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Post by King Adam Aberdeen I on Mar 26, 2010 18:18:13 GMT -6
Only rumored information is what caused the events now to transpire... Iain Robertson stood before his Father, Lord Alexander, and his wife, Lady Kelianna, ready to kill both, vowing to bring blade to his nemesis, Searc MacGregor... he did not know that Searc was in worse shape than his beloved Chloestrain.
Meanwhile at Dun Durroch, the men were being rallied for a ride south... a clan war fervor was brewing... Swords sharpened, armor prepared, and supplies gathered. The men, anxious for war, waited for their leader.
Kyleakin, the home of the MacDonald, was abuzz with discussions of war... fueled by the rumors of the death of MacGregor’s Clan chief and his family, the MacDonald saw their chance to reclaim Sleat as their own and the acquisition of the MacGregor shipping business. With the Mo’r Triath busy with international events, how could they regain lost lands without upsetting the balance of power in Turas Lan? Would the Mo’r Triath enter the fray with his full power to quell what was rightfully theirs? The city was busy with the preparations for a clan war.
Riders went out to all parts of the Robertson lands... and out to the cattle lands of clan Reed, a sept of the Robertson... the alarm sounded, one so familiar in Scotland... the threat of clan war spread far and wide, not just in Skye, but into the clan lands of Scotland, all the way to Hadrian’s Wall.
The Borderers, who long ago ceased their border wars with England, now found reason to bend plowshares into swords, fence-stakes into arrows... northern families joined the MacDonald, the southern families favoring the MacGregor.
Along with the alarm of a clan war, came the rumors of the death of the MacGregor, Searc and Chloe. It was Ivella MacGregor, who forged the blame upon the MacDonald, rumoring it was they who brought the plague to Sleat from Kyleakin... It was Alexander, who spread rumor like a wildfire of MacDonald aggression against the MacGregor shipping business... his motivation was to have as many clans at each other’s throat, which would make Iain killed in combat much easier an effort.... Fueled by words of deceit, lies, and skullduggery, Alexander’s own coins lined the pockets of MacDonald assassins...
Iain had left his Father, and his wife, alive, at the old man’s bed... Not that he did not want to kill both, but that trail of actions would derail him of any loyalties of other clans in time of need. The ride south would not be in opposition of the MacGregor, instead, in support of them against the MacDonald. Of the issue of Iain against Searc, there was always time for that...
Sleat is a large shipping and merchant center for Skye... Just as Stornoway is on Lewis, Sleat is on the Sleat peninsula. The MacDonald-South were evicted from Sleat, by siding with the English, in the Skye wars with England and lost all rights to the lucrative trade business. After years of banter and frustration, the MacDonalds now found a renewed interest as Searc and Chloestrain MacGregor were diseased and dying... the clan left heirless...
In the MacDonald-South, camps, signs of war brewed with fervor... clan mottos were issued with a bated breath... Even clans upon mainland Scotland now were being involved as rancor for the Bruce’s relinquishing the throne to the Aberdeens. Once a squabble between Iain of the Robertson and Searc of the MacGregor, now has grown into resentments long held deep as the Mo’r Triath resided.
A few days at home and Chloe was concerned in bringing Robin back to Dunsgate; there were rumors on the wind of ill will toward the MacGregor from the MacDonald and more from the mainland. In Searc’s absence, she called a clan meeting of the MacGregor, to answer questions and concerns, and was warned cryptically to beware the snake in her own household...
Vargaus had been holding court it seemed while Chloe and Searc were shuttered away with illness. As far as she could tell the ruse of plague and illness had indeed pacified most, though they were still concerned with Searc’s well being. Many were loyal to Chloe, and Ivella, in fact many owed Chloe’s acute business sense for their growing fortunes and business.
When Chloe and Searc had first married, though it was not a marriage of any real demeanor, Searc was smart enough to listen to her ideas. Chloe had been educated not only by her family but by the infamous Mistress Aramoire in business aspects, and even if he did not respect her as his wife, he did respect and often go to her for council on business aspects.
It was during those first years that Chloe and Searc had come up with a business plan for the clan to enrich their lands and holdings beyond that of which the MacGregor of Sleat had ever held before; and it had worked brilliantly. A niche filled with infused cross treading of streams of revenue and industry; perhaps a model that would indeed, begin to show other clans and even nations how commerce should work hand in hand with the land and natural resources of the region.
Sleat peninsula was home not only to fertile lands, but great natural ports, both sea and strait side; deep bays and lochs that were easy in and outs for the great ships of the MacGregor Shipping Fleet. But until now the MacGregor had been satisfied to only control the shipping and not the cargo that was shipped on the fleet. Chloe and Searc had devised a plan and put it into action, using their own monies to jumpstart the plan, loaning and buying seed, fishing boats, and livestock as well as starting two processing plants. The first endeavor was to use the natural fishing grounds of Sleat to provide a much needed commodity. In Aramadale, as well as Tarskavaig ports, fleets of small fishing boats were now on daily trips, their catch of the day brought into the new processing plants to be smoked.
Meanwhile, Chloe and Searc had secured contracts with both French and Irish, as well as the new Governor of England, to supply the nutritional and travel-well foodstock of smoked fish that would become key to the MacGregor’s new empire. The Irish were half-starved and beaten down by the recent war with the English and needed goods and food from their Scottish brethren... So it was with the fishing industry underway, the MacGregor turned their attention to farming. Sheep and cattle stocks were bought and distributed to the MacGregor clans; soon enough wool, cheese and meat from the stock were added to the shipping manifest of the MacGregor clans. Then after that, in summer and fall, fresh produce, with shipping times only days between loading and unloading in Ireland and England... all in all... The fertility of the soil and sea of Sleat was turning into a boon that brought the MacGregor’s up on par to the most affluent, influential, and powerful of the Clans, something Searc basked in… and Vargus coveted.
It was morning bright and early just after dawn, Chloe had been up for hours, mulling over the situation. The MacDonald were amassing a army, ready to move into Southern Sleat; her spies had brought her reports of it during the night. Between Dunsgate and the MacDonald, lay Cartevalle Abbey… her husband recouping there after the wounds she had inflicted upon him…
One part of her soul screamed to send out a messenger... guiding the MacDonald there to the injured and barely guarded Chieftain of the MacGregor. That would solve one of her problems and make her a widow. But as the hours had passed till dawn, she had indeed worked out in her mind that being a widow in these treacherous times would serve her nor Robin well... nor the MacGregor Clan. For without a Chieftain, a target as big and bold as the sun was painted on Robin’s back. Far too much depended on the 5 year old child.
From her window she had a good view of the lands of Dunsgate, the village and fields that were just coming into being furrowed in preparation for the spring planting season. All the people who depended on Searc and Chloe’s reign as Chieftain... all the things they had built as a people, a virtual empire... All hinged on Searc’s survival.
The northern Borderers, for almost a week, had ridden north and east, toward Kyleakin... And at the gates of the city, they made camp... their leader venturing into the city to speak with the MacDonald generals. In two days time, they would ride toward Dunsgateich and again reunite the MacDonald clan with their rightful lands...
In the MacGregor homestead, men milled around, Vargaus was busy preparing the men to ride out to meet the MacDonald. But the lands of Skye now divided as Iain Robertson, with 100 men, the combined forces of Robertson and MacLeod, rode south towards Dunsgateich...
Preludes to a clan war was building... and from Turas Lan, rode a messenger... one who carried the Mo’r Triath’s royal declaration of cessation of all hostile actions...
A day had passed since Mark had ridden out on Chloe's command. He probably thought it was because of their tryst... that she felt guild and shame... and he would be partially right, but the matter at the forefront of it was that she was taking command of the forces of the MacGregor. She would lead them to Cartervalle, and defend Searc; a move he would have never allowed under his commands from Iain to keep her safe.
A meeting of the council had been called and while they argued and debated the presence of a Woman in command, the novelty and the sheer brashness of it would indeed inspire fear in the McDonald... that the MacGregor had gone stark raving mad... and a woman who had lived through the plague now commanded an army. It was something out of myth and legend. When asked why she would risk her life in such a venture she spoke as if a ruler of nations...
"I have survived the plague, with the grace of our Lord. He has spared me, and as Chieftain’s wife of the Clan MacGregor it falls on me not only to protect my Husband... but the very land on which we live. Would God have spared me for anything less to sit and wring my hands while you are all off defending Sleat with sword and shield?? I say Nay... that I have a purpose... and so does Searc... and so do the MacGregor... and we will see our Land free and forever in the hands of the MacGregor as God and the Mo’r Traith.. have decreed... "
A rousing speech that swayed almost every fervent heart in the Clan Council... save Vargus of course, who argued against it for various reasons, but in the end it was Chloe's way with words, and her political savvy that won the day, and her suit of armor. Now they moved out, some 300 men in armor, on foot, and horseback trekking across Sleat's fertile valleys... toward the Northern Abbey where Searc lay recuperating... Wagons pulled by oxen, carrying tents and supplies... this would be a cruel war, waged by sword and shield... there were no time for mechanized weapons... no trebuchets, or catapults... no cannons... it would be man and beast against man and beast... Their hearts beat with a certainty of those who were being invaded... a righteousness of defending their country and kin... and no further inspiration was needed than the miracle of Dunsgateich returned from the dead... victorious over the plague and now sitting astride a war steed, leading the army of men to defend her ailing husband. In this light, it was a tale for the bards.. romantic and heroic.. stunning and awe inspiring... but rarely did myth and legend read well as the truth... and so the MacGregor Clan would move like pieces on a chess board to meet the oncoming McDonald...
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on Mar 28, 2010 22:19:28 GMT -6
The MacDonalds: North and South
"From ancient grudge break new mutiny, and civil blood makes civil hands unclean.."
I. North - Dublain, son of Dhugal, Chieftain of the Northern MacDonalds.
Dublain mac Dhugal sat in his chair, with the high back towards the door of the hall and the front looking out toward the Sound. His castle was high enough on the rocks that the clarity of nature unfolded before his eyes every day. White foam wave tops shattered on the sharp jetty, blue-green forever churned at the stone of a place still new. At least - it was new to him, who had grown to manhood at Armadale Castle beside his brother Hugh.
Dublain wore many of the same features that his late brother drove hard into infamy; a contemplative, astute expression kept his face in the same shape. His eyes were brown, held in deep set eyes because his brow was somewhat expansive. At the age of forty-seven however to Hugh's forty-two at death, he outlived his brother to the near end of the fortieth decade. His hairline had receded only slight, not enough to make the heavy gloss of a ponytail ridiculous to keep. While facial features were common place, Dublain had been the lesser in height to his brother Hugh. He was neither too short of a man nor enjoyed the full Norman influence of blood because one of his legs was slight in comparison to the other. He extended the lesser limb now. In sitting, he was free of the gimp grown worse from wars when it ached. The change of the seasons always brought about the proverbial pain that reminded him of five years agone, when the last war took more than the rightness of body. He risked everything when the majority of his kin were against the heir of MacRauri, now alive in the Aberdeen name. A finger on his left hand was gone, making four. The sight in his left eye was no better.
The MacDonalds of Sleat were broken by Hugh's masquerades as Ranald Darknell, the alter ego under which he went about cutting up pieces of family fortune to fund his misadventures on the mainland as well as Sleat to campaign against the Aberdeen family taking a seat, an empty seat that by all account was generations overdue to return to the MacDonald family. The sting of losing the isle's Lordship was beaten down into every son since MacRauri was favored over MacDonald. The MacDonalds were an old family, and the Clan of Donald was one of the largest in Scotland. He remembered, standing ashore when the Mo'r Oukselo's famous Ring of Fire took down the ship upon which Hugh MacDonald ,Chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat, refused to leave. At his Death the Aberdeen loyalists, with Dublain as their champion, moved further to the insulated North while the South was torn to shreds. MacGregor was the lauded hand that swept forth in glory to claim all that had been his as a child, but unlike Hugh, Dublain had always known how to let go of the things on the earth. Their father would have raged, he would have even been made a grown man to cry to see his only living son sitting far from Armadale castle in one he had rebuilt from crumbling remnants on Raasay. Rona, too, made the collect of what was left. The Mo'r Triath counted Dublain among his allies. He couldn't tell if there were those on Rona and Raasay who missed Amardale, Teneague, and Broadford as much as he did, or the way the dirt roads gave way to stone. It was MacDonald that lay the stone, not MacGregor. It was MacDonald that dreamed Sleat while MacGregor prospered, but it wasn't Sleat's wealth for coffee he missed, merely his home.
But unlike Hugh, he'd learned to let go. That was why he was alive, and Hugh wasn't. It was why he was the only recognized Chieftain while the MacDonalds at Kyleakin were an assortment of brewding subversives. The problem with this, though, were there were still MacDonalds in Kyleakin surrounded by other MacDonalds so sore as to how the lots were cast against them, that the years passed with them only waiting for the chance to return to power.
In his lap were no less than five letters from Kyleakin, Broadford, the Uplands, and members of the wide clanship pleading with him for one point or another, a thin plea being a thin veil with outright demand that he come to fight at Cartevalle Abbey. It was his place, they said, as Hugh's remaining son to amend the past. Would not he wish to return to the soil of his birth to reign, and thus to die when God did claim him? Would he not wish to tell to his father, who died so for the cause of his betterment, that in the end he returned home in a blaze thrice as high than how he left it? In them, he could see that the scorn against Searc MacGregor was so strong that it was more than the Borderers who would be joining the south going parties. He had no desire to be any part of this because he wanted to strengthen further the promise of building ships for the glorious navy of the man who was soon to be King, and be pleasing in the arts of old Scottish tradition that delighted she who would be Queen. They were raising a church on Rona for the glory of God. Yet for all of this, he knew that nothing they built in the last handful of years could withstand centuries of tradition should that tradition come to call. With that, he would abandon his beloved seat by the sea to command himself no less than 100 men who lived on Rona, Raasay, and on the outskirts of the Turas Lan Coast and 5o from Clan MacLean to move in tandem with the will of the Mo'r Triath as members of Griffin Company, or to defend them as Northern Loyalists. "The MacRauri were always fools in the belief of ever peace," was the one thing he would mutter as he forced his leg to be calmed, allowing him to walk tall and proud.
II. South - Carver, son of Hugh, Chieftain of the Southern MacDonalds
The MacDonalds of Kyleakin had no Chieftain among them, for they had no just cause to push their ire into inspiration to organize but the convalescing Searc MacGregor put enough passion in their feet to dance on the mere thought of his grave, and sharpen their swords for his demise. It was too choice a time not to elect to wipe out the queer chieftain and leave to dangle his wife, a rightly used Robertson whore. Why should such as they rule Sleat? Ingenuity could not account for moral character, and in Kyleakin a sickness went forth of false moral MacDonald aptitude that infected Broadford, and Armadale, causing those who hid their name to take it proud again, and move with all haste to Kyleakin in preperation for the march to Cartevalle Abbey to do away with the stains, to wipe Sleat clean.
Whom would lead them if no one would? Carver MacDonald, brother of Tiol, son of Hugh MacDonald was ambitious where his brother was infamously deranged. He was intelligent, where his brother was merely dark. Tiol had further led to the family downfall when he was made into one of the first cases that were tried under the Griffin reign. One night, he took for himself a whore and used her beyond rational acceptance. He strangled her, and left her family whom had sought to bring her back from the city long before her death with mourning cries. To this very day, her sister, now Kirsten MacSween instead of Kirsten Henely kept house in the same place her sister had been murdered. Grufford's tar thick voice was never used to talk of the incident with his wife, but it added less to the MacSween's diminishing popularity for it having happened in his establishment. Marlene Heneley was dead for five years, and Tiol was in the same state. In the old order a whore would have mattered little. Yet in a state where now even a vagabond might claim to be someone, the blood of the peerage was no better than the blood of the common. Carver's blood was not common. Unlike the other families, he was related to prior Lords of the Isle. His blood had warmed the throne in the Great Hall centuries before MacRauri and with God's assistance would do so again. Tiol was to have been the heir of his father, being the older brother, but now it would be Carver's. He fed the fires on the MacGregor immoral lifestyle being funded by MacDonald creations. He spoke of the opportunists star falling from the clouds and in their hands for the taking. So charismatic and devoted to his cause was he that Carver persuaded others to come with him.
From the North, Argyll, supressed by the Robertsons after a failed attempt at making a match with an Argyll bride and the wrong Robertson heir, saw the opportunity to scar the Robertson stronghold in lan's wake. A band of fifty raiders would begin to cause strife in the expert capture and slaughter of livestock. With it being spring, the breeding of the creatures, their products, and meat were an important source of revenue. With this would also come the distraction necessary to mask a greater machine behind it, one that would wait until the time was right so that there would be confusion in the absence of one who created order. In the erstwhile, no less than 1oo Argyll men were given unto Carver's force of 350 of Macdonald and Borderer assembly.
From the Mainland would come the 50 strongest of MacAlister, a MacDonald sept, that could be given on the short notice, and yet the young man called up no less than 400 men in the seeming blink of an eye. No path would be direct, for those who would not rally to his call that were of known MacDonald origin or sept in the Southern towns were subject to a horror that would astound the MacGregors to the core.
Carver lived true to his name, for at Broadford's shore one afternoon would be a pile of bodies to be tossed within unmarked graves, too numerous and too many, and it was said they harbered contagions of plague.In defiant shows, standards were raised, tartans dawned, and men marched bold from their towns to Carver's call as their brethren burned in piles. He had his own cousins and kinsmen killed in their beds for refusal to rally with the cause or loyalty to the new heirarchy.
There would be no great machines in this war save those as old as any war. Sword, armor. Man and animal. Colors would be standards raised in crude gestures, soon to be blood soaked. The MacDonalds of Sleat had no need for the inventions of cumbersome war logic.
They had their ire, and it served them well enough.
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Apr 9, 2010 8:21:11 GMT -6
Loaded for Bear – Clan Wars ‘33No less than 1oo Argyll men were given unto Carver MacDonald's force of 350 of Macdonald and Borderer assembly... From the Mainland would come the 50 strongest of MacAlister... The total force now aiding in the retaking of Sleat for the MacDonald were numbering 500 men, ready to do battle.
