London Games 1333 * Claramae and Adam

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Now two years later, England was still a boiling pot… but controlled… Often he would venture to London to see the status of the Duchy… to see her.

"My value extends insofar as the ability to perform my services," she countered to him. Empty eyes were in fact filled with instinct that strangled the common life that was there. Ah, fye, fye! A monster lived inside of the elegant, decadent woman. She pulled Adam along now at a quick pace, directing him to the back of a horse. Cicero danced with impatience while awaiting his mistress to mount his back. "If dire consequence should befall my life pays forefeit to yours. You are the head of the states. No matter my position, my lord, I am the hand that fends you.

"Time advances, naught still changes." The discussion had not relented on each visit he'd made to London, or when she came to him in Turas Lan. The friendship had increased over the years, though. In England, he was but one of two whom remained close, for all that could be close remained in the jewel of the Mor Triath's crown. The Lady Govenor, or Governess, as some addressed, had been wed to Michael Vincere St. Laurence for a little longer than her installation to the post. He stood as the Commander of England, a sensible place for a high ranking militant with a wealth of experience as long as his wife's list of intrigues. Intrigue lessened, only in so far as how it spilled to the surface. Beneath the silence was deafening. She hadn't told him how close the entire thing had come to death once. No. Only in guise of good standing had she sought of the Mo'r Oukselo leave to ask the Lord Guardian for his assistance in providing armed men. Some years later, initiates to the fabled Ebony Hall heard the stories of the fateful time but only the Masters mused together over their scars.

"Should you require it, or should it be such a time, I would still die. England is England. She is proper, quiet. But she rumbles. To this day she does. Years cut wounds deeper. The Plantaganet line is not so cut that should the Prince garner enough support to invade England in his later years, the monarchy would be returned. Ah, m'lord. I feel we have had this conversation much in the years since your first address of parliment with a strange idea."

Once again in London, Adam took up the mantle of Mo’r Triath, and visited his coveted Claramae… She was a difficult woman to understand… but she intrigued him to titulation… Not once but many times, so close to death she tread… for him… for her England… No couple had been so close and never once touched the other as these two. Rumor had gotten to the Mo’r Okesula upon many occasion, but summoned to her side, Adam, each time, reassured his golden haired wife, that he remained true.

Meeting Claramae in the voyer of her home once more, he embraced her and kissed her cheek. “I hope all is well my dearest friend… tis great to see yu again…” he looses her to arms length and looks at her. “You have nay been eating well… there is no meat upon yer bones woman…” he would tease her. Even the slightest touch to or from her would spark sexual tendancies in his body, though he would refrain from acting upon them.

England boiled beneath the fair hand of Gaelic rule… What was it with these English? he would inquire of Claramae… Could they be so bestow more loyalty to the Plantaganet, as to discard freedom to rule their own lives? Adam had ousted the She-Wolf and her consort from the Gaelic Nations, which included England… but even that could not stop their deceit from spilling across realms. Sometimes Adam would thought better to invade England and rule with an iron fist instead of an open hand. But maybe that hand was not as bare as many thought with Claramae as Governess…

England. Jolly, fair England. History would have deemed it a Plantagenet land until the next dynasty proceeded but the line of the crown was broken. The only crown that existed was the symbolic painting of the Mo'r Triath's head piece on the Governor's coach, the new English coat of Arms, and places for civic gathering. Inside of the house at that very moment, the young man whom should have sat upon the throne as King wandered as a Prince of blood. He found it strange, to find comfort in a place that should have inspired him to fight. What do young men know? Forced to age beyond his time and harrowed by his circumstances, Edward III seemed only to glad to accept the invitation to return to London, living in the splendor of the Govenor's shadow.

Claramae ventured to the edge of reason to hold a fair, steel armed hand across the state without revoking any of the advanced, 'enlightened' practices of the monarch. No, all that was wicked was done in secrecy. Often, a plot would be foiled in time to appear at the Palace in London for the occasional breakfast. She was not alone in how she ruled - her husband was the Commander of the forces, her half brother, an Inspector. Between the three of them the saying 'carry on' was followed. The Mo'r Triath visited as often as he was allowed, and always he stayed in her personal residence, and not the castle he'd conquered from Edward II. Walks on the lawn would be followed by discussion or a game of chess. At other times, it would be being the shield twixt the end of the Mo'r Triath's life and the belief he was meant to endure beyond intrigue. Time marched on, lending itself to a state of semi-retirement where at last politics were the order of the day. Still, something rumbled in England. In London, she felt the ground itself often moved.

"M'lord, m'friend, welcome to England once more. " He kissed her cheek, and she took his shoulders in touch, lending him a half smile. The years had taught her to smile, if only a little. He had yet to know the glory of her full smile, or the weight of a laugh broken free from what bridled it, dancing in the air. At the very least he recieved her touch, her acceptance of his presence, and he had won her adoration. "That is the effect of being one whom is petite. I have never over-indulged nor under, it is merely what God intended."

She took his arm as protocol called for, but only close friends were allowed further contact… this privilege he would pursue as he patted her hand… “Tis grand to see yu again, my dear…” he smiled… “Time waits for none, does it not?... Yet yu are as beautiful as the day I met yu…”

It had been many months since his last trip to London… He had been busy with the Merchant Class and their proposed trade routes to the east, the push for newly designed ships for extra long voyages, and the solidifying of alliances of new nations… With Edward III’s solicited visit to London, Adam thought irony would present itself, if he too visited.

Now the Griffin black and gold flew over the castle of the Plantaganet that once flew its own colors.

"My Lord is kind. Time waits for no man or woman, even if it may appear kind to a face. Surely, there are signs of some years." His hand was allowed the chance to pat her own with his informal ways. Once tolerated, an interior had become gentle enough to accept the close contact of others to some extent. In private, she was apt to express pleasure with softened face muscles to go along with her words, while in the public sphere at least she seemed more opened to verbal expression of interior ideal. It was a moment of gentler times in a sea that still churned with hard waves.

