. "I'd like to bury the hatchet, Rosalind. Let us make this peace profitable for both our peoples. Let me be a better uncle to your son. Colban recognizes the lad as his own, and it is only fitting if he is now treated like a Campbell. I've a parcel of land I would like to award Aldric. And when he is of decent age, perhaps seven or eight, he should be placed with a Campbell lad and be trained at his side."

Rosalind: She breathed slowly. Too much time was passing while she furiously tried to think of a reason behind Neil's unwarranted niceness. She did not want to trust this man. She did not even wish him drinking her liquor. Yet she poured him a cup and handed it to him as a good hostess, and then poured herself some. She took a seat opposite him, a small table between them. "Aldric is well provided for as a Lamont," Rosalind said, and swallowed the cup's contents whole. It burned on the way down, settling into a warm glow in her stomach. "It is a generous offer, but I believe it would be a conflict of his interests as Lamont tanist."

Neil: He accepted the cup and tipped his head toward her, recognizing her complaint, and taking his whiskey the same way -- one swallow, and setting the cup down on the table. "Given I've no rightful heirs, Rosalind, Aldric will have a role within Campbell affairs will ye or nill ye. You've been focused on his relationship to you, his good mother, but what of his place as Colban's legitimate son? What if the hospitality of your people wanes? You can survive it, but he will have nothing of his ancestors' land. I know ye will provide for him no matter your fate, but a disinherited boy is a dangerous man, Rosalind. Think about it."

Rosalind: She did think about it. She didn't suppose there was any harm in accepting sweet words. She didn't expect Neil to carry through on his promise. He needed to gain favor among his men, and he would do so by courting one of the most successful survivors of the most recent wars. Or he had finally realized he was indeed an uncle, and had no sons of his own. She was certain it was no one thing, but a multitude of reasons, and she was not likely to untangle them here and now. "Another drink, Neil?"

Neil: "Aye." He watched her steady, pale hand splash more liquor into his cup.

[Peregrine Inveryne-Lamont]

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.
—1 Peter 5:8-9 

There had been a very large part of him that would tear through those doors, and pull his blade under the neck of this man. He would return him to hell, this Campbell of black; this killer. By right of blood, he knew Neil a powerful man, a humble man in his own right, and perhaps it could be easy to forget the slaughter with such happy manners; his reasons well established. This was simply a way of life here in the barbaric lands of Highland Laws. However, Peregrine's heart was full of dark matter, waters so black that even a man as large as Neil would fall. Behind happy smiles, and open jests the pirate was an entirely different man.

The halls were dark from the dawning winter months and even with the sun high in the sky, the warm light of the fire would be all that lit the path. From under the door he could hear their voices, the pouring of wine, and casual passing of Rosalind's slippers. With his back to the door frame he slid down to listen, pressing against the stone as he waited, a dagger hilt backward in his hand, and the blade running inward along his arm. It was hidden from the eyes of others, but well known to the heart inside his chest. He wanted this man's blood, and vowed even now to someday have it. It was a silent promise, from a pirate whose knees were drawn to his chest in waiting.

Peregrine, pitied this man for he placed his open lies in the wrong hands. He spoke to Rosalind by way's of truce, offering her what her obvious position could not. It no doubt tempted her, Aldric would have his place, and the child growing in her womb? Another bastard to only add more strife to her image, could Aldric recover from this? Perhaps in his need and desire of her, he should have pushed through this selfish need to fill her. He should have pulled away from her, but simple acts were so hard when she arched against him, begging. It was a side to Rosie, that had captivated Neil's brother he was sure of it, and the Black Campbell had to realize this. Did he want her too? Was that really why he was here?

His spine arched in the thought, his teeth grinding together with a snarl, and his hand tightened it's hold. He was going in, damn it. He would march in and break this man's face off! Standing then, the dagger slid easily down his wrist to correct itself in his hand. This would be the end of Neil Campbell! Rosalind would understand, she always did. She would thank him in the end, for tarnishing her name, breaking his promise, and spilling blood where there had already been so much.

Inwardly he sighed, pressing his forehead to the cold surface of the door, and releasing the handle of the great oak doors. Here, he could do no more..not now.