From the north no less than 100 men who lived on Rona, Raasay, and on the outskirts of the Turas Lan Coast and 5o from Clan MacLean to move in tandem with the will of the Mo'r Triath as members of Griffin Company, or to defend them as Northern Loyalists. Now they moved out, some 300 men in armor, on foot, and horseback trekking across Sleat's fertile valleys... toward the Northern Abbey where Searc lay recuperating... Wagons pulled by oxen, carrying tents and supplies... this would be a cruel war, waged by sword and shield... there were no time for mechanized weapons... no trebuchets, or catapults... no cannons... it would be man and beast against man and beast... Iain Robertson, with 100 men, the combined forces of Robertson and MacLeod, rode south toward Sleet.
Now, the sounds of thundering hooves filled the air... cries of despair comes from the wives, sisters, and mothers left behind... fearing for the worse... Clan against clan, family against family, brother against brother... The call of war had resounded throughout the land, revenge in the hearts of a nation’s warrior... Soon, war will begin leaving behind blood soiled turf, many a valiant man, dead in his prime, never again to see seasons change, would lay upon the battlefield... A division of heart and land be the cause... a division of belief that revenge could be sweet... But generations after, the belief had never been stronger.
The terrain and climate of Sleat is, as usual, more gentler than its brethren to the north... no wonder many called Sleat, the Garden of Skye... with its soil producing a greener, more wooded landscape. And it would be upon those wood and clearing that more than 1,000 Skye brethren would meet in open battle... a cruel war, waged by sword and shield... no time for mechanized weapons... no trebuchets, nor catapult... nor cannon loud... it would be man and beast, sword and shield... against man and beast, shield and sword....The Robertson men sent on reconnaissance returned to Lord Robertson’s tent and reported after all the formalities had been dispensed... “Lord Iain... we found no MacGregor on the road... nor the backways... and there is minimal forces between here and Dunsgate... We know not what to expect nor have any suggestions MiLord... but...” The report puzzled Iain... He suspected all the MacGregor ready to do battle long before he was allowed deep into MacGregor land. This was not the usual Searc MacGregor way of doing things... “But what man? Speak up...”
The man started to tell Iain about the forces moving east... led by a woman... and the banners of the MacDonald coming from the east... all heading toward Dunsgate. Iain rubbed his chin, the hair beginning to grow a bit... Unrolling a map of Sleat, he looked at his current position, then to where the man pointed to east of Dunsgate... “I think much more is at hand here... from what yu tell me, it seems that MacGregor is more concerned with something else beside me...” Then he growled... “I would bet my father has work in this... I would not put it past him to have alerted the MacDonald as to what was happening...” then he let go of the map.
Just then a royal messenger of the court was introduced to Lord Robertson. A sealed message was handed over by the messenger to Lord Iain. “Lord Robertson, By royal decree of the Mo’r Triath, Lord Protector of Skye and Scotland... this is to notify you of your orders to return home and cease hostilities immediately. Failure to obey shall render circumstances deemed unnecessary. Signed... Mo’r Triath Adam Aberdeen, Lord protector of Skye and Scotland” the royal seal of the gryphon upon the edges.
“MiLord, shall Ah answer the Mo’r Triath...?” the man asked... Ian shook his head. “MiLord, I must inform you now, the Mo’r Triath will be coroneted King this eve... He received no response to his invite and became concerned... Please understand, that if yu fail to obey his decree, it will be a monarchal decree yu fail to obey...” the man continued. Iain nodded... “That is all sir... return to my liege and tell him, we have a problem in Sleat... bigger than we anticipated... Now go, make haste to the King...” The messenger bowed and backed out of the tent. Soon, the royal messenger was on his way back to Turas Lan...Iain huffed and looked at his commanders in the tent. “Yu obey my orders as Chieftain... and I accept all responsibility for my actions...” then he sat upon the cot. “Yu may go...let me be alone now...”[/color]
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Apr 16, 2010 4:09:37 GMT -6
It was a company of some 300 men that rode to Cartervalle Abbey, toward the protection of their Laird and Chieftain Searc McGregor; at the lead, none less than the Lady McGregor herself, Chloestrain, the fiery fair Lady of Dunsgate. The men under her command wondered at the faith and courage of the Lady, some composing tunes that accompanied the march to the Abbey.
It was late in the afternoon when the forces arrive. Her General-in-Arms set out with the bulk of the force, upon her orders to set up defenses and camp in the valley just to the north and east of the abbey. This would become the battle ground for the clan wars in the valley at Cartervalle. As the McGregor Clan set up their defenses, the Lady McGregor and a few trusted guards did enter the Abbey proper, it’s gates opening by the hands of monks and nuns who bowed in respect as the leather and armor clad Lady entered the sacred ground… “Where is my husband quartered?” she spoke with a cool authority that brooked no argument and necessitated the hurried manner in which she walked with purpose as the Head Nun lead her toward the sleeping chambers of the recuperating Chieftain.
With bold hands, she pushed open the doors, even against the warnings of the Nuns that he wanted no visitors save his man Travill. Upon entering she let her eyes grow accustom to the dim light, no windows opened, only a few candles burned in the darkness, the air was stale and smelt of sickness… before she spoke she moved to the window drawing back the curtain to let in the evening sun, then thrust open the pane, to allow fresh air in… Then she turned, her face blanching pale at the sight before her… “Oh Gods” she breathed softly, moss green eyes landing on the vision of her husband and what terrible wounds her hand had wrought upon him.
“You bytch, I’ll see you dead !” his voice rang out weak and sick, yet full of rage and hate Searc’s body lifted from the bed to sitting position, his body clad in the thin white fine linen sleeping shirt, sweat beading his brow from the effort. His form was emaciated, half the weight he had been, haggard and frail, he looked like an old man... and yet he could still not stand or bear his own weigh, under the sickness that stole his strength, and the wound that stole his manhood. “You come here to torment me, to finish what you started !” His screams brought Travill into the room, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he moved to Chloe his hands outstretched to strangle her, just as he reached her one of her guards snatched him from behind throwing and pinning him to the wall in a painful hold.
“Cease your screaming, I come here with no harm intent upon you.” she commanded in a firm tone toward her husband, her hands raised to defend herself against Travill’s attack, but was not needed as her guard handled the man lover, with indelicate force, the slamming of his pretty face against the wall should insure bruising and perhaps blood. “The McDonald move against us... they march into Sleat, and head here… not Dunsgate…” the import of what she said lay in the silence between them for long moments. “They are coming for you Searc.. someone told them you were here.” moss green eyes moved to Travill’s still pinned form.. “No one knew you were here save your Mother, Myself, and Travill, besides the good fathers and sisters here…” her accusation toward Travill complete. “I’ve brought the forces of McGregor to see the McDonald met, and a Carriage to see you safely back to Dunsgate.” her words settled on the wounded man, and although he hated her, wished her dead, he was intelligent enough to know the truth when he heard it, and see as plain as day on her face that she did indeed come with intent to save him.
“Why do you care if the McDonalds kill me, you yourself have done everything but." grey eyes pierced the distance between them, as he watched her nod to her guard to release Travill. Once done Travill moved to his bedside, looking both guilty and concerned with his Lord.
“I care because without you, our people are in danger, as long as you breath, the Macgregor have reason to look toward the future, and Robin will be safe... If you perish... my son becomes a target... a very young target… You know well I hold him above all others.” her words were plain and true, neither guile nor agenda other than the safety of her people the McGregor and her Son. “There is no time... a carriage awaits you. Behind the walls of Dunsgate you will be safe, a contingent of defenders were left there... and our forces will hold here to defend McGregor Lands and aid in your escape. We will be a deterrent.” she stood her ground looking at the two men as she laid out her plan.
“Chloestrain... how many do the McDonalds bring?” even weak and sick he was the chieftain, a strong and proud warrior who had taken the Chieftain’s position and led a people to wealth and prosperity. “How many men did you bring ?” he questioned her ability to lead, it was not a task common to a female, much less one that he himself had thought he killed only weeks before.
She did not lie, and laid out the situation to him... “We number some 300, some with blade some with steed and lance...” she looked away toward the window and the now setting sun… “The McDonald bring over 500 at scouts reports… they should arrive within the next day.” meaning there was little time for reinforcements from the south to join them... the odds were defiantly against her and she knew it…
She moved toward the bed looking at Travill for a moment. “A moment alone with my husband please.” she directed him toward the door with a nod of her chin, and waited as Searc too indicated he go. When the door at last closed behind his lover Searc’s grey eyes turned to his wife, as she bent at his bedside… “I ask you for forgiveness for what I did to you… I have no excuses, I have but one wish to ask of you further… if I should not come back… Send Robin to his father Iain Robertson... do not take your hatred of me out on my son… I have made many mistakes... but Robin is my greatest love... and I would see him with those that will love him.” her form shook softly as she trembled, hoping upon hope that Searc would pity her and indeed promise to see Robin safely to his father should she fall in the upcoming battle.
It was long moments between them, a silence as he ruminated over her request for forgiveness and the fate of Robin should she fall. He lifted a hand, reaching out to grasp her down turned chin and lift her face… “We shall discuss forgiveness when you return to Dunsgate, no wife of mine would fall to a McDonald, not when she survived the MacGregor.” his voice was raspy and week yet held conviction… “As for Robin, I will do as you wish… should you fall, but I expect to see you back at Dunsgate within a fortnight.” it was if he was challenging her. There were things that Searc respected in life, and truthfulness, and bravery were two of the utmost... both things his wife offered to him in spades. The rift between husband and wife had closed a bit more it seemed.
So it was that when night fell a carriage with a small cadre of men set out from Cartervalle to Dunsgate, inside the weakened form of the Chieftain, his Man Travill, and Father Prious. The nuns and monks electing to stay behind to help with the wounded, and care for the dead. Inside the Abbey candles burned late into the night, as plans were made, maps drawn upon, and hearts fortified with the blessings of God in prayer.
Iain stood up in the stirrups and looked out over the 100 men. “Today, I accept all responsibility for what we do… none of yu shall suffer charges issued by the Mo’r Triath… for he has decreed this an outlawed war… but he does not understand its magnitude of the clan. Should ANY of you desire to go home now, I shall nay hold yu as a coward, for yu would not wish to disobey the future King… But should yu choose to remain… I can offer you no solice… but a grand death and a safe passage to Heaven… and yer names handed down in Robertson history as a mighty warrior, loyal to the clan…” then he sat down to a rumbling of voices intermingling with yells of Robertson creedo… “We are with you MiLord…” came the response from so many… and none stepped aside to return home.[/color]
Iain was about to give the command to charge down upon Dunsgate, when a lone rider approached from the Castle under a flag of parlay… Iain looked at his staff and shook his head telling them he would go alone. And moments later he walked his battle horse down to the lone man.
“Greetings fro’ the MacGregor, milord… but those yae seek are nae ‘ere… they bae a’ Cartervalle Abbey, where Laird Searc be. Our forces ‘ave been led there against the MacDonald and Borderers, who wish tae destroy oos.”
Iain was confused now… he was disobeying the Mo’r Triath’s orders to battle, for a man who was not even here? And no real force to contend with. Destruction of Dunsgate was not his intention, but to destroy Searc MacGregor for killing Chloestrain…
“If yu lie, I shall return, burning Dunsgate to the ground and killing all souls there in…” He whipped his horse around and rode hard back to his men… “We go to Cartervalle Abbey… those we seek are there… and the southern MacDonald and Borderers move against Skye once more. We go to the Abbey…” and as the small army turned in force toward the Abbey, leaving Dunsgate to its own.
In the North, Mark Collier had been notified that the 150 northern MacDonald and MacLean now moved south with the Griffin company, totaling 300… and he and Kane would rally a force of 50 to join the trek south… Now the 350 men rode, and walked toward the Abbey…
Cartervalle Abbey lie in the center… just outside were the forces of the MacGregor, led by Chloestrain… to the west were the approaching force of the Robertson, led by Lord Iain… and to the north, were the combined forces of northern loyalists including the men of Mark Collier and Kane… To the east were the 500-strong force of the southern MacDonald and Borderers. Each there for its own reason… whether it personal, vengeful, or political… The fertile valley of Cartervalle Abbey would soon be soaked with clan blood, mixing to either enrich Skye, or split her in half.
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on May 1, 2010 9:40:53 GMT -6
The Parlay Table
Lady Chloestrain McGregor
Lady Chloestrain McGregor was indeed this day a sight to behold, from the gates of Cartevalle Abbey she rode, before her men, past the tents and wagons, to the line of the battlefield, across the fragrant spring medow, strewn with wildflowers and heather just coming into bloom lay the adauciouse forces of the McDonalds, and the Boarders that had joined them, if scouting reports were true.. over some five hundred souls waited in arms across fertile Sleat Soil to spill McGregor Blood and take back what they felt had been stripped from them.. their heritage, their birthright. Pennants of the McGregors waved lazily in the soft spring breeze that accompanied and aweinspiring dawn.. fingers of color streaked across the grey skye calling awake those who would shed blood , and calling to bended knee those who would pray to God to stop it. As the Lady rode by, even her own men crossed themselves seeing the look of determination etched upon her face, She was dressed in flowing green muslin, draped in the plaid tartan of the McGregors, Golden Broachshining at her hip, upon a white horse she rode slowly into the middle of the field, accompained only by two gaurds, a flag of Parlay held aloft by one as the Trio road toward a white and blue striped tent that had been set up for the historical meeting. Never had a Woman Led a force into a clan battle... Never had The McGregors offered Parlay in the history of Skye... and yet.. both were here on this fine spring day... as history was made.. Perhaps it was the way of a woman to seek peace before war, or perhaps she was stalling... time would tell
Carver MacDonald
Carver MacDonald watched his father, hung out before Armadale on a platform overlooking his vastness, when all that he knew, all that should have been his was stripped. "What make you of this parlay," said a clansmen of Broadford, riding on the right hand of the champion, the With an errect back the young man scoffed. Soft morning breeze made kilt tartan dance. His legs, like his arms, were powerful. Thick hands snapped reigns for a slow advance. Let the bytch be kept waiting in her little show of 'custom', her imagined brotherhood. "Tha' it is shyte, n' a man with no bullocks sends forth a womn tae dae his bidding in a field of shyte covered flowers m'friend. We are not sick. They are sick, sick with Griffin plague, sick with no regard for place, or justice. Tha' will soon change. When we sit in Armadale again, when MacDonald is the name tha' resounds on this island before all else, we will make it right again." Moral sickness - coined phrase in Kyleakin that spread out through the south as a heated knife in butter. Whom would believe whom? Loyalty was purchased as easily in God's writ, in gold's writ, as it was in material possession.
Lord Dublain MacDonald
As Carver road toward the tent, unbeknowest to him one man of the North rode toward the encampment of the MacGregors. Unlike his nephew, Dublain was advanced in his years with unstunted thought. No, he never envisioned a day where he road with his men towards a place of those who held what he had, but he also was the future of the Northern MacDonald on Raasay. It pained him to know that he would ride with the King's men, that he would sooner slit the throat of his brother's child, than to see what good had come go to waste. Parlay. "Custom makes fer customary fools." With an eye gone useless and missing fingers, he was still imposing in his armor, able to call attention to himself without the retinue. He feared for this morning - for the thoughts of his nephew - for though unalike in opinion, he knew MacDonald for he was one. This 'fit' of disagreeance would cause the loyalists of theNorth to be persecuted. Carver was a fool, if he thought he would only burn through Sleat. Northern deaths must sound delightful to him - but then again - the North were as much betrayer as MacGregor for splitting the kin (d)
Lady Chloestrain MacGregor
Dismounted and waiting beside the entrance to the Tent, where inside was laid out a parlay table, a supmtous breakfast for the Cheiftan of the McDonalds and the Lady of the McGregors, servants moved in nervouse anticipation, balking at the least sound, and dropping noisily silverware in clanging resonance. Chloe however stood like a staute her eyes on the slow but ever nearing retinue of men from the McDonalds headed her way, she knew they moved slowly to increase her anxieity and anticipation, and allthought their ploy worked, she would be dammed if it showed, hands folded meekly before her she awaited them.. Dark hair was coiled atop her head, but a few stray wisps played in the soft breeze. Searc should have made it saftly to Dunsgate by now, and sent on their way more men.. or so she hoped... but that was not her stalling point, behind the doors of the abby, preist and alchemist worked on small hand held bags of leather filled with black powders, and trailing a wick.. They would need four more hours to complete the taske she had set before them, a task that perhaps would even the odds somewhat, as of now.. she was outnumbered 2 to 1, silentley she prayed to God above for a sign, for grace, and for salvation of these men who had belived in her and their homeland enough to ride forth offering life and limb for the McGregor..and Sleat.. Slowly she Exhaled as the McDonald cadre crossed the last few yards toward the parlay tent. With a slow dip into a curtsey that would have made the ladies of Beathags Court Jealouse of her form and grace.. she offered respect to the Men. "Lord McDonald..." her voice was soft and angelic, and held no form of malice that he expected.. what sort of ruse was this, to send and Angel to beg for mercy? Beauty beyond compare, grace and humilty all combined to dazzle the rode weary men.. would the ploy even take hold in the hearts of these men.. (d)
Carver MacDonald
The question the brave, audacious lady would need inquire of herself was what hearts did she seek to win, when the MacDonalds of the South had none left? Had she not heard of the scene outside of Broadford, her Broadford now? Bodies that were too numerous to count stock piled for a massive burning pit in claim they were frought with plague when the grizzly, gruesome truth was that the man of handsome feature, whom dismounted his horse as any of the old peerage would do, had ordered the killings of his own kinsmen! Children, women, men, who refused to rally beneath the risen Broadford banners. Did not the stench of oil slick flesh igniting catch her attention, or were the dreams of peace too idealic to stray from? "Lady MacGregor," the cool, calm voice came across a full mouth. She could kiss it, if it weren't the mouth of Hades. She might desire him, if he weren't all of hell incarnate. Five years of half-slighted life had left Carver a jaded, calculating young man that would put Machavelli's to shame. Why, he even offered to take up her hand as was proper for the poison to grace her skin. He stepped back, his men paying her heed with the same. MacDonald stain. What was it like to feel the breath of the hell bent on her hand? "Ye make call, we seek tae answer as custom dictates tha' we might find..better means tae wot brings us here."