No prize like this was kept without a few unsolicited hands in the treasure box. "Adam, we must speak on the matters of France. There is more going on there than you can articulate in a Parliment Hall..."

Adam nodded… he was aware of problems wityh the French, and the basis of the old Auld Alliance being tested. “With England as a powerhouse no more, the French and the Spaniards shall test Skye’s resolve…” his guiding hand ushered her into the castle. “Maybe we can discuss Lil Edward’s trips to London as well…?” he inquired, simply smirking. “But first…” he glanced back at the valet closing the heavy doors, then to her… “I want to know how yu are… mentally and physically…” he patted her hand again… “Truthfully, with no honey added…” Sea-green eyes gaze upon her as if attempting to see if body language would stand his scrutiny.

"My Lord, as you call him, little Edward, is of an age near your majority of adulthood. He is an eager young man, questioning, but not without a ruler's mind. Had he the chance he would have done better than his father. He still may do better, and history shall view his difference with great respect." His boots moved in tandem with a still noiseless step. Together, they formed but one of his unique partnerships in how a veritable world beyond the Continent was run. After they passed through the heavy doors, they would move toward what had once been the throne room. What was it, to see the Griffin's banner where once England's had resided? Her own crest, too, had a place in walls she once walked a girl. In a shadow play she could still see herself, hear her mother's voice.

She didn't talk about Liadan, however, as she spoke on the nature of England. "My lord, while it is not the monarchy it had been, the state is no less weak. There is still much to show you, but I believe our improvements to the military, the navy, the commerce, etcetera will bare to reckon that England has become… oddly... of a different power than when thou came to conquer her royal head. The Commander has spared neither experience nor expertise in assuring that England stands as a wall, not a gateway, to thy realm. You will also be amazed by our techniques of criminal investigation. Worry not - it is an intellectual matter, not one of other profession." A moment of dry humor, an inside joke, brokered a smile should his face begin to twist. Death's dealers often had wry senses of humor. Gallow's speak should have been made a national language. There would then come the topic of herself…

"As years move by, there are things I wonder of as age comes to bare." How old? This was still a mystery to him, that for all their friendship he could not recount the day of her birth nor how many years she'd walked on God's earth. "Still, in consideration of what I think it is good I am not alone. I have my husband, and my brother. I have a good deal many friends, even if they require visits to Turas Lan. There in is home. There are times, good sir, I miss it."

As they walked, even into the room that once housed a mighty throne, he listened to her… Nodding now and then, he took in her words… She was… in fact… still a large mystery in his life… one he stayed his trust and faith to… “And miss it yu shall, lest yu come to visit… Miss the children I mean… Bess would love yu to come and sit with her…” he winked at her. “Now tell me of what yu know of France…” as his demeanor took on a different appearance.

To stay your faith and trust in a person was no different that kneeling on your knees in Church. To some, God was manifested in a tree, or rain. To others he was an elaborate, worldwide hallucination. Claramae was not a hallucination nor as forward as concrete evidence at all times, but she could provide it if asked. "I do come to visit, sir, but I would hardly think the Mo'r Oukselo would actually wish my company?" The question was met with a keen arch of a brow before settling into placid business. "The Auld Alliance is crippled as you know. With your conquest of England, there was the natural question asked if you would be expecting England's old territories as well. Despite the continued answers of no, France believes it not. They haven't for years, and each year they grow bold in threats to attack. Spain also comes into the foreground. I have received disturbing news..."

Adam could only chuckle at his interpretation of WHY the Mo’r Okesula would not want Claramae around… But down to business, as he collected himself and listened to her. “Claramae, I have spent hours, if not days, speaking of an alliance with France that would only strengthen our ties… still no one listens…” he huffs. “I anticipated the downfall of England would weaken the Auld Alliance… for what it was worth…” he chuckles. “…and fought for a new alliance, one that would offer up former French lands back to the King of France…” he huffs again, then begins to pace with hands at his back, as if in conference with other politicians… “Knowing full well, that would alienate some English sympathizers…” Stopping he looks to Claramae when she speaks… “What of Spain… and what disturbing news M’Lady…?”

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

For years, the rumors of the Mo'r Triath's many infidelities were as common place as knowing that the Rose was a main insignia in the Governess' coat of arms. The talk of it died down only to a dull roar instead of the screaming cry it first had been whenever she walked a hall, or whenever they dared venture to do it together. She suspected, too, that for all of his unconsummated, alleged adventures that she stood to be the one he would have proceeded with if she were that foolish, that immoral, to accept his affections. He was not the first man to be besotted with her, nor would he be the last. Long had she navigated the perils of being born a woman in a world that was overseen exclusively by men. Too long, infact, to throw it away on a pair of doe eyes.

What she felt for Adam was an intense, intimate bond. It was a deep friendship with a justification as to why she would risk her life to spare his. The loyalty of Vincere-St. Laurence was such that once it was obtained, it was life long. If it was never betrayed, it may well be eternal. She held a variety of positions that all came with a fair share of peril. God knew that she didn't wish to be in London at the head of the state when her home was in Turas Lan but for Adam? In light of all that Skye had given her, she was content in her obligations to return the favor until she could groom a successor.

For now, they spoke of the axis of continental power.

"Valois holds all of France as you know, it is the talk of the Frenchmen that visit in saying he despises the fact England is made powerful again through you, but there is no word of the King himself. While it may be ignored on a diplomatic suit, what can not be ignored is the ears the French upstarts are bending in England, Adam. A little rebellion will not come of their wagging tongues. It may be one that would test the might of our arms. Furthermore -- " she passed him a tiny slip of paper with notations upon it, "I have it on good authority that the former Queen of England...is now to be the Queen of a unified nation of Spainards, if the Queen accomplishes his goal. She has married him. With her comes enough money to finance a diplomatic or war bent path to the unfication of Spanish Crowns.."