Lord Dublain MacDonald
Within the camp another scene played out. "Where is your Lady, has she gone tae the parlay?" "What is it to you, Sir. Who are ye to question what her moves be?" "Under the law of the King," the phrase Dublain did not use lightly, he drew into the abdomen so it boomed around them, "I, Dublain MacDonald, be recognized as chieftain o' the clan which is given sanction in the North, sae wot sits in the tent with your lady is the seperatist with a lesser word. Show me forward, now!" Dublain was no fool - He rode not only in the colors of Macdonald to mock the Southly display he had seen on the passes as he rode, but his muslin was shaded black, studded in golden thread. Aye, he was the Griffin's man. To a clansmen, even in his head, it wreaked of being owned. Better to be owned by God than court the Devil as the Lady was so now doing. "Ye, come with me. N' you.." He looked down at one of the standing guard, "Take a few of the men, penetrate the camp of our 'brethren' n' find out wot in God's name Carver has already done, n' wot he will dae. Ye know as well as I this field is nay the only blood he's already thinkin tae shed (d)
Lady Chloestrain MacGregor
She played the part, allowing the touch, the kiss of her skin to the butcher who had killed his own clansmen, his own kin who would not rally to his side and ride against the McGregors. She lifted mossy green eyes toward him, and offered a snmile as if it were a social occasion of no import, instead of a meeting of Destinys, to decide the fate of men and soil. " Please... come inside, we have made ready for your arrival " she moved with the grace of a dancer swaying skirts and scents of a woman, plying her spell , praying it would soften the resolve of the men who invaded, if only for the term of a few hours. Once inside, she moved about the table, offering him one end and her the oppisite, his men on his right, and hers on her right would have them opposing sides with the table, between them.. " Let us break our fast and Perhaps Find a way to decide our differences that doesn't end in bloodshed. " Slowly she lowered into her chair, as servants poured glasses of chilled cider, and fresh milk.. while piling the mens plates with rich food worthy of a King, all a show of respect and genorosity" What quarrel brings us yourgrievance, in such a way we would garner your amassing and army to bring to our doorsteps?" She questioned the reasoning behind his envasion...hoping it would lead to a long diatribe steeped in historical melodrama.. time was ticking away. (d)
Carver MacDonald
He lifted his head like a serpent studying Eve in the garden before his instruction to eat the apple that equated to the downfall of man. Why, how Searc had come across such a pretty, desirable little prize could only be done through arrangement of popular lore served true of the now lesser-man. Aye, enuch, perhaps? To take a land was to truly take it and both the MacGregor kindness to leave what remained of MacDonald in Broadford would be how the serpent rose up to eat at the delicate MacGregor heel. Deep in the South all it took was bended knee or change of name to appease Searc, while the North was the weakest in their falsified show of ownership. He sat at the table seperated by lavish displays while taking in the scent of she. Hmm - perhaps as plan unfolded he might have the chance later to rend the bytch across his own tent table to make her cry the name of the true Lords of the Isle. Whatshe didn't know was just how far his feud extended, with just how far he would go. By the time he sat his uncle was half way to the parlay tent, his mind working. No doubt by now they all sat in a spring field by Broadford was already infiltrated. Kyleakin left them moments from the mainland - God - how could the man of MacRauri be so stupid? Kill them all was what he should have done. Bend to the will of the Lord or kill them all! Already the tempered mercies would be but one more brick in the wall to tear down. "Good lady, m'family seeks for itself a retribution, n' clan tradition be as much in battle n' passion as it be in shows o' this, but we may be more civilized, aye? Ye understand, nay doubt ,wot it is tae lose yer home. Wot pains o' the past can we remedy but seek enough tae start anew? : We seek yer opinion, madame, on the idea of this: We have kept Kyleakin, allow us Broadford, n' Isleornay. This indeed is a half, yet alesser half o' Sleat fer ye have the true fertile, sea worthy portions. We only wish enough tae hold some of our ancestry intact, begin again." He lifted his milk and drank as if it were wine, "Such riches n' drink ye have upon the table fer us, only yer hand could turn." Just like his hand could turn hers over in ruin or blood - just a little longer (d)
Lady Cholestrain MacGregor
She listened intently as he spoke, lifting a buttered scone to her lips, chewing on the meagar bite as her men followed her lead, she took a deep drink of the thick creamy milk and then dabbed at her lips with a linen Napkin.. " I recive your compliments on the bounty of my table with honor, it was in your honor and for your comfort I have laded my table so " she settled back against the cushioned chair that held her person and reguarded him " Surely Milord you cannot expect me to grant lands to you that the Mor Traith.. and now Our Graciouse Majesty has bestowed upon the Clan McGregor... that act in itself would be treason.. however.. I could propose a monotary compensation or industrial shares to help ease the pain of your people, and set them on the way to recovering their past glories " her hands lifted from their folded position on her lap and eased onto the table as she leaned futher toward him.. pearls form the surrounding coast of Sleat adorn her neck falling into the crevice of her bodice, pulling a mans mind from such things as politics, and sending his blood plunging to the depths . " I see no reason why we cannot come to some agreement that would ease both our minds ?"(d)
Carver MacDonald
Pearls from his coast looked good on a MacGregor bytch by marriage, a Robertson cast away by birth. Oh mark him, Cholestrain, for like a good pupil he has studied all the books of your lore only to conclude that like him you are flawed. Like him, you were not the anoited chosen and like him, what would you not do to ensure your survival. Carver nodded his head again, eating sausage as he stewed over what was being discussed. What a play was written here! " Twould nay be right tae make treasonist of ye, fer ye see where such path leads, m'father, n' brother were well aware o' their sins. I stood long with m'kinsmen n' watched as our Queen's Ring o' Fire took down my father's vessel, but he refused tae leave. Like our beautiful sovereign, your beauty is equal in measures. As is yer grace, yer bravery. MacGregor clan has saint in ye. Would it nay be possible then, good saint, tae make legal a desire? But think upon such succession n' let us commend it tae parchment, if the King approves it nay, then we are all at nay loss. M'people grow tired of only money's placation. Wealth be nay everythin would ye nay agree? We shall ne'er have our former glory, from Armadale, but we must be servicable in the name o' God and the King." Said the second son to the secondary daughter. She was quite pretty - one wondered how far her loyalty truly went, would she not rather be on a MacDonald arm? Perhaps a woman to offer..hmm. He would keep such idea within his pocket, aye. Let them choke but think on it as peaceful offer. MacGregor wife for Macdonald man. "Though fer their sake, I would, n' some of the other more established Lairds take such shares, offerin our skilled men of like trade for we tae know how tae build the ships ye use tae ship, n' have made good headway from Kyleakin tae re-establish tha' end. Let us offer ye then a grand fleet fer yer merchandise, workmen. Dae think upon succeedin one territory, m'lady. Of course at the King's approval?"
Lord Dublain MacDonald
"Beg your pardon..good company." Age, experience seasoned the voice from the door as he was shown forth. It took everything for Carver not to choke on his scone as his uncle emerged to the company. Or shall we say fray by flower? "Lady MacGregor, m'name is Dublain MacDonald, Ah see m'nephew has sought tae begin the negotiations with ye" His eyes told Chloe she sat at the table with Lucifer, for he wore the true angel's colors..the black and gold with his tartan. God, now that was a true subjection of a man, and twice his nephew's age (d)
Lady Chloestrain MacGregor
Salvation in the form of Gryphon Gold and Black, stood speaking to her through the rush of blood in her ears,for only scant seconds before the wiley and intelligent Lucifer, had indeed boxed her into a corner of her own making, her own men's eyes turning toward her , thinking the offer in itself was worthy of considering in oppositioin to a battle here and now.. it was looking a far better solution than imminent death that was sure to come. The Brother in Law of Searc McGregor, and far off cousin married to Lindall McGregor, sat at Chloe's side, his knee nudging hers to consider and perhaps take the agreement. Jonas McGregor was not a brave man, he was more suited to numbers and books than armor and swords, but his marriage to one of the McGregor Daughters had elevated him to clan royalty along with Serac and Chloe and the rest of the Immediate family, while he would rather be working in the factories and warehouses the McGregor Clan had birthed in sleat, he was however pressed by honor and clan loyalty to accompany Chloe in this war, as well as these talks. Her eyes moved to Carver as he near choked, as she pushed . Haistly to a standing position that was quickely followed by a respectful Cursty " Milord... I have not had the pleasure... " she spoke breahtlessly, wondering if it were salvation of the appeareance of more serpents in the garden that now seemed writhing with undertones and threats, veiled and dark (d)
Lord Dublain MacDonald
He took his place on the MacDonald side for history to represent itself thus: It had been no less than five years since he had stood on the same side of any earth with his nephew Carver, or the men whom now rose out of some imbedded respect. Carver and Dublain made a confusing crossroad; as one man was the legal chieftain, the other still might fall in the line of tanist. Within the clan, it was Dublain who would have served only until Carver reached proper stature to do so, being that he needed a marriage to secure his inherant place."Morn, men, nephew." Now it was the number of MacDonalds might have outdone the MacGregors at the table, a metaphor for what was done outside. "Please, m'lady sit ye down such reverance is nay needed on behalf o' yer kindness upon this table, tae break bread with us. They say tha' Raasay sound houses two things: Ship ghosts from the Admiral's battle, n' the ghosts of men, o' the second ah'm glad tae prove it false. Young Carver be m'nephew, his father Hugh was m'brother. Please, wot has been offered or countered, should it please ye tae catch me up?"
Carver MacDonald "Shares within the business...uncle....from the Lady, we seek a return o' some o' our ancestral land, and promise tae give workmen tae their houses, ships fer their fleet.."
Lord Dublain MacDonald "M'nephews offer is generous, yet as chieftain might I seek tae ask why he seeks land beyond Kyleakin? This is good southern estate, and in the North we are nay destitute men enough tae seek treason." They ate on the land he walked as a child before Chloestrain was even born, but unlike Hugh and Carver, he knew how to let go of all the earth could give (d)
Lady Chloestrain MacGregor
She retook her seat, and waved a hand summoning food and drink for the newly come McDonald, moss green hues lowered as not to offend by staring at the scarred countence that had seen many wars and lost sight in one eye for his trouble... Her mind worked furioulsy as Carver recounted the talks up until this point and listened to Dublain's question.. " I apprised Lord McDonald, that I could not bequeth lands that were bestowed upon the McGregors by the hand of Our Majesty... such and act might be considered treason, or at the least ungrateful and bad form, though I could offer shares in industry and monatary compensation, for a civilized outcome to this dissigreement " she watched both men with a wary eye, wondering if this were a ploy between the two, if she were truly outnumbered once more, of if, indeed the man wearing the symbol of the Gryphon was as it's King, good and true (d)
Lord Dublain MacDonald
"Ye are right Lady MacGregor, we ought not defy the will o' the King, elected by the Bruce God rest his soul," The MacDonalds cross themselves at the mention of the dead, for even the most vile were Catholic for the sake of civility, "His Holiness, his people, n' God. We are none tae defy such will. While m'nephew made the offer it is one MacDonald will rescind." He felt the snarl from Carver richocet over him in a wave, as he negotiated for all of the clan, seperatist and none. Either way he was in grave danger. Either enforce the will of the King or they defy, join the fray as more than likely he would to still defy. Negotiate and live a day, defy the King again with the inevitable battle of his own family. He brought to he table with him a bomb as potent as the homemade mixtures the lady commisioned of the holy sect in the Abbey. "Kyleakin is kept by the grace o' the King, for there were enough loyalists," at one time, "there tae nay ruin the enterprise it could give the Isle, for recall the first time Sleat was taken tae the ground..none profited then. None will profit again, for this will ignite the whole o' the peninsula. Ah propose tha' those whom wish tae stay in south stay as is proper, under their hosts banner, n' those who seek family succor acknowledge the rule o' the clan from Raasay, as is granted by the King. In return for such a withdraw," ensuring plowshares remained, not sword artists, as he invited the serpents to his own haven, " We might keep Kyleakin and let it be a seat we both share, in concordance wih a new charter we might draft atwixt us aye? A new call of peace far better tae present tae the king than offendin his sensiblity.."
Carver MacDonald "But uncle, wot o' our heritage, the people are scarred,"
Lord Dublain MacDonald
"Nephew, m'kin, speak nothin tae me o' scarred," He laughed, they laughed, tensly. His nephew, you see ,joined the fray that did the deed unto Dublain. They took down his horse. "Our place upon earth is short, heaven be fer'er, n' let us nay forget tha' lest we grow shortsighted. Surely we may seek common means, alliance, a shared seat such as ye dae, MacGregor, with the MacSween at Broadford." He stressed that last to call attention to a forgotten element, "They seat out of Elgol, but take Torrin as well, Soay Isle, Loch Svanang...Broadford is a natural border but ye both MacGregor and MacSween share rich farmin land n' benefit from the trade, surely such could be done in Kyleakin. And a marriage is also traditional." He passed her a look conveyed in his sightless eye, for it still moved! It all but said You haven't a broadford to negotiage with now, trust and believe he's taken it, tryin to trap us all below here. Rest and believe we are all in danger( d)
Lady Chloestrain MacGregor
She almost breathed a sigh of relief as Dublain took off the lands as part of the bargining chip, for she had no right nor authority to grant lands, money and shares she could but not lands, but as he spoke of marriage she paled, would she ever send another woman to a arranged marriage to live a life as she had been forced into , nothing more than a brood mare for an alliance and a bloodline.. " The Shares of Industry and compensation of monies will be drawn up by the clerics by nightfall for us to sign an accord, on the subject of Marriages, there will have to be further negotiations as I am sure you understand the intimate nature requres both parties to be in aggreance , not only the heads of the Clan.. " she blushed soflty an enderaing act no doubt, ment to make the men think her sensitive and feminine.. it was just as she was about to stand and offer her hand to Dublain, that cries from outside the tent sounded, the thundering sound of hooves, and men, battle cries, and war...her eyes widened in the horror, as she realized the battle had started and they were in the middle of it.. almost comically inside their tent, a table laden with silver and rich foods, commended by servants while outside, the world went mad.. A page boy ran inside the tent flap yelling the news.. " The McDonalds... slaughtered all those in Broadford, and set em afire... burned em to ashes they did.. " as he spoke his eyes widened and blood formed at his mouth spilling forth in some odd chilling drama, like a play, it was a silken scarf of purest red,and arrow slam thru his skull from outside, as he fell foreward, she turned.. looking at Carver with eyes that condemend him to the realms of which lucifer ruled... " You killed your own Kinsman.. and burnt them out..?" she was unbeliving.. this handsome man, who sat genteely eating scones only moment before was such a butcher..(d)
Lord Dublain MacDonald
"Of course, m'lady. There would be a better thin' then us sittin on a field, and far more thought. Tis..delicate.." He smiled at the formation of color brushing feminine cheeks as the bittersweet reality of knowing no woman MacDonald or otherwise would do nothing but pale at his appearance or turn scarlet for embarrasment in prolonged staring made it comical that he had an eye left to appreciate her beauty. At least Searc chose well - a woman who would give her life to defend his holdfast. How blessed was he that a woman would give forth her own blood not of his own clan unto this one.
Carver MacDonald "Uncle, is this the will o' the people?"
Dublain MacDonald "Aye it shall be for it is my will." The terse tones were rife with a declaration of war between uncle and nephew, and just before argument could be breeched between kinsmen the war took hold while they sat pretty in a woman's dream of salvation by beautification. As the boy came in the MacDonald had already risen, for it they were not the oldest family on the Isle by electing to be stagnant. The boy's face was wild with the dramatic re-telling of the bodies that burned the town from under trenches! Of beatings, hangings, lynching! But before he could, like in some Shakesperean play, like Titus Andronicus of the blood show..he fell forward a sign of the escaped conflict but no survival on the field just beyond.
Carver MacDonald "Aye, if they be nay fer their clan they are nothin and deserve nothin! Unlike yer beloved King we take no quarter nor give it bytch!" He laughed, men drawing swords. He overturned the table with one hand! The china broke, the food mingled with spilled beverage. With one boot he crushed the sign of hospitality as the men began to advance on one another, and he for her! Dublain was not motionless - he was still quick for his impairments dodging a blow from his nephew's right hand man before delivering one that cleaved the sword in the skull. "Broadford has fallen to m'men, Kyleakin always ours n' ye played the fool for years!" Doing battle with one of her associates swords clashed, Carver was better than good! He was made for battle, the finest of Scotland's men! Ha! His enemey stumbled back on one of the tipped vases before he stepped on the leg, sending the bare limb through the glass with his foot, his sword into Macgregor gullet.
Lord Dublain MacGregor "RUN!" Dublain created a hole in which to dive for Cholestrain, throwing her backwards to start her..but Carver had the advantage of men confusing all of their actions. Peace fell to pieces. Blood spilled, the battle begun, and now they would all be reliant on the King's and Queen's mercy to save them lest they allow them all to burn, and the cycle start anew. How long it raged, what was done? Many stories would arise of the gracious, beautiful MacGregor Lady whom sought peace but found bloodshed for her effort. There would be memory of blood rivers running, spatters on the flowers.Screams clashing with church bells. What stood out to Dublain was his frantic search not for his kinsmen, but for the MacGregor woman he would find behind an arms tent. He would take her thus into his arms. Let it be known that there were those who saw him take a MacGregor further through MacGregor lands! They could kill him even now for this. Everywhere he turned, death a possiblity! Yet he knew now was the time to unify what was left of his clan's sense unto him through alliance with the woman who's husband ruined them all, or Carver would do far worse. "Don't ye become mum, woman," he muttered as he passed her unto the arms of her kin, "they will still need your voice, or we will all have nothin. Mark me! Do nay forget this. Kyleakin is passage tae the mainland. Ye will need tae secure it, we will. I, like ye, have much tae protect." (d)
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on May 4, 2010 20:31:28 GMT -6
The sounds of war make no distinct echo so far in the North-East; it is an impression only made on the brain wherein any noise at all is fashioned. Battle's cry was a refrain sung constant in the mind of both on the shores that night. She contemplated it, he made ready other things for it. The feeling of Southern agression coupled with a sense of urgency led to action. One not need always fight with sword, nor shield, beast or bow. The mind is just as powerful a tool for it will be the mind that begins to unravel the treachery long working against the good in Struan, or at least the well meaning. It will root out the ruin in Argyll.
We all have some agenda.
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
Not even a handful of days passed in the reign of the Queen; fresh as the mint on the coronation coin, the side of either husband or wife, king or queen gleamed no matter what light it was put in. The sun was not yet gone from the sky. Evening was on the air by the way the wind drew cooler to signal that the orb of fire was retreating for the one of silver's impending advance. Encrusted pearls, diamonds sat a circlet's shape against the unbound hair that was a fashion she gave unto the women of the Isle. How many uncovered, adorned heads now existed in an age where modesty was supreme? Turas Lan still glowed constant in homeage of the coronation, day and night lamps shimmering up and down the coast and still the good Queen felt a lack of completion in process. She had laughed, she had drunken wine. Yet as her mind thought upon the duty of office to execute she realized a certain lack of represenation from particular allied families. It was no coincidence that her majesty was facing South, then, was it? Aye, she had even come down from her gilded halls to face the South from the shore, as she had sailed from this point five years agone to face the fires Sleat had become (d)
Jack Trades
In the growing shadows of the twilight, one grew larger faster than the others. It rose and took shape as a burly figure clad in a black oilskin poncho and broad-brimmed hat, well recognized amongst the new royalty through largely unkown to the populus. The iconic profile yet still shaded the man underneath. The rhtyhmic thump of hob-nailed boots carried his bulk down the shore, approaching unobtrusivley as the new Queen stared out. Coming to a casual halt near her, the hearty voice rumbled in an uncharacterisitcally quiet fashion. " 'Allo Bess. I heard the news. How does this eve find ye?"
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
"'Ello Sir Trades, tha' is wot ye are within the court though ye ne'er behave it," the anytime sense of humor came out in the thick, tell-tale brogue of the Highland royal, "Lord o' esteem indeed yet nay land will ye take fer thyself nor make a single root, though one would say perhaps wot ye've done in deed is root enough. Come here. Look with me South. Tis the source o' m'thoughts. The Island celebrates at the same time it sheds blood..neither MacGregor, nor MacDonald o' the North, nor Robertson were at the Coronation, three families in standin with us.The remainin MacDonald o' Sleat have done their deed, n' there is war there e'en as lights shine here bright enough tae mask the possiblity o' smoke. Ah noticed there were also fewer Argylls, there as well. MacLeans. I called fer the Chieftain o' MacDonald, the true man, but he has ridden with the Griffin retinue tae cease the fightin, but none of them have returned with word nor wound tae show." (d)
Jack Trades
"Sir? I-" The wrinkled brim swiveled to center on her before sliding slowly back towards the South at her bidding. The reply came slowly after her words were allowed to ferment a little. "Hm, I wouldnae expect them tae tarry long if a resolution was tae be had. If blood is already shed, and towns burn, then I'd expect nae quick end. I took the liberty of doing some research on our military strength. I know ire is a point of pride, but I brought some points better used fer fightin'. Here." Without ceremony, from under the oilskin poncho was produced a rectangular box a little longer than a man's arm and a bit bigger than a fist around, made of wood.Sporting a leather handle and sling, it was handed to her gruffly at torso heighto bring her a bit more to the present. (d)
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
"Fickle memory old man? Twas after the Valley o' Stars and durin' the Wars o' Liberation tha' ye were given such due 'afore ye sailed off intae yon sunset, but ye would nay be whom ye be if ye did nay. Now, Ah hope ye will tarry awhile. Ah'v eneed o' ye. Research on our military strength, wot find ye fer the Griffin Army, strongest within the waters n' point o' ire with those on Europe..." She took the box over to a rock to better examine it. Their supposed solitude was overseen by the likes of Brom. He was joined by fellow members of his class, for the pair of relatives whom served as guardians rightly enjoyed respite from the constant vigil with instruction to begin their acquisition of items for living. The leather handle, the sling..she still awaited the explaination with rapt attention. You see, the goodly Queen never lost her ability to fathom the warrior's way. She merely rescinded public display of its skill. "Come Lord Jack, teach yer queen." (d)
Jack Trades
The brim dipped a in a nod as a hint of a good-natured chuckle escaped the shadow, half before he was aware of it. "Perhaps 'twas knocked from me. Though I be glad ye've nae forgotten. What I've brought ye is something I've encountered in me travels. Light, cheap, and easy tae make. If ye were a pikeman or a handgonner, do ye think ye'd be able tae carry one of these as in addition tae yer main armament?" The folds of oilskin parted and a second box, this one conical in shape was produced. Box were straight but unadorned. A hook as released from the larger end of the box and the fron panne fell away. Inside were a dozen needle point bodkin arrows held in place by wooden board with angled holes drilled into them that matched the angle of the box's exterior. Each arrow had a tube made of wood and ceramic lashed to its shaft near the head. Each tube had a fuse linked and tied together. "It be called a "Hou Jian", for "fire arrow" as the translatin goes. I've modified it a bit since plant life around here be a bit different." (d)
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
:"Knocked, nay hardly. Tha' would need tae be one blow tae take down the man known as Jack Trades." The sea breeze whipped up around them to give motion to things made of oil skin or out of grand silk. Her hip leaned into the rock despite the evident dirt that could put flecks of itself on the gown. "Ye've been tae the lands in the Orient..." mystical reverance in her tone, a sense of awe as she studied the weaponry presented as others would look upon fine gems. Was the military advancement not the work of the King, of men? In halls, at tables, on the fields had not the King sanctioned many advancements? By the seashore would come another, out of a feminine appreciation for the practical application of Asian quickness. "Hou Jian. this will be taken tae the General, and under my order, studied and replicated tae be applied tae his best, quickest learned men on foot. Tell him he is tae utilize the Guardian's expertise with guidin pikemen in this venture as well. Hou Jian." She ruled equal with the King - sceptor, orb, - all placed in hand despite that order dictated power only be his. What would it be if she didn't use this. "Ye've been promoted, Master Trades. Ye shall become an agent 'o' the crown on behalf of invention and advance, wot ye self create n' wot ye procure in yer travels. This should please m'general greatly n' m'husband can nay rationally seek out all ends of earth himself, where ye hae leave tae travel..Ye aer such a man tae understand all tha' Adam brings tae the military, n' such a man with the Might of the General is a potent combination...Hou Jian." She stood, looking at both of the boxes before her mind began to work further. Eyes Southward again...she said, "Ah've another thing to ask of you Jack Trades.
Jack Trades
The brim rose up a little as she mentioned the Orient. In the fading light, a glimmer of a smile could be seen in the darkening shade under the brim. "Ah, 'tis refreshing tae be amongst learned people." The brim lowered, but then snapped back to attention at the mention of promotion. A breath was taken to speak, but he stammered just a moment before falling silent as she looked South again. The brawny frame stood stolidly as the brim dipped in a nod. "Aye, what would ye ask, M'Queen?" (d)
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
"Aye. Learned by route, Trades, by route. You will nay find a Queen elsewhere tha' can claim tae know many places by ship n' by sight, by trade, like yer name. See tha' this gets tae the armory for safe keepin, n' a message tae Maahes where it is, wot it be for, n' tae see tha those tha' need see it draw diagams o' it and creation of it will begin instantly on your return, explain it in yer new posistion, and tha' with his Grace ye may hold as revered a place in his army as you will in my court. For now? Tae the castle. M'brother n' nephew are in respite as befits their need, but I see another as skilled as Brom tae have with me. Ye will look the part of yer posistion fer this venture. We ride, Jack..but not South." said the mind of the Queen as she walked away from such, pointing instead outward toward the West..." West, n' Northwest..many have extendin wish n' promise tae hold feast n' festitvity fer the court, let them make due upon it. Robertson, Argyll are tha' way. Should it gae amiss MacLeod n' Campbell be true. But we may see a bit o' this...problem, tae solve outright. Wot gaes South is not Southernly funneled..tis like sieve..like the points o this weapon tha' explode outward..it has a source. We will see who defies the will o' the King, n' wot we would ask the men tae advance tae. Come, come we make haste!" She could not ride south to impending doom, yet to progress toward celebratory functions veiling gnashing teeth? One was only slightly better than the other by surface appearance, "The more m'retinue, the more tis easier tae leave, hurry man!" (d)
Jack Trades
The front panel was quickly and easily re-hooked. A few easy motions reclaimed the other huo jian and tucked them both under the folds of oilskin cloth. With the urgency of her words, the brawny frame thumped alongside her, but spoke calmly as they walked. "Bess, I've found much reason tae respect ye, and truly I be grateful at this turn, but I must protest. I can pass on the information, and set production in motion. I am happy tae be an agent fer ye...but I am nae much cut fer the likes of court. I'd be much better suited tae stand off stage.(d)
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
"I take tha' as a sign o' trepidation, n' tis nay a good mark tae defy yer Queen sae early on. Besides, a simple shirt o' linen n' good trews with boots, nothin' tha' will make ye an abhorrid stand about. E'en blac. Appealin'? Nay changin m'mind. Yer quick n 'ride, quick n' purpose, n' a Lord I do nay need tae pull out o' bed tae appease me. Will o' the Queen, Will o' the Isles." She shrugged in a casual manner but couldn't hide the smile, nor did she try. Oh if only such means were invented to freeze the moment forever. What lurked beneath the oil skin, the wide brim anyhow? Shortly she would see. "Ye can nay gae about all day lookin like Death as I can nay gae about all day in old boots, ye get used tae it." Though truth be told she just had new boots made for beneath those fine dresses, and only ghille leather slippers were favored, by no means did she wear silk shoes. The castle was not far from this point, when one knew the ways the Queen preferred , "Brom, we make headway, tae leave the city this eventide?" "Majesty?" "Aye..the revels are all hours, n' we travel with entourage enough. Tis as lit as day! Gae ahead n' secure the passage. We must introduce the crown's newest agent." (d)
Jack Trades
"I was afriad ye'd say that." A grumble rumbled within the barrel chest. "Already ye ask much of me. Truly, I'd rather face down a cavalry charge with a tree limb than show me face in court." The brawny frame kept walking as the entourage formed and directions were given. "And ye need nae tell me that it could be arranged fer defyin' ye. I may take ye up on it. Can ye promise me that the exposure will be short?" (d)
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
"Aye, we return on the morrow. Tis still just twilight yet, n' the ride will place us there just as night truly settles. Learn tae live with it Trades." She grinned over her shoulder, enough to bring a grumbling man to sixes and sevens. Be damned, all things feminine. At the stame time it might afford him a tree to hide in, a sword to brandish. They walked up a hilly terrain beyond the shore, shielded in stone walls, trees from prying eyes. Her steps were spry despite the narrow passage's mist slick steps. (d)
Jack Trades
The grumble continued until the rhythmic thump paused. The brim made no attempt to disguise a turn towards the deepening shadows and thickening foliage. Then it turned upwards to the the semi-lit sky where a few stars twinkled to the north. A whisper left his lips, though fell dead to silence just after pasing his nose. "Through mist and shadow, to the edge of night...maybe this is the path, Mother..." A moment passed and the birm leveled towards the still grinning Queen as she led on. A grumbled curse left him as the rhythmic thump resumed, following her. "g'd**nit." (d)
Queen Beathag Aberdeen
What was inspiring him then to follow her up this path, out into the world which he didn't favor? Was it what could come of it, the allure of the unknown, an adventure? The King's Will was only part of Beathag's reason, though it equated to a great deal of the reason. Much as they climbed a path she was finding a place for her on one that called for the excersising of equal will; the practice had gone one-sided because of her withdrawal, not Adam's demand. He loved her as she was - and always would have - but Time is said to fashion better things of us. Could it become possible then to not know what Time had done to you? Yes, she thought so. Keeping behind high walls, relying on the chance for news to fall from reliable lips was not the same a using her eyes to see. She was also guilty of having taken a lover to the royal bed; the land itself thrummed hard in her veins and for the longest time, she ignored it. Once at the top of the incline, they would come to the guarded, personal doorway of Her Majesty for it to be opened. It led into a room of study beside her collection of Maps. "At yer leave, Trades, I can give m'will n' ye can have assistance from the Keep of the Wardrobe." Hands moved over the map held upon the wall, fingers idly caressing worn edges before going up through the heart of where they would ride. (d)
Jack Trades
The brim lingered on the doorway as they passed through. While the spoke, the shrouded man stood stolidly, facing towards her and the map. "Very well." The words were more grumbled than spoken, but brim nodded as he turned as if mounted upon hinges towards the exit. Finding a servant, a short and gruff request was made for such assistance. Off he was led and all was silent until a muffled roar rumbled down through the hallways. "Out I said!" (d)
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Post by King Adam Aberdeen I on May 20, 2010 4:52:05 GMT -6
Running was for cowards, children, the infirm and aged, the female. Of the following the female was not given the chance to run far. Carver thought to himself in the instance of watching her form vanish behind the flutter of the unbound tent canvas that fear fueled conquest would be better than submission. He would never receive her submission outright, oh no. There was a part of him that wanted her fight as much as she detested the idea of the man's touch. Was she now thinking to scald the hand his mouth had touched in manner's sweet custom? The exchange had gone as rancid as the milk curdling in the heat of the sun that climbed up with slow encroach; time was suspended in his mind.
Arrows soared beyond his head in a distance that should have spiraled closer and closer. Somehow, he and his prey were out of orbit. Her short fleeting steps marked a path in the grass bent under her shoe. His eyes were allowed by the brain to drink in the detail of bent blade falling on crushed flower. Carver was not a poet, but far more elegant in speech than his brother Tiol had ever been. Maybe she loathed herself, near seduced by his eloquence? He took a few strides as he launched his body into a run, the bull towards a cloth of red. Powerful legs propelled him through space as his arms pumped until the second one reached out to take hold of the back of her neck. With the other, he caught up a flailing arm to twist it hard behind her back. "Ah. There."
No clash of men, beast, or sword could hide the word from her ear no doubt. His violence was as potent as his elegance. Air was taken in and out by his nostrils. They flared in spasms, making hard, hot breathe rush through the baby thin hairs. Before she could think, before she could act he took advantage of the space consisting of another tent, abandoned save for weapons leaning upon poles, against the floor. How appropriate, he would rend her asunder in the scene of her own creation: falsified honor to the Clan MacGregor.
He watched her body be thrown hard inside until it hit the center wooden stake. He threw her as he would a man, and why not? She paraded as a man in a man's affairs, so why not take such consequence. If she were a man though, he would not take as much enjoyment. Searc's head would not hold the same symbolism as Chloestrain's spread thighs, but it mattered little.
"Look. Wot ho? The Whore o' Skye. Robertson's whore, MacGregor Slutton. Ah know ye, yer history is as plain as mine. My kin's madness against yer kin's malady." He strode across the floor and reached out a hand to pin her head and neck against that pole by the sheer force of his hand. He was rock made flesh. Like a butterfly on a wheel he'd crush the windpipe without thinking. "Scream n' ye will rue it. Dun be fool enough tae think it would be yer death either. Unlike ye weak, snivelin' ilk Ah'd cut the lot o' ye down at the knees by the next generation first, yer children. Yer men ye've sent tae die." He pulled a MacGregor banner out of his tartan, bloodied with his kin, and portions of hers. He pushed it to her nose, wiped it against her cheek.
Upon the morn’s dew, Iain and his men rode to the crest of the valley’s highest point. Below was a tent between two large clan forces… tartans, mixed, and consolidated were donned by the men formed into lines. Horses were at points designated by commanders’ choice and beside them stood clan guidons…
Before him lie the finest of MacDonald, north and south, the fierce Borderers upon the side of the southern… across from them flew the banners of the MacGregor… Now which would he attack? Set upon this journey, he had the intent to kill the MacGregor, specifically Searc… even to defy the Mo’r Triath’s words… But he had not expected to find MacDonald…
The choice was made for him, no need to dissect the facts and presumptions, for the facts now took place in the tent. Swords flailed, men screamed in pain… No doubt someone had sought parlay, and some did not. Now a gesture of peace turned ugly with the traitorous acts of defying parlay.
Iain looked at his men, then to his subordinate commanders. “Prepare for the attack… pass the word… Fight no MacGregor… Defend the homeland, kill the MacDonald…” then Iain stood in the stirrups, his sword raised… his bellowing loud… “Death to the MacDonald !!!!”
The 100 men of the Robertson and MacLeod bore down upon the southern flanks of the Borderers on the MacDonald left…
From the north, rode another 50 men… these were the MacGregor men from the Oisles Academy, led by Kane, all dressed in black, the curved sword flailing in the wind spurring the men onward toward the MacDonald’s right flank… Riding beside Kane was Mark Collier… donned in battle armour as if he was destined to fight…
Like the horns of a bull, the army of the MacDonald were caught in a pincher formation… with Chloestrain and her men, both footsoldiers and cavalry in the middle, Iain and his men on horseback from the south, and Kane and Mark’s men riding in from the north, all converging upon the MacDonald in the valley.
Whether she knew it or not, Chloestrain’s efforts of parlay, laid the foundation, for the MacDonald to be too relaxed, Figuring the MacGregor would be left to manage her own, most of the MacDonald men gathered inside the valley. Little did Carver MacDonald expect forces from the Robertson, Macleod, Argyll, and northern MacGregor from the Oisles…
Meanwhile, Lord Alexander and the wife of Iain, Keliana, made their way to Turas Lan to represent the Robertson and Reed clans at the coronation of the new king. Alexander, feeble and weak, but not so near death that he could not plants seeds of distrust, spent most of the day in bed at the Blue Castle. Meanwhile, Keliana was negotiating with Clan representatives at the Parliament, regarding the actions Iain now took against the Mo’r Triath’s words.