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Through the years, Adam had several advisors... some he trusted with the day-to-day politics... some he trusted with the day-to-day military and constabulary issues... one he loved very much and shared his nights with... but there was one... one he could tell his inner soul to in regards to ruling a a Nation; a platonic relationship built on truth; even in the everyday order of deceit and lies, she stood stalwart behind the man, ever in his shadow, never seeking the light.

“What of Spain… and what disturbing news M’Lady…?”

"You should heed because it produces conviction, not for the sake of it though. It is feasible but you must understand that you are the fledgling in large pack of grown, ancient wolves. They will tear you and all you hold apart limb from limb if you do not look at your surroundings with care, and sharpen thy teeth. Such is the benefit, but that benefit is often done with colonization, subjucation, making one weaker than the other to become as a province. That was the state of the Iberian Peninsula and King Alfonso will seek to finish his Reconquista, the Reconquest. Understand too that you may wish a closer study of whom you seek to befriend. It is not a matter of custom, culture, or way but a matter of what sort of weaponry lay under the smiles. You could care little for the stance of Christendom. It is a liberating mindset, but that is not the mindset of your fellows. I recommend that you proceed with caution. I shall be in Turas Lan shortly after your visit, for a time. We may learn something of use there. The sooner England is made ready, the sooner I may be at your side more often."

On the subject of Beathag, she'd said little until now:

"Your wife has not the mind shaped by the continent's best scholars, but she has a mind honed to be the epitome of what the country does offer. She pulls back more than naught, and you do her an inconvience, I think, not to speak to her on these matters. Of things abroad you are the most skilled but on the matter of the Celts, you should give privy to one raised lifelong. She is one of the few open speakers and thinkers of women, for your nation hosts the open handfuls of them. Indeed, she is the Queen, not I. My place is behind the monarchy, though I serve at the forefront of it in my respects of you both. She has never judged me, as others do. Tis a refreshing rarity that in my later time I have come to appreciate. You actually have befriended me, for all of my service it happens far rarer than you think." She walked from the window toward the center of the room. She looked, then, to an old tapestry of a coronation some centuries past. "And you, are the King. It would solidfy your position in this state, and all states, should you do that. At least claim the mantles of England and Scotland. You have enough supporters on your own soil, enough power, and even enough legitimate claim to the throne. The Lady Aramoire laid that as intact as anything ever of the past, let alone her unofficial stance as the Lady of Scotland. My lord you have an unlikely host of mistresses. At least, to that end, you might ratify it with a crown so we fall to some semblance of accepted normalcy." The end was more of her odd humor, but there was a truth in that.

Aye, tutor and student... yet both wise beyond doubt in their own expertise... Adam, over the years, had come to love this woman... one so strange... and for as many years, rumor had his warming her bed, yet platonic in truth. The affair these two occupy was and is one filled with intrigue... The Mo’r Triath, as student, had learned that a normalcy, hidden behind the throne, existed... and if not so, the throne would be with broken legs, and a country would be as unstable as said chair.

His hand finding his chin, he looks at Claramae... “Reconquista, bah... Does Alfonso seek not only all of Espania, does he want Portugal and the Strait? Am I to be a pawn between the Spanish and the Moors?” he huffed. He knew that the Morocco Amir could not be trusted... and he would not befriend a murderer... nor would he truly align with the Berbers; but he did not trust the Spanish nor more than he did the English at one time. He walks to a large world map upon the wall... Staring at it for a few moments... he turns and looks to Claramae... “Lass, do ya see the world as it is... Some scholars, as well as I, believe there is more to this world that what is drawn by men with narrow, religious minds.” Pointing to the Strait... “This small throat of a waterway could CUT OFF the entire Middle Sea...” he emphasized cut off... “Skye is on the outside of that Strait, we are not even a vein that takes from the artery... but the Sea is a vital waterway to the known world and established trade routes. I shall not allow one greedy throne to choke us... I did not allow England, nor shall I allow Espania nor France to control it...” he thumps the map with his finger, resulting in a popping sound.

“We have interest in all the lands that trade in the Middle Sea... if one country controls it, then we either kiss their arse... or we limit our trade... THAT will not do, if we are to be the trade center...” he looks to the map... pointing to Skye... “We are small... yet we are positioned naturally...” he pauses... “...whether by God or by some unseen force...” He glances to her... “Out there...” he points to the edge of the map where nothing but ocean was signifed. “There lies the unknown... and I bet my life, there is either land, or a shortuct to Asia... My scholars read the skies and offer solutions to a flat world... and if they are right... Skye would be dead center... center for trade, north, south, east and west...” he crosses his arms. “Shall Espania or France be the ones to seek fortunes elsewhere... to claim lands in the name of the throne?”

It was then she walked from the window and spoke of his wife and a legitimate claim to a throne. He paused and huffed... “Bah, does anyone not see what freedom would be without a throne? What difference doth it make whether I wear a brooch as Mo’r Triath, or King? What? Should I be tempted by the crown as many others, past and present, have??” he uncrosses his arms and walks to her. His hands cup her face in an unusual familiarity... “Should I even consider it... and I am tempted to turn as others have... I pray it be you the one to end it... to end it BEFORE I get to THAT end...” he releases her face and turns toward the map. “Do I need to accept the throne of Skye, Scotland, and England to compete with Alfonso and Philip?” he shook his head in frustration.

Adam had made his stance years ago about him becoming King. Robert the Bruce knew how he felt... yet he set him up to one day be able to reach out and grasp that Crown. Adam’s head shook side to side thinking of it. In four years of reign as Mo’r Triath and one as Griffin of Scotland, he never ever even considered becoming King; he was even adament about it... Now it appeared as if he was to compete with a world full of Kings, he might even now have to consider it. Teeth grit as he slowly turned his head toward Claramae... he would not have to say anything, but silently his eyes sought answers to troubling questions.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

The simple answer to his question was this:

"Yes."