By the time the actual crowning took place, and the procession back to Griffin Castle took place, Alexander’s men positioned his makeshift bed near the new King’s dais, just off to the side. As the King and Queen took their positions upon the throne and the fealty line had been started, Keliana stood in line for Alexander.
Keliana curtseyed deep when she stood before the King… meanwhile Alexander’s men carried the cot near the dais. “Mae liege, King o’Celts… Ah offer mae fealty in the name of mae son, Iain… for the clan Robertson unto the new King… Ah, in his sted, offer everlasting faithful service to every clansmen…” he began to cough… and soon at the King’s inquiry, Alexander began to tell the sordid details of Iain’s traitorous acts of war. Lying, deceit, and placing ill thoughts into the King’s head at a fealty ceremony. Here was the scene of a Leaders wife, caring for the ill Father whilst the Leader was out fighting a clan war declared illegal by the Mo’r Triath’s own decree. Iain was placed where his father wanted him… as evil in the eyes of the new King.
As the old man Robertson gave his fealty to the new king, men of the clans were embattled in a blood fight that none would actually win… Skye had fought several wars of freedom and foundation, and now the King of a new Nation shall decide the fate of those that survive the battle in Sleat. From the east rode the Borderers and the MacDonald South… and from the north rode the Robertson and MacLeod… and from the south were the MacGregor… Now in the middle, each found the banner as to which to do combat.
Iain rode deep into the lines of the enemy, slashing and gashing those of the MacDonald colors… His men enveloping into the opposing forces until one could not witness the formations of lines any longer… The last anyone could say of Laird Iain, was his horse being spiked by a pikeman… and falling over backward… but in the mix of humans, Iain was fighting alongside his men, sword to sword, block and attack, plunge and stab… life was fleeting as the battle raged on.
Kane and Mark rode into the fray, both men ejecting themselves from their horses to fight upon areas too rocky for a horse…There the clansmen of the MacGregor found alongside the stranger named Mark… The field of battle was distinguished only by color of cloth and banner… and Mark swung his sword left and right… cleaving a man’s arm to render him useless in battle… as he spun he cleaved a man’s head from his shoulder’s, the blood splattering all over him. Soon, Mark was not the only man to wear another’s blood; the colored cloth of the clans were rapidly becoming the same colors… dark reddish-brown stains upon heraldic reds and blues…
Leaning down to take a breath, Mark peered thru the helm eye-slit, only to see the banner of the Robertson nearby. He stood erect to see friends and Iain close by, the Laird’s arm wielding a sword, against Borderers…
As Mark started toward to assist him, the man holding the banner fell… and as the flag fluttered downward, mentally, his mind reflected back to what Shyvonne had told him. He sidestepped the flag… right into the path of a large bald warrior with an axe… and it was poised to smite his head into halves… Back to reality, Mark brought his sword up just in time to slow the axe, but the force of the blow would knock him backwards… the sword flying from his hands.
As the bald man struck again, Mark crawled backwards upon the ground, scampering away, the blade of the axe just missing his groin between spread legs… And as the man raised the axe again to split Mark in half… the man got an odd look upon his face, as a sword tip protruded from stomach…
The giant of a man turned, and Iain was standing there with no sword in his hand, as it was still stuck in the bald warrior’s back. The axe raised to cleave Iain. Mark started to get up… but Kane… the man came from nowhere to wretch the sword from the bald warrior’s back, ripping and tearing the man’s back to shreds… entrails following the gaping hole left by the sword. The giant fell forward, face first into the blood-soaked mud.
“Get up Mark, no time to sleep boy…” Kane yelled at Mark as he let go of the sword, tossing it to him… “I dunna nae ‘ave time tae baby sit yae….”
Mark looked for Iain, but the Laird had grabbed yet another weapon and had made his way back into the fight. Now Mark looked at the sword Kane tossed to him… it was Iain’s… the very one that commanded the Robertson for years. How something so insignificant to some, meant so much to others… and Mark followed his Lord into battle…
Swords clashed, men screamed… This was battle the old fashioned way… sword and axe, spear and pike… No new weapons, no cannon, no explosives, no ships firing meters away at a target… and in the evening, lie dead or wounded were several hundred men… men whose blood once again anointed freedom over ancient old loyalties… Would this be the end of the clans under the united formalities of the new Gaelic Nations? Or just another mark in time for clan wars?
What started as a personal fight over a woman, had progressed into a clan war of some 1000 men. To some, a woman’s heart and love was worth the fight… To others, the wealth of land was worth the price of death.
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on May 20, 2010 20:01:03 GMT -6
The Battle: Perspectives I. Carver The MacGregor banner was soiled; the blood of the men who went out to fight on her 'inspired' order came back to haunt in the refuse of their fluids painting the hard, cold portrait of reality. They were dead. MacDonald blood dried along the edges. A calculated, cold heart recieved no push to emotion as the fire licked at the last framework of weak houses built by traitorous slanterns and the people whom were harbored there. Nothing moved him. Bodies collected in trenches with oil poured on them. Thick, black clouds of acrid smoke burned fat but he looked on them all as cattle fallen to a sickness, needing to be culled for the preservation of the heard. "Now, ye," he began, laughing, " ye are nay like 'em. Ye are more like me than ye realize Chloestrain MacGregor. Undesired n' given the last of wot the family could afford ye, a pretty thing lost in the mire o' twisted lies n' moral abhorrance, only tae come again untae the same. Mm. Ye dae well with wot ye 'ave, but ye shan't forget me.". The picture of the beaten woman was only completed for him when he bound her hands with the tartan. Legs that flailed were pinned by the boulder that was Carver MacDonald. Unrelenting, he could have driven all the air from her body with one knee in to her diaphram, he could have collapsed a lung by breaking a rib. He could have done ten thousand things but what he chose was no less vivid in how hard his hand came across the face that only moments ago it seemed blushed with feminine allure. As capillaries broke, he watched the stain smeer out. This was the proper place for a whore. "Ye fancy yerself man enough tae stand among the ancient peerage, n' it was we whom held the Kings favor ,n' the island, long before you're turn at glory." He spoke to her with steel rods barbing in his tone, making it ram-rod with unforgiving essence that could hold her to the ground in as much as his hands. His anger was tadamount in action but his features were not the zeal of a man whom would take what he pleased. Oh no. This was not to say he would not enjoy the moment that came when he waged his own war with her, but it was a taking of substance with meaning. II Dublain The tent was torn to shreds as the reality outside of the parlay presented him with a nightmare to navigate. Smoke stung his eyes as with sword he cut down any that came to him. He tried to warn them, yelling with thick brogue his purpose there. He fought MacDonald with indifference, he fought MacGregor with no consequence. If he didn't find Chloestrain, all of this would be for naught. It wouldn't matter what side they sat upon or who's banner they agreed to hoise in the end, all of them would seen prison. Worse, they might see a noose for the illegal nature of their actions. "Lady MacGregor!" he bellowed, turning to the last place he had seen his impromptu ward. The moment of heroism shattered when his nephew proved one second too quick, one move too damaging. Fever infected the young minds around him as the fighting for honor and glory was falsified by their badges, their tartans. Ha! He knew the glory of a world where plaid was all but what was patterned after sheered sheep coats, when the weight of a name was enough. Now, he watched obtuse headed youth die in their own foolish pagentry. To their credit? He was no better, because he placed some small bit of stock in a color for his name. In a coat of arms. In a land. Falling backward over the body of a page, he used the body of a squire too young to know how he had died to bolster up the aged man who outlived him. He speared forward some man's standard only to pick up the sword that had fallen at his left to feel the magnificent pressure of it going through the navel. MacDonald men were beasts of magnificent burden, and at least any that died didn't do so in a weak fashion. The tradition of being the credit to the liege's army lived on in either branch of the family, but it was the North that would live again. He decided that, cemented it in his brain when he rose, bruised, his one good eye locking on a path to take in the distance. When this was over, when he had the woman back to where she belonged, he was going to hold the rest of the clan by more than just writ. Either those of the South would come to homecoming in the North, or if the South were so fargone..there would be blood to be paid. He was the only legal, true chieftain. Not Carver. For the sake of his own fealty, his persecuted kin, and what was just in the world he would kill the last of his brother's children and take all the mantle of MacDonald Chieftain proper. As he watched men of the Griffin emerge in to the fray, instead of joining them, he retreated to continue his search for the MacGregor woman. This was no country for old men, but he would rewrite that fact soon enough.
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Post by Shyvonne MacGregor on May 22, 2010 15:11:10 GMT -6
Shyvonne: It was surprising to receive a letter from her mother, albeit cryptic in the days after Kane and Mark's departure from Oisles to defend not only Searc and Chloe but the MacGregor Clan at Cartervalle Abbey to find out that Searc was not in fact at the Abbey but safe back at Dunsgate still healing but safe. At least her heart could relax some but there had been no news about the progress to Cartervalle. Where they there? What had happened? No news was not good news. She had only been able to send supplies with the men. Water, Bred and Bandages. It was not enough, not in her eyes, and when she could stand it no longer she had her horse saddled and road out of the gates leaving Robin in Leigha hands for she trusted her the most even though she trusted all her staff to head to Dunsgate for news. Part of it was also checking on her family. Hard she rode and without stopping so by the time she passed through the gates at dusk, she was tired and sore from one position for so long. Passing her reigns over to a stable hand she took a moment to collect herself and work out her stiff muscles as she pulled the hood of her cloak back and moved within.
Searc: It was late in the evening, when the doors of Dunsgate were opened to admit the youngest daughter, Already her mother had gone to her bed for the night, it would be morning before the Lady Ivella would rise, the ancient Matron, having suffered sleepless night while Searc's life hung in the balance, and war loomed over their heads like a dark cloud... Medicine in the form of good Scottish whiskey had indeed eased her into slumber this eve, and even the arrival of her youngest daughter could not rouse her.. However Searc did not fare as well.. Travill had left without explanation.. leaving Searc in a horrid mood that made the servants cringe and draw lots to find out who the poor bastard was that would have to tend the irate chieftain. Tonight found him pacing slowly, his wounds keeping him from a faster pace, a walking stick helped him balance.. his body was healing but still stiff and pained with each step, ashen gray skin held a ruddy tone. Loose flowing pants and a white lawn shirt.. moved agitatedly, He felt a coward, safely tucked away in Dunsgate, when Chloe was off defending Sleat.. He damned her for the injury she cause him , but admired her courage and her defense of their people.. perhaps he found something of worth in her after all these years.
Angus]: "My Lady Shyvonne, we were not expecting you!" The doorman chimed as the door banged open rousing him from slumber in a chair near it where he had taken to resting in all honesty believing no one would come late into the night.
Shyvonne:Despite her own nerves, Shyvonne smiled. "Angus, its always good to see you too" She chimed as she loosened in the pin holding her cloak closed and pulled it off her shoulders while folding it in half in one fluid movement and handing it over to him. "How is your Lady wife?" She questioned while casting an eye about at the quiet and eerie tension hanging in the halls. "Where is everyone?"
Angus]:Taking the cloak, Angus head bowed and the older man grinned sheepishly at being caught sleeping and yet no harsh words were spoken of it by the young woman he had seen grow up within the halls. "Oh she be just fine my lady, just fine. Well uhh, your mother went abed early, don't know where yer sister be but yer brother be in his rooms. He's in a bad mood my lady. Should I have someone prepare your rooms?" He inquired while following her down the hall.
Shyvonne:"No, I shall not be staying long. Will you someone prepare some tea for Searc and me? Perhaps some bread and broth too and bring it up." She turned another smile on the man before gliding towards the stairs as Angus protested her going up and then relented to see her wishes done. She didn't bother knocking. If she caught him with his lover well it would only serve to put to rest the doubt in her mind after all these years. The door was shoved inward and she stepped within. The room was stale with sickness and her nose wrinkled as she pushed the door closed then moved to slide the latch off the window and push it open to let the night air in before she turned, hands pressed together and posed at her stomach to regard her brother.
Searc: He had been in contemplation of the painting that hung over the fireplace, no fire within it at this time of the year, a hunting scene, that had been painted of ancestors long ago, their names lost to antiquity, his eyes were searching the painting looking at the men in it, manly virile men, would people be able to know, just by looking at him, that he was no longer.. a whole man... these were his thoughts as his sister barged into his room.. as usual her youth and her abruptness showing though in her every action.. " Welcome sister... I was not aware you were coming to visit.. come to see if the rumors are true.. that I am dead...?" his tone was wry and self pitying.. " were you not suppose to stay at the Academy .. guarding my son..." little did either of them know that as they bantered back and forth that Vargus was on his way,. by invitation of his wife, to come and deal with the MacGregor Prince .. Robin...once less complication in their bid to take over Sleat and the Clan.
Shyvonne: "You look like you should be dead" She retorted and then turned an eye about the room to see it in a disarray from one of his tempered moods that made the staff quake and quiver enough that they did not want to deal with him. There had been times when Shyvonne knew to stay out of sight in one of his moods but never had she been afraid of him. Perhaps it came in growing up knowing his moods came and went like a thunderous storm, nosey but nothing to it. "He is in good hands and I will be back by dawn" Giving way that she didn't plan to stay long. Her hands dropped to her sides as she sighed and then went about picking up the papers on the floor, righting an overturned chair. "I am surprised you actually care about his well being Searc. You've never interacted with him before. Then again, you claiming a child not of your blood is to be somewhat commended. If it weren't the fact you need an heir, I would all most think you were a good man." She pitted him with a sour and judgmental look as she turned the chair back onto its legs then moved to set the papers on his desk. "Is there any news?" she questioned turning towards him.
Searc: He watched her as she straightened up, and looked almost ashamed of his tantrums..but when she questioned his caring of Robin, and his parentage, his brows shot up. " How did you know that Robin is not my child.. is it common knowledge?" he looked shocked and almost fearful... for a moment he felt a deep well of anxiety overcome him, did the whole of the Clan know that he was not the man he had pretended to be all these years?
Shyvonne: "No it is not common knowledge. If it were, then finding out myself would not of been such a shock." She retorted with a shortness that revealed she was agitated herself. " Slapping her hands against her skirts, she moved to right the pillows and sheets on his bed next and then ushered her hand. "Come get into bed, your still not well and if you die before this war the TWO of you started is ended then it will all be for not." She moved out of the way, keeping a safe and fair distance between herself and her brother least she beat the hell out of him herself. "Now that I have put your self worth to rest, will you tell me if there is any..."She stopped at the knock at the door and moved to pull it open. Smiling at the girl beyond the door, the tray quivering in her hands, Shyvonne took it from her rather then give her a heart attack at actually having to come into the room. Using her foot, she shut the door and moved to a table to slide the tray upon it.
Searc: "When I left Cartevalle, Chloe was setting up camp for the soldiers, other than that... I've had no word.. in days now... I sent a rider to find out this afternoon we expect him back by dawn " he moved to the bed and sat exhaustedly, and gave his sister a look at her chastising ways " We did not start a war with the McDonalds, and the boarders to the north.. No matter the things that have passed between Chloe and I.. it is not your place to judge..Chloe is my wife.. and if she returns to Dunsgate then things will continue to grow well here in Sleat.. if not.. then the future of the MacGregor's is uncertain.. this angst you feel over being left out of the secret of Robins Parentage, is the least of our problems.. Chloe was already pregnant with him when we wed.. there was little else to do but claim him."
Shyvonne: The china on the tray clattered as she gripped the edges and envisioned slamming the silver tray right into his face. "Everyone is all ready judging Searc, perhaps I am the only one brave enough to say something!" She hissed back turning a dark look in his direction. "The MacDonalds never would of attacked had you not..."She growled as she pressed her lips together forming a thin line as she stopped herself, took a breath and continued with a cooler head. "You and Chloe both started this by attacking each other and oh yes, I know the truth of that too. Your so caught up in listening to the very people who would love nothing more then to see you fail and fall then listening to the people who's very lives make yours what it is. That is the difference between us Searc. You think the people of this land exist to provide you with title. I think the people of this land exist for you to provide with them with a future. What good is a land and title worth to an heir when you ignore the people who need you." Sliding a spoon into the bowl of soup she carried it over to him passing it over to his hands as she took his cane from him and leaned it against the bedpost where he could reach it. Gripping his legs, she swung them into the bed and threw the blankets over his lap before moving to fix him and herself a cup of tea. His tea was put on the table beside his bed as she took to a chair beside him. "I'm not expecting you to jump out of bed and go off to fight this battle, your sick and you need to rest and heal here..." Setting her cup aside, she leaned to slide her hands on the bed and touch his arm. "No one is going to think lesser of you for staying here, your supposed to be recovering from the plague as it is but when all is said and done Searc, whatever the outcome, you MUST become the man I have always prayed you would become. There is no worth in land, it can be burned and taken from under your feet but what no one can take is people's loyalty to you and the MacGregor Clan." She squeezed his arm and released it as she sighed. "That is why I stay loyal to this family. In the hopes you will become a better man then you have been. It's been about money and power all my life with you Searc." She stopped again, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn't want to start going into her own relationship with him. She didn't want to be disappointed by finding out that she was really a bag of coins in his eyes as she had felt most of her life. "Land is nothing when you don't have loyalty Searc and you have the ability to become a Chieftain the people would be proud of and a brother I love not just because he is blood." She stayed leaning over the bed, letting the silence fall as her thoughts turned to Mark and her face softened some in thinking of the man. "Someone wise once told me, Love hurts but we all survive in one form or another but love..regardless, love unyielding. This is what you need to give your people Searc. You can rule through fear or you can rule through love but by God you must open your eyes to things around you."
Searc: He took the soup and settled upon the bed, looking softly at her... " I wronged Chloe... and what she did in return.. was.. extreme.. and part of me hates her for it, wishes her dead.. but another part of me admires her for the spirit she is.. I would never tell her this.. never tell anyone.. but there are times.. that I wish I could have loved her.. for she is a woman a man would be proud to call wife. " he looked at his baby sister as she continued her dissertation on the virtues of a clan leader, his look toward her softened slightly.. his hand reaching out to take hers.. " you were always my favorite, I saw promise and talent in you... that is why I didn't want you to marry William... because you would have suffocated in his world..." he patted her hand and then leaned back tiredly.. " Sometimes I feel older than my years... and that my life's end is upon me.. and I have regrets.. more than a man should have in a lifetime already... now I see the disapproval in your eyes.. that I shame you... in my life.. and I regret that.." the soup was set aside on the bedside table almost untouched. The breeze from the window moving the curtains slightly, his grey eyes looked out into the darkness " out there somewhere our fate is decided on a field.. covered in blood. and I lay here helpless to fight or lead... instead She goes for me.. for our people I think she.. is a leader .. such as you wish for... "
Shyvonne: "You should tell her this. I think it would not only surprise her to know but soften her somewhat towards you. She will likely never forgive you for what you did but this would be a start Searc. None of us can now undo what was done. All we can do is make up for what we have started." She hummed, a small note as her lips slightly twitched as if she were going to smile and then didn't. "I think in some way you do love her." She mused. "I never got to see love, Father died before I could even commit him to memory and I knew when you kidnapped Chloe and brought her here, that you didn't love her so I had no idea what it was like except for William but it wasn't the love that felt right, not returned like he loved me. If it weren't for...well I see in some way you care about her, even if you don't want to admit it" Moss green eyes lifted as he patted her hand and she sighed as she took the bowl and put it on the table and leaned back in her chair. "I disapproved of many things you did Searc and I was never silent about it but you have not shamed me, only made me pray harder that something would happen to see a change in you. Maybe finally my prayers are being answered. I all most no longer feel like a bargaining chip." She cokeed a quick smile before leaning again to take his hand. "Yes, our fate rests on a field of blood. People we love are fighting and some will die for a cause but the point is they ARE fighting. Chloe went in your stead but she went for you as much as she did the people. We don't know the outcome yet, we can only pray for the best and then make the best out of it when it does come." She squeezed his hand then cracked a smile as teased him. "You are old brother" She hummed in a small laugh "But your not so old that you cannot change." Her face went somber again. "Your always going to have regrets Searc but your life is not over yet, you won't be able to change your regrets but you can make the best of the future you do have." She paused and then teased again "Perhaps you can start by letting me choose who I marry." She let out a laugh then and reached for his soup and offered it to him again. He really did look like death warmed over.
Searc: He listened and nodded as she spoke of the people who were fighting for their future, those that would die for the Clan MacGregor, and of Chloe...he would not confide in his younger sibling that he could not love her in the way of a man and woman, because he was not a lover of women, but that he did indeed admire her... even with the damage she had done him. " Chloe's Son.. is a MacGregor by her own blood, and will be known as my own... he will be the only heir in my line.. he is very important.. but that makes you and Lindall all the more important.. Jonas.. has made his worth in marrying Lindall by helping Chloe and I to build the trade we MacGregor now enjoy... he's knowledge of commerce is his worth.. and when the time comes for you to Marry we will find a man of such worth.. for you..." he laughed thinking her silly to want to choose her own husband.. " Your brightness spends to books and knowledge.. not in selecting good blood for the future of the Clan.. should something happen to Robin.. it would fall to your children and Lindall's to rule.. so the men who father your children are as important.. as you are in the bloodline " he spoke as if he were talking to a young girl, explaining the rites of succession and the import of finding the right man for Shyvonne.. little did either of them know that Lindall was already a widow.. poor dear Jonas, slayed by Carver McDonald.. and the widow Lindall now some 4 months gone in carrying the bookkeepers child...
Shyvonne:"Robin will always be a Macgregor despite who fathered him." She agreed as she stirred the spoon in the soup to mix it up again before setting the bowl down seeing as he wasn't going to eat it. Letting out a sigh, she had been half joking about letting her choose her own husband, it was really to gauge his response and she did not like what she heard. "Then you are very fortunate that Lindall fell in love with her husband" She retorted in a soft manner. "Jonas is a good man, smart and loyal to the core. I won't dispute you made a good match in him and Lindall but could you really not see me choosing such a good man on my own? Even if we made it look like you made the match?"Shifting in the chair, she stood up to move a few paces away, she needed to stand up if she was going to stay awake to make the ride back to Oisles tonight. "Just because I am smart doesn't mean I don't know a good match? What if I told you I dreamt of a good man, one with potential unimaginable? One that would create a strong bloodline in our children?" she clasped her hands together, her elbows cokeed as she held them aloft over her stomach and fixed her gaze on her brother. "I want to marry for love. It was that same wise...man...that made me realize that. Searc, don't you want the same for me?"
Searc: He looked at her for long moments, how had he missed it, the blush on her cheeks, the twinkle in her eyes.. she was in love.. his eyes narrowed to slits of slate as he leveled his gaze on her as she spoke, his face darkened with thunderclouds of anger " This is why you come here.. to beg to take a husband unknown to me, during war, when I lay sick in bed, and the world is upended.. ?" his voice boomed at her his hand knocking over the bowl of soup in an angry motion... " Your selfishness and your wants prove you unable to make decision on a future.. Our kin could be dying as we speak and you are swooning over a lover " he rose up slowly and painfully.. sitting on the bed, shaking with the effort, " You dreamt it.. such fantasies are those of a child, not yet grown into her mind enough to see the truth of the world..." he grimaced as he stood... moving toward the open window, pressing his palms against the sill and exhaling darkly... " Who is this man.. a professor in your academy... some weak willed spineless poet.. or a villager.. perhaps a farmer ?" it could not for the life of him be anyone of worth... after all no one of court or count.. no one of noble birth was in miles of the academy, except the bookworms and farmer boys.. " You must marry someone of birth, of status of wealth and use... what useless man have you set your cap for.. ? " he almost sounded broken... " you had better still have your purity.. or you shall never marry... I'll see you in a convent "
Shyvonne:Her eyes fell away and moved back up to his face as his eyes darkened with rage. She knew that look but she wasn't going to back down. "No" She answered simply and stopped as he continued to rage. Slowly she crossed her arms over one another under her breast and simply waited, not even flinching as he flung himself up from bed, even poking out her indignant chin a bit when his face cringed with pain. "The time was simply off but despite the circumstances, he was meant to come into my life, as I was meant to be in his. Of this I have no doubts and I didn't need my dreams to tell me that." She pressed her lips together, her head turning as he moved to the window. "My dreams have never been wrong. I dreamt of bloody fields when you announced bringing your wife home when she was all ready claimed by another. It may of taken years but there is blood on our fields." Her head turned away from him when he asked who it was. Like hell she was going to tell him who it was! She hadn't been in love with William and he had massacred the man with words! She couldn't even fathom what he would do to Mark if she said it was him. Her attention turned again when he warned her purity should still be intact. The memory of burning in Mark's arms as he kissed her made her cheeks flush and her attention turned away from him again. "He is more noble and of worth then you would ever know, he is not spineless nor useless, and that is all you need to know about him." Her arms uncrossed and fell to her sides as she let out an aggravated sigh. "I came here for news and to give you my opinions and yes, even to get some of your own and now I am sorry I even thought your opinions would be of worth!" She felt her anger swelling and couldn't stand to be in the room another minute. Yanking her skirts back she swept to the door and pulled it open before slamming it closed behind her. "SADDLE MY HORSE!" came booming up the stairs giving away that this was one of Shyvonne's most horribl moods the people had ever seen for she was never cruel and within a matter of minutes she was riding hard into the night back to Oisles Academy with not only fear of the war in her heart but rage at her brother and his stupid standings of worth in marriage.
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Post by Shyvonne MacGregor on May 22, 2010 15:17:26 GMT -6
Vargus-Disguised as a Macdonald:Vargus had departed the main column of MacGregor that headed toward Cartervalle abbey with a small contingent of men, that was suppose to circle out and around from the north in a pinsor movement to capture the McDonalds unaware.. but unbeknownst to Chloe or the rest of the MacGregor, he headed south, toward Oisles Academy missive from his wife, letting him know the bane of his existence, the MacGregor Prince.. was there and quite unprotected, now that Kane and Mark had left to join the Main MacGregor clan in the fight against the McDonalds.. What divine providence, let the men pass in the dead of night without being seen my Kane and Mark and their cadre of men headed north.. no one would say, for it was surely devils work.. a darkness that led Vargus's men, some 5 miles east of the trek that Mark and Kane took, north... as Vargus and his men moved south.. So it would be 3 days after Mark and Kane left the academy, in the hours before dawn, that all hell would break loose, firey arrows from the depths of night overshooting the walls of the academy as men scaled the stone walls, and begin decimating all within their path.. Oisles was caught unaware.. children screaming, blood painting the walls of academia.. Teachers who defend the students, shuttling them from harms way.. and in the midst, the armor clad silver knight.. Vargus.. his dark eyes intent on one thing.. finding Robin.
Shyvonne: She had ridden hard into the night to get back to the Academy after her visit with her brother but it was not hard to do when she was as angry as she was. Even hours later when Cleopatra was resting, probably quite thankfully in her stall and Leigha after trying to brush her hair to calm her down hadn't worked, she paced her chambers in her nightgown and robe she was still fuming but mainly at herself. How could she be so stupid as to pursue the conversation further when it was clear Searc thought of her as a little girl when it came to marriage, unprepared to make her own choice and he knew that she had feelings for someone it did not bode well. She was just getting to the point of settling down and feeling tired for the first time in over twenty four hours when the chaos broke out. Lifting off her bed, she threw her door open as Leigha ran towards her with the shrieking continuing downstairs. "Where's Robin?" Shyvonne asked breathless and when Leigha head shook with a wild look of panic on her eyes, Shyvonne heart sped up. "Calm down, calm down, grab as many of the students as you can, take them through the secret pass in my chambers. I'll send more of the teachers up with students so keep the pass open." When Leigha began to sniffle just standing there Shyvonne shoved her towards her chambers. "GO!" She shrieked and pushed past students as they fled the chaos downstairs. "Follow Leigha, go children go" She ushered as calmly as she could. "Liaden, Iomhar, the passage" She called passing the two who were drawing scared children from their beds into the hall. "Get them to it then find the teachers and pass it on, get as many out as you can." Breathless she spoke in a rushed voice as she threw bedroom doors open and calling for Robin before moving on when he didn't appear. Finally the last room checked she hurried towards the stairs only to gasp as a man thrust a sword at her slashing through the sheer material of the dark blue robe. Rolling against the wall she gripped for the first thing her fingers could find a decorative shield on the wall and slam it went into the mans face causing him to backflip over the banister and fall to the floor below.
Vargus-Disguised as a Macdonald:They had carefully concealed themselves in armor and tartans of the McDonalds, it would be the McDonalds feet this atrocity would be laid at, more fuel to fire the Rise of Vargus, in Searc's stead, on Searc's watch, all of Sleats future, it's riches the very McGregor heritage lay in the precarious balance, but Vargus knew that under his hand that Sleat would prosper and grow, all that needed to be done was rid the McGregor House of Serac and his son, Chloe he often though of to keep on as his whore.. after all that was what she was trianed to be... and Shyvonne.. well that was a fruit he wanted to take the first bite of.. a plum ripe for picking.. Through his face shield he saw one of his men fall from the banisters, then the flash of blue robe, and pale skin".. ahhhh the plum..." his hand lifted sending men filing up the staircase... " Take her.. do not harm her much.. to the horse.. and the boy.. find him" his voice brooked no dispute, as the men surged after Shyvonne, and through the rooms looking for Robin... it was then a sword would come out of no where, striking him at the knees, knocking him and his heavy armor to the floor a bold strike, made at the precise weakness that would drop the silver armored knight.. when he rolled to his back to bring his shield up.. he face none other than his quarry..
Robin: The boy had barely time to think pulling the sword from the wall display, and hacking away at the leader of the who he perceived as the McDonalds, clad in the McDonald Tartan, and crest, it was obvious they were enemies of the MacGregor House.. and when the man sent soldiers after his Aunt Shy, it was all Robin could do at 5 years of age, to strike the man behind the knees, like some childhood Arthur in a book of old.. he began to batter against the shield a pure war cry from the heart of the MacGregor on his lips, as the sword fell again and again against the fallen knights shield. but the matter of facts, was he was only a small boy, against seasoned soldier... and soon laughter split the air between them as another soldier grabbed him from behind stripping his sword... and he felt his body lifted.. and flung away -painfully before he was carried out to the horses struggling wit all his might.
Shyvonne: "Up here, go, my chambers!" She gasped at the children looking stricken at her on the stairs. "come on!" She called and they hurried up struck back into the present and past Shyvonne who ushered a hand against a few of their backs with her free hand as she hurried them on till the clash of armor on stone had her head turning to see the mob of soldiers heading up towards her and the leader clearly falling to reveal her nephew behind him wielding a sword. "ROBIN!" She screamed, at any other time she would of been proud of her nephew wielding the weapon as well as a five year old could with that war like cry on his lips. Whirling around, the first knight to grab at her got a shield in his face much like the first, as he fell she grabbed the sword from his hand and the shield was thrown against the stairs and her weight was used as she sailed down the stairs on top of the shield knocking against soldiers left and right until the shield came from under her as she was grabbed from around the waist and the sword sailed out of her hands. "STOP!" She screamed both at the men and the soldier carrying Robin outside. Letting out an animalistic growl, she flung hard against the soldier holding her while kicking out another who sought to take her legs. "ROBIN!" She screamed again as she was released from shock and out the door she went flinging herself against the man who held Robin under his arm, tumbling the trio went and Shyvonne pulled Robin into her arms as they fell, turning on her side to get the most of the brunt of the landing.
Vargus-Disguised as a Macdonald: "idiots!" his voice screamed at the ones who were inept in capturing te boy and the girl.. " Take them to the horses " he ordered once again as he turned back to the other men " Burn it.. to the ground " he growled, " women should never be allowed such things... it makes them think they are above men and they loose their proper place " he chuckled as he tossed a torched toward the doors of the library watching the flames lick upward.. " The McGregors will learn to mess with McDonalds and take what isn't' theirs " he laughed again playing the part.. as he strowed out behind his men that struggled with Shyvonne and Robin toward the horses.. " Ride South " he ordered as he took to his horse...pointing away from the academy... once they were far from prying eyes he would not only have his time with Shyvonne, but would personally slit the throat of the bratling.. Robin.
Shyvonne: "Hold tight to me, hold tight" She urged Robin as they were hauled up from the ground by Vargus men in disguise. As they fought to take Robin from her, it seemed her arms were as locked tight around his waist as his arms were about her neck. She felt her necklace chain break under the weight of the tugging back and forth and hit her foot. Shifting her foot, she stepped it into the ground as they were hustled to the horses. "NO!" She cried as the man said to burn it to the ground. Robin was finally pried away from her, his arms bound by one and hers by another before he was tossed onto a horse and her behind him. Her arms bound lifted and went around Robin still. As the horse lurched forward she tightened her elbows around Robin and as they passed the gates and headed south through the woods Shyvonne ripped a portion of her robe off, looking back to see the 'guards' weren't paying attention she threw it at the nearest bush as they passed seeing it catch on the branch before they rumbled past.
Vargus-Disguised as a Macdonald: Into the night they rode behind them the flames licked at the coming dawn, dark spirals of smoke blighting the rising sun... south they rode for what seemed hours, stopping only to water the horses and for the men to eat sparingly from their packs... later that night a dark formation loomed before them and the tired and exhausted riders were happy to see the defunct keep rising against the night.. " Your home milady.. for the foreseeable future " the man that led her horse laughed as the ramshackle broken down castle beside the sea came into view... it seemed centuries since it had been sound, crumbling into a mass of boulders.. but much to Shyvonne's and Robins dismay, the cellar still held true, and they were tossed inside the dank darkness... awaiting their fate.
Shyvonne: From both sides she ripped from her robe and tosses pieces against branches until they broke from the trees and rode into open land. Her arms hugged tight to Robin keeping him firmly in place while the reigns of the horse were lead by a single guard in front. The tolling of the Academy bell had been welcomed to Shyvonne's ears in the darkness as they rode fast and hard to make their get away. The men figured someone had finally been tolling the bell to announce trouble, that was true in a certain respect and but Shyvonne heart sung with relief knowing help was coming and likely the castle that was the Academy while scorched would not be burned to the ground. There would be damage of that she had no doubt but her mind while on the students and teachers who were left with the aftermath, Robin was her primary concern. She had promised to protect him with her very life and she meant to do it. When they stopped to water the horses and eat, Robin and her feet were bound along with their hands so they could not get away and she saw no harm in allowing Robin to drink from a skin or eat a hunk of bread they were given. Posion would not be a way they would strike or why else take them? When it was time to go, their bounds on their feet were cut and they were again tossed onto the horse again, her arms coming over Robin head again to hold the horn of the saddle. "Try to sleep" She uttered softly to Robin's ear and kissed his head as the horse was flung again into a run. Even with the bumps and jostling, she hummed in a soft voice and soon felt Robin slumping against her in rest. As the horses finally came upon the crumbling castle, she breathed a near sigh of relief for the stop. As they were lowered to the ground, she stooped low "Put your arms around my neck, good, now your feet around my sides." She uttered to Robin and then lifted him, resting his bottom on her arms as they were lead to the cellar, their hands finally cut free and the door slammed shut, she found a dry place in the corner to carry Robin and sit down. She was so tired, now it had been over twenty-four hours since she had been asleep and as Robin drifted off, so did she.