For all of the words he afforded her she gave him a simple response to a most basic answer. In order to understand the world those men, those people came from, he would have to strive to have it. Even Robert Bruce understood that the monarchy was a means of sovereignty. The crown provided a recognition the world couldn't ignore. Negotiations were done for it. Dynasties, planned around it. Wars fought for it. Strange as it might seem to Adam, even peace was born of those strong enough to bare the weight of bejeweeld gold on the head. She had been instructing Adam of this these years same as she had instructed him of the world behind the thrown, and how to make sense of what was infront of it. She was the rock in the middle of his sea of turmoil. It was a fitting occupation for the present: He felt disdain, fear, and resentment at his station, she felt nothing. He had been that to her since she laid eyes on him.

Often, we are unable to understand ourselves without the help of those closest being a mirror. She simply opened up a map of Europe, and pulled a sharp hair pin from the arrangement of tresses. Sticking it in the heart of his 'empire' at Turas Lan, the diamond glittered with the fierce, cold determination of the stars to overwhelm one another in heaven. "If you wish the Strait to stay ajar, you must thrust open the door. If you wish to reign across four sovereign nations besides your Scotland, you will need to give them a reason to believe that your vindication of them is more than beyond five years. If you wish to show them you are a man of heart, there are times you must demonstrate the strength in your ruthless passion. You are a keen speaker, but rhetoric will not give you everything, my lord. If rhetoric gave you everything, you would have no need of an army, those that make it function, nor me."

Beathag had found this council mirrored in the likes of Alendral Sorschal. Adam found it in the face of his 'bethorned English Rose.'

*

The Coronation had come, and it had gone. No longer represented by hair pins in maps, a crown sat on the top of Adam's head. With it came the proving ground. He had given her what it was the world sought. Now it was time for her to give to him a place fit for his rule. For the most part, England was that. An infant coming from old fuedal legacy to the light of a new era in the Gaelic Renaissance. She had beacons of light in London, Oxford, Cambridge, Canterbury, and the bastians of old Dukes and Earls who believed in th cause. In other places, old resentment grew like an infection. Now all sides warred with one another. Their backs were being broken, the world was shattering liek glass. In the midst of it all the letter penned by a nun called 'Mouse' found the hands of a messanger .Written in the venacular of the state, this letter would come to the King and Queen by whatever means necessary. Yet, it was in a way more personal than anything he'd ever recieved of her.:


To his Majesty,

God save you and preserve you. It shall be a brief missive, for time is against us. The state is in rebellion my lord and we have moved from that rebellion to the fullness of war. By the time you recieve this letter the southernly preperations for the true scale assault against the North shall be underway. It is held by more than treasonists.

It is held by the Spanish.

I have seen signs of this in a fevor that swept Oxford enough to indicate the likeness of Inquistors and Reconquista. Those that flee do so in fear, others who remain claim the North is where God shall be reborn. We fight, sir, against a God that is vengeful and a God that is righteous. Regardless, we shall fight unto the end. My implicit council is that you secure the Border of Scotland immediately. It is my hope a letter similiar to this by now has reached the states of Germany or the shores of Norway, and one of them shall answer.

You will find that unless you send by sheer order men, any option will be met with disdain. England is on fire, my lord. I shall smote it out again with those in my company, but our losses thus far have been grievous. As a man of Christ, you will be appauled to know the Archbishop of Canterbury has been murdered, along with the headmaster of Oxford. I have learned the man of Cambridge has fled, praise be to the Lord, to safety in Edinburgh long before his collegues died. There was an attempt on the Lady Woodstock, but praise be to God she recovered under the hand of the esteemed Master de Aquitaine. Your servants here are many. Recall you their names. LePower. Jenks. O'Connor, O'Cathasaigh, de Aquitaine, Warwickshire. Do not forget to reward your faithful should they return. I prepare you for the evidence that few of us may.

If this should be my final council, I want it known my successor in the Lord Edward Plantagenet, he shall be Duke. In some way, England shall have her true King and you shall have a protege worthy of much greatness. Of now, he fights, and it is his strength combined with the Lord Commander, the Duke, my husband that keeps London and the South from succumbing. There are many plots to which your servants are engaged to find truth in Canterbury and aid in Warwickshire. The Lady Joan Plantagenet may assist her brother if it is her wish, if not please give her place within your court as a Princess of blood despite her conqurered heritage. She stands, sir, ready and willing to accept the burden of arranged marriage to preserve your peace on the condition that whomever takes it fathoms no crown passes to them in marriage. Let it be known my final act will be to assist the Lord Govenor of Ireland in all of his dealings, and the English army shall by force remove those illegal former Marcher Lords who stay despite the end of the monarchy that kept them.

Let it be known that to die for the state of England and the Nations to which she subscribes is an honor. I say these things not out of propriety sir, but out of an emotion that none find me capable of unless they have the chance to come in my company. You, sir, have come thus close enough to understand some semblance. You, with your crazed lack of propriety and utter disregard for protocol have amused me greatly. Indeed, you are allowed to touch me, and in five years I have not killed you. Thus you must understand the intimate nature of our friendship, for this is what it is.

I have had few things, people, or places to love, yet all has come to fruition beneath your reign. What has been lost is equal to what is gained, yet a thing would not be changed. I have fostered my noviates, found brothers and sisters in life, a home where we all may laugh behind the shuttered windows. I have found the place to love openly where before it could not be so, and have loved my husband more than he may even no. It was on your shore I found Sorschal, Di Favino, parts of my past and parts of me that comprise much of my soul. Skye makes the rest, and I love all that it has given me.

So in thus, I love you.


I go to Battle at the head of the armies as is my place despite the tradition, for I am a strategist and was my former King's major, God rest the Avarian Monarchy. The case of the Lady Eirian's disappearence is answered in her subsequent rescue and retrieval here .I can not, in good conscience, detail the extent of the reason for her capture as it is matters entirely too Unchristian That shall be from those that witnessed it or myself to your ear, should we meet again.