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Post by Lady Chloestrain MacGregor on May 25, 2010 20:31:28 GMT -6
III Chloe She watched as if the world had stopped spinning suddenly, everything seemed in slow motion, as if the very ebb and tide of time had become gummy and thick, motions wading through the viscous air, thick with screams and blood.. Her own body seemed frozen, still,, as she watched carvers sword cleave thorough Jonas’s skull.. Gaping mouth much like a trout pulled from a stream upon a hook and tossed to the bank, gasping for water.. Gulping air, silently… she watched as the kind blue eyes, lost life.. A look of questioning on his face.. In that moment… did he see God.. She wondered… what was just on this side of death.. Grey matter, seemed like mud sliding from his mousy brown hair over pale forehead.. Before the body gave out, falling to his knees, then pitching foreword like a marionette who’s strings had been clipped, a toy left bereft by spoiled child.. Her own gaze seemed locked on the vignette before her, even though her brain screamed for her to run, her inner instinct pushing her toward action, that was at last Catalyzed, by Dublains terse command, “ Run” run.. Run.. Run… her mind took a moment to digest the word, before she whirled, narrowly escaping the clutches of Carver, stumbling thought the flap of the tent and out into the chaos that surrounded her.. Run… moss green hues alive with fear sought refuge as she ran, dodging men who held aloft swords charging against the McDonald’s, swords clanged, and battle cries raged, as she wove through the melee.. A flash of spring green muslin, that stood out admist the reds, and greens of the tartan clad warriors… freedom She was almost to the lines… her lines, where her men would surround and protect her.. It was a fleeting feeling that lifted her heart, this thought of freedom and safely, bashed in by the feel of a fist curled into her hair, drawing her back, dragging her down, the feel of the same cruel fist, crushing her throat as she was thrown inside an armory tent, her body crashing against the center supporting pole, like a rag doll. Pain lanced through her whole body, seeming to radiate out from her spine, her breath knocked from her.. She gasp and begged for breath.. Focusing on survival, . Moments later she raged against him.. “ I am nothing like you… I stand for family and kin.. I do what is in the best interest of the clan, the people.. You killed all those people your own kin , and now you bring more to slaughter in a place that is not yours to have.. Why.. Because you crave power.. “ she spit at him, only to receive his hand across her face…crimson welts marking her as his possession, a spoil of war.. A personal war played out upon her flesh.. Hands fell victim to cruelty wound tartan, shackled by the very badge of his own massacred kin, on McGregor lands, now the plaid witnessed another atrocity, as her skirt was rend into up to her hips, underskirts and drawers sliced and splayed wide to divulge the secrets of womanhood to his greed and power mongering hunger. In those moments, her mind worked to erase each hurt, each touch, each feel of his fevered lips upon her flesh, her lips cried out when he thrust into her.. Cruel punishing acts hat had nothing to do with want and needs of men, but of power and dominance.. Punishment… Her mind flew away to Robin, it was late afternoon, what would he be doing now at the academy.. Riding lessons… she imagined the beautiful child, the purest form her love for Iain out roaming the dells, lush green meadows, a smile upon his face, wind wiping his curly light brown hair.. Laughter’s he had his fathers laughs. He was Iain Personified… it was a survival tactic, compartmentalize, set aside what was happening in the present, survive… survive.. It would only be the cessation of pain that roused her back to the here and now.. His face leered above her, his words a garble of threats, promises and crass degradation, revulsions made her stomach roil, as she thrashed and fought to rid herself of his bodies weight, only to be father pinned.. Until he felt the need to rise, the now shrinking manhood, coated with her blood, humiliated her further as it hung over her, before he readjusted his leathers.. Shame turned her face from looking at him, dark hair enmasse of tangles wreathing her head.. Just then the tent flap opened.. And Dublain McDonald appeared, and enraged bull, full tilt into the Tent.. For a moment her beleaguered and battered mind panicked even more.. Thinking Dublain there to take his turn, crazed she fought her bonds all the more a thrashing creature upon the crushed grass beneath the pall of her shame.. Then the fight raged between the two men, until Carver by luck or fate, managed to escape Dublains attack.. The next moments with Dublain would be indelibly imprinted upon Chloe’s mind for the rest of her life, a moment when bonds are made that transcend clan or kin, blood or friend. Bonds made in a moment when the honor and rightness of a mans soul, shines brightly enough to make the unbearable, bearable.. To make life seem worth living. It was in Dublains arms that she was covered and carried back through the battlefield.. To her lines, once in secure territory she had begged to be placed upon her own two feet, to walk under her own power back into her command tent, the frailties of a woman did not bode well in the midst of battle.. Once inside her generals worked over a table laden with maps, moving lines and men as it seemed the whole word had tilted on it’s side.. And blood and pain had flooded the meadow valley beyond the abbey.. She disappeared behind a curtained partition and in moments reappeared much to the shock and awe of Dublain.. Now dressed in a light chain mail and leather armor, all looks of frailty minus the crimson mark upon her cheek that now shown dark and blueing.. “ Reports” she commanded As she came to lean upon the table.. Looking over the lines drawn across the map, her generals reported the situation and she turned to Dublain.. “ Kylekin… take a battalion with you and secure it..” moss green eyes once soft and feminine had turned deadly hard and determined… “ See that it stays in our hands lest we are cut off, God Speed… “ she nodded in a way that was full of courage, and stout stamina, almost regal .. As she and her generals left the tent to join the fray… outside.. She would stop and look at Dublain, offering him a soft smile… “ We shall meet again soon… Dublain McDonald… and I shall have thanks to give you as will all of Sleat “another curt nod and she was upon her steed… galloping off into the battle…
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Lady Shaden Aramoire
Respectable
"It's not the men in your life.. but the life in your Men "
Posts: 135
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Post by Lady Shaden Aramoire on May 27, 2010 19:57:18 GMT -6
IV The Scribe I, Horace Dunleavy, acolyte and scribe of the Abbey at Cartervalle in Sleat, do henceforth put quill to parchment to relate the effects of the days that follow, by commission of Father Prious, has charged me with archiving the true and horrific events from now on to be known as The Clan Wars of Sleat 1333. I climb to the boughs of an ancient oak that overlooks the battlefield, it’s bowers shelter me from the unrelenting sun, and from archers sights, while giving me an overlook of the battlefield reserved only for angels and birds. I should find myself most fortunate of men not to be walking upon the earth this day, for the meadows have been fouled in Lady MacGregor’s attempt to stop the onslaught of the MacDonald into Sleat… Timbers at their ends, for the destruction of steeds line gullies filled with pitch that are afire… The smoke acrid and debilitating causing lack of sight, confusion, and a hellish backdrop on which men would wage war upon each other… the once green field now a maze of tunnel like warrens from which MacGregor men hide behind hastily erected wooden shields, with arrow slits in them to fire at the encroachers… rows and rows of tents one flying the Red and Gold Banner of the MacGregor… stood upon the hillside looking down upon the egress of war… it was here that hope be born.. For it was here that Parlay was taking place when the world went mad... Peace broken, and hell reigned on earth, as cries in the late morning went up... Fires burned, swords flashed, and men’s bodies through against each other in a chaos that was so complete that it was hard to discern brother from brother, or kin from kin, for in their tartans, and badgers, one could not fathom identity, because blood and mud covered it all. No one knows who was the first to break the parlay truce, only the screams of a massacre at Broadford, that the men of Carver McDonald has massacred his own kin, citizens of Sleat… on his way to this place. It was enough to begin the war in earnest… And to the north and west, riding toward the field of battle, I see 100 men in blue-green tartan, the flags, three silver wolves heads on a red shield, poised upon a field of black. Lo, tis the Robertson... and they are yelling “Virtutis Gloria Merces…” [Glory is the Reward of Valor] as they wave their swords heightening the fervor. Oh, and with them approximately 50 Argyll. They are now lining abreast and moving into the charge… What a sight!! For nigh on two hours such bedlam remained, there were no lines or order, only chaotic crush of bodies, and limbs, blood and gore, till no breath remained .. And that body was stepped over like carrion to the next one… and on and on… The MacDonald, saddled with the Borderers, have abandoned all mercy… nigh all loyalist to Skye, wounded and surrendering, are murdered, given no hope, nor mercy upon the field of battle. Tis as if all chivalry of war is forsaken for the elimination of a people and reclamation of land granted by ancestors. I will not relate the atrocities my eyes see before me; for I have never known the extent of evil harm that one man can do upon another until this day, and my soul weeps to know this for I shall never be safe in my belief that some men are all good. For this day, I have seen evil in all men; and I worry that it lies within me as well. There is a lull in the battle… it seems that both sides retreat and regroup into a more formal fashion; and then I saw her... My breath held tight in my chest for I would not have thought it so. I would have thought her safely in her command tent, watching from a spy glass upon the hill, leaving the real work of war to her generals and the men below. It was all I could do to cross myself as I watched, in horror and disbelief, as the Lady MacGregor thundered down upon the battlefield, cavalry behind her, like a valkyri of legend. It was inspiring to say the least. What must the dregs of soldiers of her own kin thought to see as they retreated, a woman blazing forth surrounded it seemed by light? Righteousness and a sense of justice... Sword held high as her cry lifted to the heavens and spurred the MacGregor back into order. Trumpets blared and it was if the Arch Angel in MacGregor armor descended upon the battlefield. A swath of destruction through the MacDonald, dismembered and distracted lines. Now walls of fire, flames in the ditches of pitch, smoke acrid and thick, blanketed the scene below. As the charge continues, I am enraptured to watch… I cannot turn away. One could see the various clans on one side, battling the other for supremacy… The Lady Chloestrain and the MacGregor… the Robertson and Argyll… once diffused brethren, now fighting together against a foe seeking destruction of any that remain loyal to the Griffin… their claims to Sleat now more than vocal. As the tide of war turns, the shining silver mail, and the dark blue leathers of the woman flash… her generals fighting as fiercely as she… she is mad... completely off kilter, brave and insane... One wonders at the thoughts in her mind, for she has no feminine grace, or frailty, as she cuts away arms and limbs, from men twice her size, using her steed as a battering ram, and rushing headlong, uncaring of the beast safety or her own... She is an Angel of Death... And her generals, her minions, as the MacDonald are pushed back into the woods. She has taken the Field... They are retreating... Praise God, it is over… I have scribbled so far and fast that I have lost sheets to the ground and must retrieve them… before I can write more... After retrieving my sheets, I have to say I am confounded… She has won the field, but in the time it has taken me to retrieve my sheet… she has called out and order to follow the MacDonald into the woods... Exterminate them all… and so the whole of the battle has moved into the forest... From here I cannot determine what is happening... Though I will stay safe in my oaken haven until I am sure that the MacGregor’s have won the day and returned.
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Post by Lady Chloestrain MacGregor on May 27, 2010 20:11:52 GMT -6
VChloe The MacDonald had retreated into the forest, trying to regroup and find shelter from the unrelenting MacGregor, that had been infused with the zeal of the Valkry of Death that led them. The figure of Chloe clad in chain mail disappeared into the forest followed by the rest of the MacGregor clansmen intent on annihilation. The gloom of the waning day was eerie shadows played tricks on the mind, as the line of MacGregor spread out, hunting down what remained of the retreating McDonalds. Soon enough smaller packs were decimating the fleeing men, leaving behind bodies of those who still fought back and taken prisoner, the men who capitulated and surrendered their swords, leading them back out of the forest and into pens, where justice waited to be meted out. It was in these hours, before twilight that word of the day won, would filter back to the lines of the Abbey, that the battle was over the MacGregor had won.. The MacDonald had surrendered. And yet of all the forces of MacGregor to leave the Forest, still Chloestrain had not returned to the field or the command tents. She had came down a small wash following the retreating figure of three men. “Halt and surrender, and no harm will come to you…” Somehow, she had been separated from the men that followed her. The splash of hooves in water seemed ominously loud as she whirled to find herself surrounded by more men… acutely aware that she was outnumbered there was but one thing to do. Spurring into her horses sides, she set the steed upon a reckless leap over the men on foot and up the steep slopes of the hollow. Hooves skittered on fractious ground as the horse fought valiantly to gain footing to the top of the incline, only to slide back, and then lunge forward again. Once near the top though, men’s hands would grasp the reigns pulling the beast downward and toppling it’s mistress to the ground. Like a feral, wounded, animal she bounded to her feet, sword in hand, brandishing it against their attacks… soon the clank and cling of swords were heard, alerting her men to her position. Their eyes unbelieving when they saw the diminutive shape of their Lady engaging 4 men in sword fighting. Soon enough, the odds were evened and the MacDonald lay to waste… the valiant steed, now limping from injuries, lead by his mistress from the forest. Her helm in the opposite hand, sweat, and blood beading her brow, and marring her face… Victor… they had won the day. This was the sight that would greet the trio’s eyes… Chloe… in her glory… Dark hair damp, ruffled with the soft wind of night, emerging from the darkening forest. In chain mail and leather of dark blue, the MacGregor crest emblazoned upon the chest. Blood smeared and battle weary, the men who escorted her, proud to be at her side, full of admiration for the Lady MacGregor, the noble steed limping and wounded from battle as well, behind her… loyal, its head also high. Almost regal as they crossed the field, the MacGregor troops would take a bended knee, their hands over their hearts, in allegiance. Shouts went up for the day won… “To the MacGregor… The MacGregor…” was the chant that lifted to the heavens… somewhere certainly, a scribe was committing this to paper... and posterity.
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on May 28, 2010 6:00:09 GMT -6
Iain was covered in blood, luckily not his own… the worse he was hurt was, among many scratches, the bruised cheek from someone slamming a sword pommel to his face… that man was now dead… among others. As he made his way toward the shredded tent, he heard a man yelling for someone… “Lady MacGregor…” he thought. “Now why would…” and then his thought process veered away. “No… no, she would not do that? Was she bound by honor to stand in for her husband?” he thought… He tried to shake it off, but his anger was taken upon a wounded MacDonald… Iain ran the sword thru the man’s throat then walked off.
Iain began asking every MacGregor man where their Lady was… “Lady Ma’Greg’r was at the parlay tent MiLord… She was trying to resurrect peace, MiLord…” the man shook his head. “Th’n the traitorus Ma’Donald attacked in surprise… Ah dunnae knaew where she be naew…” Iain grit his teeth, now becoming concerned with what had occurred.
Meanwhile, back at Dun Durroch, Lord Alexander waited on reports from Sleat… and those were slow in coming… Exiled to his cot, his health had not changed. He was not dead, but riddled with ill-health. In Iain’s absence, he and Keliana had formulated a change of events and, forged documents portraying Iain as an out-spoken opponent to the coronation of a new king… and even his disobeyance of royal decree to cease hostilities.
Laying upon the cot, Keliana entered and near the Laird. “Laird Alexander, I have a message from the Lord Secretary…” She handed the message to Alexander.[i] “Dae yae knaew wot be inside lass?”[/i][/color] Keliana nodded… “The Queen and her court shall be here in Struan in two days time… and the King shortly thereafter…” Alexander motioned to her to come closer. Despite the old man’s stale odor, she knelt beside the cot. His aged hand touched her face and he smiled. “Lass, upon my death, yu shall be a wealthy woman… but first Iain must be eliminated for this to work.” The woman just smiled and her hand went atop his. “Fear nae MiLord… all is prepared to blind Iain… and I shall prepare everything for the Queen’s arrival…” Such an evil pair these two were. While clansmen died upon the field of lies, they were plotting the overthrow the leadership of a clan, having charged the standing laird as a traitor. [/color] LATER.... elsewhere in SkyeRobertson and Argyll horses had become useless in the tight groups of embattled men. The riders either being piked from the saddle, knocked from their steed by axe, or dismounted and embralled into hand-to-hand grounded combat. No battlelines could be witnessed as it seemed as if one large thicket of men were fighting. No strategy, given or taken, save the hectic savagery of unorganized battle, was useful. Nine hours of murderous screams, fervent yelling of clan mottos, and the unbounded clash of steel upon steel… now the evening was quickly approaching. Now, silence was soon overcoming the sounds of battle, save the screaming of men wounded, or the whimper of steed without riders. Mark and Kane now walked side by side, the fighting now settling down to only a few small skirmishes far to the east. Mark had Iain’s sword on his shoulder as they walked along the battlefield, the bodies of the dead and wounded men of various clans lay in odd, twisted formations. For hours, the fighting had raged on and now Iain stood atop a small knoll, the sun was slowly disappearing behind the tops of the trees… As he surmised the scene below, he noticed a figure emerging from the darkening forest on the far side. Wiping his blood-stained forehead, he focused his eyes to light toward the dark-haired, clad in the blood smeared and battle weary chain mail and leather of dark blue, the MacGregor crest emblazoned upon the chest. Familiarity played tricks upon his mind, and he shook his head, sending the fleeting thoughts asunder. Mark saw Iain and began walking toward him. His Grace was talking to one of the MacGregor. As Mark approached Iain, the MacGregor man walked off… and as Mark bowed to his Laird, Iain grit his teeth and gave Mark an uppercut to his face, knocking mark backwards to his arse. “You were suppose to be protecting her…” he stood over Mark his fist still folded and tight. Kane stepped in between Mark and Iain… “No more m’Lord, he has had enough…” Iain was no one to Kane… but Mark was his friend… If anyone was to harm Mark is was Kane, and no one else. What were friends for? Mark was shocked… he was now bleeding from the split lip. Mark got up and bowed again…. “My apology M’Lord…but…” Iain spat out the curse words as he pointed to Mark… “No buts Mark, it was yer duty… yer God blessed DUTY… a duty I, your Laird, gave yu…” Mark tried to speak… “M’Lord, Lady…” Iain cut him off again by cursing… Futility… that is what Mark pursued with trying to explain the circumstances to his Laird… but Iain would not even listen. God he missed Shyvonne. What he would give just to be back at Oisles once more. Iain turned from the two men… “Aye, he’s had enough… and so have I…” Iain pointed at Mark… “Dunnae come back to Dun Durroch… Noe shall have you… especially me…” Anger had gotten the most of Iain… All he knew was Mark had disobeyed his orders to protect Chloestrain… None of what truly had transpired… Mark stood next to Kane and listened… He knew Iain’s anger and knew when to keep his mouth shut, especially with a sword in Iain’s hand. Mark held out the Robertson sword… the one handed down from generation to generation, the item of authority in the clan. “M’Lord, yu shall need this…” he exclaimed.Iain dropped the sword in hand and took back the heraldry that was once his Father’s sword, and now was his as Laird of clan Robertson. No thank you, no comment at all… he just took the sword, turned and began to walk away. [/color][/font]
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on May 28, 2010 6:02:51 GMT -6
Revelations
Just before Iain could leave, there was a call for all commanders in the tent to discuss the MacDonald surrender… By the time Iain, Mark, and Kane could get to the tent, the meeting was over… and as men were exiting, Iain tried to enter… both pausing… Iain giving the MacGregor a wicked stare, then spat with no words said. The men sneered and moved to the side; and Iain entered… Mark right behind him, pausing only to say Thank you to the MacGregor commanders… Kane followed shortly afterwards…
As the men strode to the table…they froze, with Kane behind them… both their mouths were agape… too stunned to speak… as before them, the commander on the battlefield, stood Chloestrain MacGregor… Kane was confused and stood quietly…
After a moment’s mind freeze, Iain spoke… “What the f… What are yu doing here? I …” his sentence cut off by Mark… “Lady Chloestrain?!” Was it an expression or question?