If we do not? God Save the King, and Bless you, always.

The Duchess Claramae Aisling Vincere St. Laurence
Lady-Govenor of England
Ebony Talon Grandmaster, His Majesty's humble servant.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

He and Bess had just returned Parliament… the discussions regarding the Cessation of Lewis-harris, the funding of new First Rate ships-of-the-line with rifled cannon and the wheeled bridge, and the turmoil of clans in Sleat… It had been a heated discussion, and Adam was glad that the visit to Struan was close… but relief was short-lived…

She breathed hard and heavy. Of the topics discussed, she would have much rather discussed the ships. Ships involved neither issues of cessation with the King's half brother or a war for foolish reasons in a region that had hosted far too much violence. Politics. Adam was the man who'd mastered the lessons taught to him since birth while his wife 'mastered' the understanding of the mind behind them. Together, they hoped to be a joint force of unity.

The knock on the door sounded official… and the Valet de chambers announced a messenger. Adam flicked his wrist summoning the messenger. With a deep bow of the messenger, the valet took the sealed letter and presented it to the King.

A letter from the Duchess of England brought Beathag to turn around, making the women who assisted her turn with her. There were pieces to the formal dress, attached skirts, bodice, sleeves. Layers on layers hid the woman as the women pulled them away to find the fabled woman underneath who would sojourn only in her chemise by the time the women were done. It was an intimate sort of servant to stand in attendance of the Lady when the Lord was never but a hair's breathe away.

Adam took the letter, breaking the seal of the Duchess of England… “Wait outside for a return letter…” Bess continued to remove her formal clothes as Adam dismissed the valet and messenger. Reading the letter, Adam’s facial expression changed several times. “Fookin’ Spanish…” he would remark, huffing, he continued to read. By now, Bess’ interest would be peaked as her ladies assisted her with the layers of undergarments.

She extended her arms out. Her body would mirror a symbolic portrait of the letter. A compass rose acknowledging all the winds, all the directions. Even a piece of lifted hair as the women began to undo the dress laces was not without meaning. Was it as he read, she stood in the direction facing England, her hair curving toward Spain like a gold serpent. Her fingers pointing to Scotland, and Skye? The adornments pulled off of her body had all been local-made if it could be helped. Head made a sharp turn in his direction at the language he used! "Yer majesty, please..." she cautioned, as they were still before women of impressionable standing and men who were still learning the ways of their king from those who served him when he was no such thing. "Wot news from England m'love?"

Having read further, he was shocked that Claramae would submit the Plantagenet progeny as her successor… “Edward? Gods, what is going on down there?” It was not disgust, slight confusion at best… but still he trusted his Governess…

"M'laird, please.." Beathag scolded in gentle tones. The ladies looked at one another until the Queen bid them rise for dismissal. Whatever was left, she could finish. Whatever was beginning with Adam was for her to contend with, not them. A woman is as staunch a warrior all the years of her life, no woman knew this better than she. How hard it was to fight to keep a union blessed, to keep the sanctity of a husband's every thought and feeling. Those that stalled were taken away by their fellows who understood the queen's silent command of privacy. Even the most esteemed of their women and men never stood for a time like this. She quickly did away with the last of the arm laces, laying the garments out on the bed so as to have no sleeves hinder the motion of her arm. "Wot o' the Laird Edward, wot is it Adam? Have a care husband, wot is the matter?"

The man, all six feet plus of him now felt quesy… and he began to pace… emotion began to set in. Fire, rage, anger, whatever one would call it, coursed thru his veins… How dare anyone set foot on Celt land and stir up trouble? A flux in emotions ran rampant in his mind. She now spoke of something that was never discussed, personal emotion… a fact that few, even him, knew not. Finality of the situation in England washed over him… “God dammit…” he tossed the letter upon the small table… and he went to the window and looked out for solitude of thought.

Taking his arm was like taking hold of a wild thing. He stood only for a moment before wanting to flail. Just as it looked like she might win, she had to surrender for the moment as he went to see if his thoughts manifested form outside of the chamber window. What ever was in the letter held influence enough to break him apart in the same way becoming King had torn at him, in the same way infliciting harm on his own brother held everything at a stand-still. He ruled by equal parts of head and soul, most of the time, but there were times when the soul, connected to the heart, won over.

With a request to read the letter, he glanced back over his shoulder at Bess… “Aye lass, yu can read it…” She did not need his permission, yet still, for some reason she asked. Silence took over as the Queen, and his beloved wife, read the letter. Meanwhile, a tear streamed down his face. Not only his dear friend Eirian now suffered at the hands of unknown assailants, but his only other true friend was going to lead an army against an enemy… a frontal army. The pair, one from Skye, one from England, had a platonic relationship… one that none, save the Queen, would understand. Many a rumor about the pair had flourished over the last 4 years… and a letter such as this would seem to confirm any transgressions… One would have to look deep at Adam and Claramae to understand… Could the man’s wife see that deep? Or would she assume the worse of a marriage – infidelity?

"Aye, sir, Ah surely will!" She gave a pointed reply, more terse than intended but the depth of his emotional conflict had set her off guard. It was as if some threat had came in the room with the opening of that letter. Part of her wanted to toss it at once in to the fire, to plainly tell him to exert his will, his edict, and send enough men to crush whatever was looming there! When asked if she had the will to send men to die for the ideals that came from inside the head of Adam or herself, she answered that while her prayers would be with them, she had as much will to send them as they had to obey. All for the sake of honor, duty, fealty. All of that bore with it the glorious and sometimes tragic burden of love. She walked with a steady click to her step for her ankle boots hadn't been unlaced yet. Her face contorted; brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, her lip drawn in until the moment it was released, only to be twisted again as more shock revealed itself, more reason for concern! "The Spanish have been daein' this much!? Their supporters are bein funded by them, all this time the real plan was tae root in enough tae make wot, a colony?" A Spanish throne… would be... detrimental. It would be a ruin of everything everyone fought for, believed in, and the end of life as they knew it. She shivered, to think of what was behind the Duchess' controlled words. "Have ye known of these things Ahdam, for long, has she written ye at e'ery juncture?"

Of course she had. Laurence was thorough, yet there was so much done for safety and sanctity of realm that they gave to the most trusted. With a word or symbol they could give their power of final death, with a look, a word, they entrusted their will to be translated. How wise was that? Was the translation of their will done in purity - no, it couldn't be - even in times like this no passion was divorced from politics. Laurence passionately defended the Will of the King, yet did she ever voice the other in her words? Did she merely speak a language England understood or a language that inspired her?

Without looking from the window, Adam summoned his valet… And without a glance from the window, he instructed the valet to summon his General… immediately. With a close of the door, and a touch of Bess’ hand upon his shoulder, he turned and sat against the wall… his hands going to her waist. His pulse rate was elevated, and his heart thudded against his chest… “Why doth she lead the army? She needs her arse in London.”

She watched the valet walk through the room, over the top of the letter, before her eyes came down to the bottom of the page. The woman had expressed final council, a successor, as if this letter were connected to the distinct possibility of paying her life as forfeit for the state. Where was her own husband, the Lord Commander? Surely he was in the fray as well, which was worse if it required the additional support of his lady wife. Had they split to be stronger on separate ends of England to unify later on? How many questions of sense began to dance around with lesser things that should have not been important now.

By the time she finished reading the letter she had wandered over to Adam to slide a hand against his shoulder. In turn, he drew her close, and she felt the racing of his heart, the pulse, saw the color go away from his face. "She be daein wot she feels her duty n' place demand o' her. Tis hard aye n' madness, I agree, but our good friend the Apollius King trusted her once, n' she did nay lead astray. The Avarians were sae militant tha' surely wot e'er trainin she had from him and n' all her years prior will serve her now. She would nay dae sae unless it were dire. She wants yer will n' the rightness o' things tae stay intact..."

So in thus, I love you...

The way she had thanked the land for giving her a place to find herself and open was a thing she held in high esteem. Claramae had always been so cold, so distant, that it should be good to know a woman lived inside of the reproduction of a woman's body. Still, she attributed the love of all she had attained to her love of Adam, and the intimate friendship they shared… was it ever, did he ever desire to have touched her beyond the leisure? Adam was a man of great feeling. He clapped the shoulders of his men, shook hands, and embraced as the mood struck him in public or private. Why, at the coronation he had even taken Claramae in to his arms where she thought nothing of it! She even thought to have those punished that would dare defame her so. Yet, what if that was all it took?

Beathag wasn't immune to believing her that men had desires, it was only that Adam had not acted on them that gave her no fear he would ever consumate them. He had many an opportunity to take a mistress. Oh yes! His closest informants were all women. Aramoire was a red-haired beauty who had even gone so far as to redeem Robert Bruce for all he had done. Hotaro was a beauty of the Far East who was brave enough to draw the attention of William Maubrey for the good of the state. He had even mistaken Jelenah for her once, in his sorrow, but had not gone beyond a kiss for the lady would not allow it. Beauty could trip up the most stalwart of men, but she hoped he proved more a saint and less a man. She held his face in her hand, swallowing the lump in her throat for the fear of thinking, even considering he could be be less of a man just as any of the woman could forget her easily enough to take the attention of him. He was so intelligent while at the same time affectionate, brave while at the same time a man of the hearth. He was so many things that alone surely no woman could find him unappealing...

Was it SHE needed to be in London, or was that where HE wanted her…safe…? Sea-green eyes sought his love’s deeper green eyes. “Why are we at war once again?” he said softly… his voice a bit broken. “Am I so weak a King as Eamonn said? Does my brother Princes think I am such that would warrant attack?” he shakes his head.

"Tha' is the way o' the world, n' we could nay be at peace fore'er.." said the sensible, goodly wife as she brought herself in closer to him. She touched his face, his hair, kissed the side of his face. He was hers! Not England's, nor any state, but hers above all else! "Ah'm frightened o' this news, but ye are nay weaker for hearin' it. Any king warrants an attack from any other just fer bein', we'd nay matter sae much if influence mattered less. Tha' is why. Ye are influential, n' exude a power beyond the sword, sae by the sword they seek tae subdue it. This has tae be the daein o' tha' wolf… tha' whore." Isabelle.

The name made her want to vomit! Would the man who could have all of Spain, Portugal, and perhaps the North of Africa care so much about an island chain in the cold sea if it weren't for her? She must whisper into his ear, she must say things, and he must believe.

Just like Beathag told Adam now, only her words were truth. Isabelle's must be a lie - yet... England was by the recognized right hers no matter what the Pope allowed. What was one exchange of King and Queen for another? Had she forsaken her children knowing they resided here in? Oh if only....if only what? She continued to caress Adam's face as she calmed herself. It wouldn't do any good to think of that French Whore, the English old wife, who became a Spanish Queen. Not right now. "Please believe me when Ah say this, twas the will o' God. Wot e'er God ye call right n' just, the Divine, tha' ye are here. The People's love and tha' divinity in the form o' destiny. We aer both here, n' we shall handle it thus."[/color]

He found it odd at his beloved wife's words of religious wills. Still he looked at her and spoke... “My own brother now holds Lewis-Harris, France cannot expand the Auld Alliance... Spain thinks she can harbor good will, while attacking my Duchy… does Spain think I shall stand by while they invade England? Does my own people think that wars internal does not show division to the other Kings?” Now somber emotion turned to anger… anger at the audacity some would show to the new King. And he turned from his wife, with a simple kiss to her cheek.

"Sae much as comin' at once. Wot if we shared the labor aye, tae heads better than one, each o' us can dae somethin. We shall tae Stornoway after Struan, n' your brother will see ye for ye, n' myself for myself. Ye can either reason with him or there will be some truth for us tae find." Beathag truly thought the second. It was sad, she believed that the Maubreys all capable of deceit. Adam was not deceitful by nature, but could enchant a man to do impossible things which left her to reason that Lewis-Harris was mezmerized by James, who benefited from their father's teachings. Adam had rejected it, which left him with far more of a heart that was admired when he showed the right mercy and scoffed at when no one could agree with him.

As his wife, she might not always agree with him, but she cherished that heart. It had always accepted her for what she was. She sighed, watching him turn away again. How quick it moved. A heartbreak fueling such an anger that the sun paled in comparison to the fire. It was good, in a way. He should be indignant of such a challenge! "The French have nay care for these things, they focus on themselves sae e'er ambassador has told us, n' Ah can nay say if they will honor the Auld Alliance, but is it nay better m'husband n' my king tae consider releasin them from such an archaic idea if they can nay belive in the ideas tha' are now? Like us, France rules France. If Spain can be removed o' England n' England secured, we might make them believe, after the battles, tha' we want none o' the territory from the olde English crown! Please..." he was listening, yet not listening. He was processing. She only stood quiet for a time until he would speak to her again.

Stopping by the window once more, he looks to Bess. “I want to write back, giving her my reassurance I shall be at her back… to provide what she requires…” then he huffs… “But I do not want my words jaded… I want to write and tell her…” his fist slams against the window sill… “She spoke of emotion, that is unlike Claramae… I fear the situation is dire…” he turns to Bess… “I require sense love… I am the emotion, yu are the senses… I am the warrior and politician… you are my guide… my rationale…” he looks down… “Please do not warrant jealousy…I have commited no infidelity, as you are my wife…my love… my heart… my children’s mother… but where doth she stand in the scheme of our lives… and what shall I do if she falls in battle?”

“Now regarding the Plantagenet… Do you think it wise to put young Edward as Governor of England…?” he looked at her. “If Claramae seeks to place Joan somewhere, she could attend court as an honorary member of the King's family, and I could proclaim her a as My Beloved Sister.” He just shakes his head slightly. What predicaments doth life bringeth???

Beathag gave a nod of her head, waiting until he was completely finished before she told him everything she might have said and everything she hadn't said. "Ye dae require sense, n' Ah will give it tae ye as best as can be thought of. Ye must write the Lady-Govenor, fer nay word would leave her alone n' this can nay be. She has e'en named those who are now as the King's most loyal servants on this battlefield, n' they tae must know yer care n' will fer them. Tell her tha' ye will indeed defend the Border. She's right, if this spills o'er tae Scotland, ye dun know wot sort o' a fever could take hold. If the borders are held the North may succumb from wot comes up behind. She sees an end, n' tha' is a hard thing fer any, n' she is afraid. She needs ye. She needs ye tae be King, n' she needs ye as well tae be friend. Tis strange tae know she loves sae much when indeed it seemed she loved sae little." She breathed inward, coming to sit beside him. Before he could abuse the window sill again she took his hand, "Write her in a way tha' addresses the state and then the troubled heart. Hope is as powerful as any blade Ahdam. For all people. They will want Hope o' ye in Struan e'en as we adminster justice, taegether, fer ye are nay tae be alone there. We will do this n' all things… taegether."

So she hoped he wouldn't forget. For awhile he did, for fear of losing her. One may lose another for forgetting their strengths sooner than see them surrender to any physical weakness. Some part of her languished in the castle day after day, cut off from what they fought for. Some part of her had been laid bare with no one else to till the fields until these days of coronation and before, when he listened, when he remembered that his wife had earned her education in effort.

"Edward, on the ducal chair, yet nay the throne. Tis sae radical a proposal tha' it leaves little reason why it was done. She could have killed them, but remembered our mercy. The sins o' the father lays nay on the child's head." This would be a sentiment waiting to be told in Struan, on Waternish, and waiting to be heard in Sleat. The sins of the father were not the sins of the son. All children were to be provided for by their sires. Should another man claim what was not his, it was his respondsibility, it was always the mothers, and should their be wealth and the child's sponsor relinquish himself, it would fall to the hands of the true father. Yet what would be done of this in a world where peerage was so...important? Edward was still the heir of the Edward before him, and there would a great lot of convincing that he was indeed the Griffin's man. In person, not only in letters. "This letter states he is now in campaign with the Lord Commander fer the North, he has avoided followin the want o' those tha' courted him all these years, n' his sister is neither held nor married tae an enemy. The sins o' the father are nay the sins o' the child. E'en I must remember tha'. He makes his own choices. If he chooses false he chooses false n' he pays the price, n' we are swift enough tae act. If he chooses well he chooses well. I'm alright with the Lady Joan coming as the King's Sister, n' will endevor to treat her as such. Tae give her such a posistion ye must have had great belief in the woman, n' known her." To embrace the English woman as a sister was not so trying. Joan had not escaped Beathag's eye as on occasion they exchanged a cordial greeting in the written sense. The young woman and Beathag exchanged enough letters after this for Beathag to understand that she marveled at the way court was conducted abroad, that there was tenderness, feeling, and joy beside ritual, regulation, and expectation. It did not come as such a shock for her to be welcomed, yet how did she side with Adam? Each was learning quite a lot in following the Duchess' sage wisdom.

When he and his beloved wife had finished talking, he summoned his scribe.

That would be when Beathag dismissed the scribe, saying, "It is old tradition the harper records fer the king, m'penmanship is able n' good. Ye recite, I will write." No matter what he said he would convey it just as he dictated. No matter what.

Adam felt his face warm, and knew he blushed, but rather than the scribe see him, he looked out the window, and beside him, flicked his wrist, sending the learned man away. Adam appeared to have been lost in a blanket of emotions that overruled his ability to think clearly. Then he remembered what a mentor long ago told him… “Exercise caution; do not take unnecessary risks, for proper judgment is better than unwarranted bravery. For it is those that failed to find the proper balance of passion and reason, and in failure found death.”

He looked from the window to his wife and sighed. “Yae bae correct M’Lady Harper… Then prepare yaer quill…”

To Her Grace,
Tis saddens me that many have wrought upon a great land, turmoil… to the point of full war. But I reassure and decree that you are not alone…

This morning I received your letter that England, a duchy and sister to Skye, is in a state of war.

I have to tell you that no such undertaking shall be received lightly, and that consequently the Gaelic Nations shall be at war with Spain.

You can imagine what a bitter taste it is to me that all my long struggles to win peace has failed. Yet, I cannot believe that there is anything more or anything different I could have done and that would have been more successful.

Up to the very last, it would have been quite possible to have arranged a peaceful and honourable settlement between the Nations and any member of the known world, but Spain would not have it.

Apparently, Spain’s King had evidently made up his mind to attack England, and what would make him think that Skye would stand by and watch a duchy become a battleground without recourse.

No proposals, nor any decree of war were never shown to any Ambassador nor emissary, nor to us; although their King ordered his troops to cross the sea to English soil in any manner. His actions show convincingly that there is no chance of expecting that this man will ever give up his practice of using force to gain his will. He can only be stopped by force.

We, the Nations, are today, in fulfilment of our obligations, going to the aid of England, who is so bravely resisting this wicked and unprovoked attack on our people. We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace. The situation in which no word given to Spain’s ruler could be trusted and no people or country could feel themselves safe has become intolerable.

And now that we have resolved to finish it, I know that you will play your part with calmness and courage. At such a moment as this the assurances of support that we provide to you and yours, shall become a source of profound encouragement for England.

I am instituting plans under which it will be possible for you to carry on the work of the nation in the days of stress and strain that may lie ahead. You are taking part in the fighting upon the front, and leave who you trust to run the government, let no Plantagenet pasts mar our futures, for the son is not like the Father.

As requested, I shall close the northern border with a wall of Griffin soldiers that Spain shall seen no benefit in attempting to cross. The Griffin Fleet shall be deployed to the coasts of England and a blockade will be readied. Cargo ships shall bring fresh supplies and men when required. I have issued Letters of Marque to privateers regarding Spanish ships of war but not to ships laden with anything but food and medical supplies, which must fly a white flag with a red griffin. I have sent a letter to King Alfonso demonishing the acts of war he demonstrates and informing him of the ability to transport medical and rations and the conditions thereof, and if he hides weapons and men under a white flag, I shall hold HIM personally responsible and the act would give reason to invade Spain proper.

Be it known, my emmassaries are now in contact with the Kings of the Germanic Republic, the Hungarian Empire, and Norway. Still, I shall impose a state of war…


I grieve the loss of the Archbishop… and the headmaster… I pray Lady Joan come to the Capitol for her safety. We shall accept her with open arms. Protect as many Griffin people as you can… first is defense, and then I shall unleash the dogs of war upon Spain.

You may be engaged in the essentials of war and for the maintenance of the life of the people – and you have the backing of the Nations… and me.

Aye, to die in the freedom Skye represents, is an honor; but your abilities bring greater honor and it is my lack of propriety that I wish to continue the intimate nature of our relationship. Hence you shall suppose an order to return to Skye is in its proper place at the finest and most assumable time. Our friendship crosses many boundaries…mentor, tutor, friend…thus I too love you.

King Adam I
Prince of the Gaelic Nations

Adam would pace, his hands behind his back, fingers interlaced. It was as if the man took on a persona all his own… no longer the emotional, frustrated lil boy, who looked a man; but the elder man, learned and strategical… cold and indifferent…. Political and tactical. In his shrp mind, he would strategize without a map, his mind holding topography as if he designed it. He would etch out terms for Bess, his beloved wife and Harper… and in the old tradition, the Lord of the Isles, the King of Scotland, all rolled into one, spoke words for his Harper to write.

But to the words of heartfelt concern, he would not look at Bess… Would she be disturbed at his personal words for Claramae…? He prayed she would not be, as the pair had never consummated an affair. Once he finished his words, he told her to sign it King Adam I… and he made his way to his beloved wife and dropped to one knee.

“Is thu m'annsachd...” [Thou art my most beloved] he would whisper to her in the clearest Gaelic he could. No longer the straight proper English… “Ah ‘ave loved yae since the first day Ah laid these eyes up’n yae… and as such Ah still remain in love with you… Ah knaew Ah may nae bae the Husband who yae wish Ah bae… baet Ah try wit all mae heart…" he took a deep breath of relief… “Many ‘ave whispered rumor of the likes of Aramoire… and others, and even to whisper more quietly, those intimates of Claramae and me… and they all hold a place dear tae mae… BUT, tis yae mae body, soul, and heart bae true tae…” and he smiles a crack of a smile…one honest and true. “I love yae….” And he laid his head upon her knee.

[Lord General Maahes Asad-Aziem]

The face of war had never been a difficult determination across the man's features. He was a harsh man, a hard man, and one able to tear down many with a single blow of his heavy hands. There was power behind force, and though it had been dormant for so long Maahes knew he could call upon it like one would a familiar. Like shifting from man to beast he knew his summons came with the growing threat of the Spanish, he had heard it on the docks where the ships all sang songs of the coming war. He had been there waiting on his wife to return, but still no word of her ship. It worried him, as it always did, but somehow this time he seemed to keep from falling apart. In her bit of insanity he knew her well enough to know that in all the world there was a space of in between that she could occupy. Like her pirate partner, Peregrine knew well the shades of grey listed between the black and white.

Inside he was falling apart, but felt this summons to be the cure. In passing many men turned to catch a glimpse of the man that once was, no longer softened lines over his face, but solid stern slits of amber eyes that seemed to light in the night. He appeared from the dark night, a lion in the brush; the torch lamp rising over him like the sun as the black pulled away like the veil of the night.

"You summoned, My King." All would take note of the change over him, the inverse of personality as he once again lacked it. Maahes, accepted long ago that he was nothing but a killer--this would be his proof.