All they could do was watch Chloe order her men out, just as a General would clear his tent… her hand held up to quiet Iain and Mark until all others cleared the tent… It was then Kane noticed Lady Chloestrain and he began to laugh at Iain and Mark… with evil eyes glaring back at him from the two men.
Her heart almost leapt from her chest... As the trio entered the command tent, but her eyes were but for one... Iain… he was there… she had to stop herself from throwing her arms about his neck and taking comfort in his arms, the day had been so long and horrible, a nightmare of evil proportions, how she had made it through was a testament to the will to survive and a burning need to exact vengeance on any living creature in her path… something had snapped within the usually calm and refined Lady McGregor… It had snapped months ago when her husband had cruelty used and almost killed her, and since then had been twisting into something dark and hideous... And today after Carvers offenses upon her... There was little left of the green eyed girl that Iain loved and cherished, instead before him stood a steely warrior woman, cold and calculating... But it was a shield, armor much like she donned, to protect the soft, wounded parts of her psyche… As he advanced, she held up her hand to silence him, an action so unlike anything he had seen from her before that it must have stunned him... And while he Kane and Mark stood on looking she continued her orders to her men… “Make sure all the wounded of our men are taken to the abbey… The good brothers will care for them… The wounded prisoners will be kept under guard and their own shall see to all but the most grievous of their wounded… None shall be put to death... Unless by the lord... Enough murder has been done this day already…” the men she ordered left, leaving a few still at her side… “Take some men and go looking for Dublain MacDonald... If he is engaged in battle help him, and send back reports on the situation of Kylekin… Also.. Send word of Victory to Dunsgate… and have a role of prisoners taken, so that they may be ransomed back to their kin.” it was a fact of war, higher ranking nobles were ransomed back to their families to recoup the cost of war, and loss of resources… “And someone find Jonas MacGregor’s body and have it taken to the Abbey and prepared for return to Dunsgate... He deserves respect, of a family burial, and his wife shall not see him bloody and muddied… Make sure he is shrouded as a hero.” her voice did not even quiver in her orders over her brother-in-law’s death rites.. Who was this harsh woman, this commander…??
She was beautiful, even in blood-stained mail and armour… the hair half pulled back in a tail, the helm upon the table. More than six months ago was the last time Iain had seen Chloe… and less than a month, he thought her dead… and here she stands as a battlefield commander. He leaned forward, his hands upon the table in fists. “Can yu tell me what the blazes is occurring?” he restrained his other comments, for he knew better than rile her.
Soon enough the tent was emptied of her soldiers save Iain, Kane and Mark... It was then moss green eyes lifted to him, and her bottom lip quivered softly as he advanced once more hurling words at her, commanding an explanation…
Mark did not know what to say… or how to act… Dumbfounded, he just stood slightly behind and to the right of Iain…
Kane stood behind them both, his arms crossed over his chest; a smirk upon his face. He was just simply amazed.
“Iain…. Mark… Kane…” she greeted all three in order… but her eyes remained on Iain… “What are you doing here?” already a soft smile, hesitant, fleeting, was threatening her lips.
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on May 31, 2010 2:45:12 GMT -6
Dublain, to Kyleakin, Part I
He didn't need an invitation to accept heart men for what would be the battle of their lives. Many of them were still young, still thirsty for glory and honor. He needed the vigorous, boisterous figure of men with war in the head. He needed them to hear nothing but war drums, chants, and the allure of victory even it was on their martyered back the rest of their kindred might cross to freedom. What he did need was a moment's pause to accept the sight of woman iron clad to ride with her men. Victory was essential to the day. He watched in astonishment as a certain sort of taboo manifested to life before him. Where earlier she tried to ply them with sweetness, now she dealt in the speech men fathomed most. Dublain wasn't sure how he felt about this transformation. His head ached to wrap around the concept that fashioned the soiled muslin in to chain mail. Sensibly, though, the old man didn't question it. He only nodded his head at her words before turning to the men left in her wake. "Mah batallion, if ye please, n' a fresh horse. Armor, wot pieces can be spared tha' make good sense. Ah'll be ridin' fast, n' am nay in a joust sae dun place me in a whole suit."
A MacGregor ventured to ask, "Won't ye require a surgeon, sir, ye be hurtin.." The voice rose to protest. It was there, in the valley, that the MacGregor saw the precision in Carver's injustice personified in Dublain's intensity for the right. A deep, southern boom manifested from inside of him no MacGregor could make. You had to be borne in Armadale to do it, like he had been. You had to know what it was like to treck in Ardvasar and unstand how close to the mainland Kyleakin was to affect some with Lowland sounding dialects. In Armadale, they were Scotts speaking, at others, Scotts-Gaul. The melodic fire in his protest scathed the MacGregor in a way that would stay with him all of his days "Ah didn't ASK for a surgeon, AH asked fer a horse n' expect it and batallion forthwith! Give me wot Ah seek, or wait tae be put between Kyleakin, a rock, n' yer maker."
That one soul, and three others, watched as the MacDonald followed the attendant who would fetch him a fresh mount. Some commented on how the grimace of his face was all of pain to see, for he made no loud wails to speak his case. The blood on him dried to places of dirty ignorance. What was blood, when he was already covered in mud, sweat, and malcontent? His trews were ripped, his tartan soiled. He had the baring though of a man who had owned the land for a thousand years and lived to recount every one. Somehow, he seemed larger than any clan to amount to every member of one by his sheer presence. To attire him with armor pieces was to bring in visions of a man who once wore full suits to joust at His Majesty's pleasure, or a man that prayed in desert sun altars on behalf of the Christ.
He was everything that Carver could never be. The image of his endurance was enough to endure a mixed band of men to his cause: MacGregors who thirsted for action enough to follow a MacDonald to do away with more. MacLeans, loyal to the Griffin. He could not say of the original fifty who came with the Griffin to form the Loyalists were at his side as enobled treason makers now. Of his one hundred MacDonald men, he could at least find half of the original one hundred. Did the number equate to victory? In the still of the MacGregor camp he watched mist come forward to devour the dead men laid out on cots. He watched mist settle on the faces of the dying. He saw their blood combine to be one on that day,neither MacDonald or MacGregor. Bleeding men. Bleeding over foolishness.
All of the sake in the honor of a name.
He walked over to the boy who would bring him a horse, and before he got too far the command tent's rumblings reached his ears. Undistinct, the only thing he could distern was their terse pitches in disagreeance or exalting some lost cause. As the day wore on he soon had the vantage point of a man on horseback, shifting in the saddle of an unfamiliar beast. The horse flicked back a proud, high head. "There now, we shall be friends taeday." For Dublain, beast was easier to appease than man. Already he watched the reluctant walk forward of the men who would form the group. All of them, despite name, were uncertain. Furrowing his brow against none of their own to inspire them he would say:
"Gae with me tae Kyleakin, the Griffin will throw ye in his dungeons, try ye in his courts with more evidence than wot can be garnered by any barrister. There may be enough for him tae be gentle on ye, aye, but none the less we will all be in a dark place afore the day is o'erdone. Yet, follow me..n' ye will set the bar fer men who cared little o' their name n' more for wot was right!"
A MacGregor turned up his head while a MacDonald regarded his land's usurper. Both regarded Dublain, and it was the MacGregor that asked, "Wot be right in this? We're all gaein tae be defamed or dead before taemorrow at noon." The MacDonald, in a sardonic way, laughed only to be joined by the MacGregor as in death's prospect they found common ground. Dublain rode over to them, and leaned over his horse to ask, "Than if ye are defamed or die afore noon on the morrow, how will it be done? Wot will they say o' ye, but tha' ye laughed like a fool?" Before the man could rebuttle he continued on, riding through the lines of men going deep. He road through them what felt as the longest mile of his life. No, they did not make a true line a mile deep, but their questions were a mile wide.
"Ye will gae tae Kyleakin because from the sense o' a warrior ye dun let the enemy trap ye like a rat on a sinkin ship. Ye will gae tae Kyleakin because some o' ye will want tae enact vengence on a man tha' wears m'name. TIs fine, they are traitors, lowlives. Some o' ye will gae tae make right our name. Tis fine, tis ours tae men. Others o' ye will gae because ye are loyal tae the Griffin. Tis best, fer we all are despite wot he will call us by noon taemorrow. But at my trial, when they say wot turned ye tail from beneath the Griffin Company, wot turned parlay tae war, I will tell them this:Dublain mac Dhugal, the Chieftain o' the MacDonalds, does nay sit by while a plague infests the land. Tha' he took his legal mantle by force, n' restored beset Kyleakin tae herself, because they were tae late for Broadford. They will say the men tha' came with him were true tae the King enough tae defy him, lest the plague make sick his North-Eastern land. They will say tha' nay only did they look on Broadford, but sae done were they at broadford they dared nay touch Torin, or Elgol, or any other land movin in any direction because they couldn't! They will say a man with one eye n' missin fingers took off whole arms n' hands. Tha' is wot they will say. Should ye ride with me they will say o' ye tha' ye lived true tae yer names because ye let them gae in the light o' a greater thin'. Wot comes tae Kyle be nay just MacDonalds, but MacAllister, those who would swallow up the whole 'o Scotland in her malice. Tis been this way since our father's times, n' afore. The King relies upon his clansmen tae make right the true order. E'en in this new time, where we will become traitors, let us dae it now."
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on May 31, 2010 6:46:52 GMT -6
While evidence showed the existence in other countries, female warriors were more prevalent in the Gaelic Nations. Females numbered among the soldiers in various levels of authority, riding horseback in the manner of men, not on coverlets sidesaddle, but unashamedly astride, and bearing lances and weapons as men do; dressed in masculine garb, they conveyed a wholly martial appearance, more mannish than the Amazons of old.
She was not a shrinking violet that screams and waits for a man to rescue her. She did not pine away in a tower, watching the world drift by because she was too feeble to actually take control of her own life. Instead, she picked up her sword, grabbed the dagger out of her boot, and took a stand for what she believed in. She was reluctantly drawn into battle when she would prefer to be with her family or be left alone. However, her strong sense of justice did not allow her to sit idly by if she saw wrongdoing happening around her.
A natural leader deep within, Chloestrain did not stand for any disagreement. She waited not for opinions; but took action and got the job done. To her, the end justified the means. However, unlike the men around her, she felt she was on the side of the greater good.
While men admire toughness, decisiveness, and strength in leaders, most were wary of women who display those traits. Even women themselves were divided. Some believe female leaders should have all those qualities, while others stress the "softer" traits of compromise, communication and fairness.
Iain balked at the hand that stilled their discourse. His slate-grey eyes narrowed, his head veered to the other two men. Orders barked from the woman and Kane just shrugged and smiled.
When the men were finally recognized, Iain remained silent… Mark and Kane bowed and spoke in unison… “M’Lady…” but Iain’s silence remained only for a moment after she asked her question. “Ask me not why I am here, answer my question of why YOU are here…” he barked in return. “You should be at home with our son… not upon a field of battle risking all for naught…”
As she stood the map table between them, then her eyes lifted to Mark, and a harsh unrelenting look stole over her face. “You are supposed to be with Robin... Why are you here?” her eyes bore into him, demanding an answer… Then lifted to Kane, “As are you… why has something happened to Robin ?” panic filled her features and for a moment Iain seemed to disappear from her sight. The mother lioness risen in protection of her cub; “Answer me Dammit!” her hand pounded on the table shaking the accouterments of war until they rattled, the metal gauntlet she had recently shed clattering to the floor…
Across from the map table, two men stood in trepidation, one in annoyance… Mark looked at Chloe… “The forces were rumored to be threatening the Academy… We refused to stand by and allow the MacDonald to overrun the Academy…” he shrugged and glanced to Kane who nodded. “We thought best to meet the enemy and fight on ground we chose, not from the walls of academia…” Once again he looked to Kane and back to her… “Robin is safe with Lady Shyvonne and some homeguard behind the walls…”
“SO help me God if my son is hurt or endangered by you two leaving him I will cut your hearts out myself…” She lunged at them... It was obvious to all three now... That Chloe had fallen… into some sort of battle madness… It was Iain’s arms that held her from her attack on Mark and Kane.
Iain stood dumbfounded as he listened… When she lunged at the two men, he sidestepped the table and grabbed her arms, pushing her back… “Yu put Robin in the hands of strangers? Yer arse was suppose to be tending our son, not pawning him off to a school…” Iain was really pissed now as he looked at the three alternatingly.
No longer was she the seductive, passionate, and zealous woman he fell in love with all those years ago. No longer was she the marble-playing lass he adored… Now she was the bloodlust warrior. His gray eyes narrowed again… “Since yu have relinquished yer duties as a Mother… then I exercise my rights as a Father… I shall take my son home to Dun Durroch…” then he snapped a turn and walked out of the tent, cursing the woman as he departed.
Mark and Kane stood, their mouths agape at what was occurring. Had the MacDonald won after all… were the Robertson and MacGregor finally at war, though upon a different battlefield? Mark grabbed her arm and Kane blocked the door of the tent… “Calm down M’Lady… M’Lord is angry… and he has banished me from Dun Durroch because of this…” he looked to Kane and back to Chloe… “Kane and I shall ride back to the Academy befor Lord Iain can get there… and we shall make sure he does nay take the lad…” it was the only way that he could get back to Shyvonne AND get back into Chloe’s graces… knowing full well, he might have to fight Iain in the end regardless.
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on May 31, 2010 11:44:26 GMT -6
Dublain, to Kyleakin, Part 2 of 3
By being only himself, the man who only rode to Cartevalle Abbey to sit at the parlay table became an unofficial commander carrying on toward a battle that would never be forgotten. Soon the sound of not only his horse, but of enough horses to make the earth quake departed the encampment so that those who kept the beasts would say they wondered at how many would be left to bare away carts of rag-tag supply remnants. His conviction won him at least 100 men. Would he win more along the way, or lose them to further battle? Only time would tell.
Instead of taking to the woods to reach the road, Dublain avoided the conflict at the risk of battle hungry men undoing their own chance for survival. He road straight across where the main action had been. Hoofbeats crushed tent remnants, hoofbeats did dilgence in trying to avoid the occasional member of the dead. It was a stark, hard reminder of what awaited them as a possibility in Kyleakin, but the only thing on his mind was preventing another Broadford. The only thing on his mind was preventing the taking of Kyleakin or none of them would everleave the South again. No banners accompanied them, nor drummers, or pomp. In a mixture of tartans stained with blood they road with lifted weapon. Steel and wood intermingled so that the view of those resembled a band of thieves instead of a proud contingent of men.
From Cartevalle Abbey and across the valley floor, they ascended rocky passes back to the main road leading them due North to Kyleakin. The pace set by the riders was that of a raid. Full gallop and nothing else would do. The sky rushed around their heads with clouds of dust stained mist being swallowed up through their mouths. How great the thing of many feet, hands, heads, and arms that moved to Kyleakin!
*
Castle Moil sits in Kyleakin an imposing figure in the unorthodox quiet. Lord Fain Haakon would remark to his best man on how the quiet was beginning to bother the Norse in him, so accustomed to action. He found that even the Scotts were not idle bred beings. Perhaps it was because so many of them held the blood of Viking conquerors. Perhaps it was that the Scottsman was always pondering a way to occupy his hands when war didn't occupy them with steel. Fields never lay fallow, but today in Kyleakin no man was able to push a plow. A woman was not able to completely soothe a crying child. Associated with no real clan, his claim to Moil was old heredity left to be of use in the regimes that passed beyond Norse jarls. Still he was Scottish in the sense that he was used to the rhythm of his landscape a particular way.
Deep, jagged gouge of the left arm ached in the unseasonable cool of the air. Was it a warning sign? If all of his other scars ached would he heed them for battle sign? "Where is the messanger? Nothing comes South, Trickles of the North, and yet we sit too far East to be suitable to news on this Penninsula? Find another messanger, news of Cartevalle is what I need. These damned times. Pah." It wasn't enough that he had to stall his own movement, but his business ventures were baring no fruit in what should have been a fruitful season. He wanted no part of MacGregors grievance, yet relied on them for in them he was invested. He was invested in MacDonald, too, but of yet had not recieved his newest ship. War had come to the South again, but he believed it would be over quickly.
What proved him wrong would be one of the guard informing him that a band one hundred men deep were moving through Kyleakin, some watching from hillsides and on the coast, others moving straight toward the castle. Among those one hundred men was Dublain MacDonald, who before the guard could further speak Fain heard the familiar resonance of his tone shouting up from the closed gate, "Lord o' Moill! Yer land be in danger, we've beat the enemy by mere moments, open the God damned door if ye want tae know more man!" Dublain was one of Fain's oldest friends, and the same could be said of him unto Dublain. It was not a usual day that saw both men oft in the same place for injury kept Dublain from travel as much as he would like. Yet to see him, on horseback, armed? He knew that no falsehood was here.
*
On a small island just to the East of Kyleakin, in wait...
Carver was an astute individual, and while he left Kyleakin alone in the first instance he would claim her in the second. His men had done well in the capture of two prized members of the family. "I have nay seen ye in a long while, mah cousins. Ye made off tae the mainland. Where, Keppoch, Glencoe? Sought tae establish yourselves anew?" He spit in to their faces, before kicking is cousin Alexander MacDonald in the side. The youth doubled forward, coughing. Alexander had always been such a heroic figure. Gah, but how his kinsmen of power made him ill! Looking at his uncle, Angus MacDonald, the man who lost his lordship of Sleat to Carver's father was no better for the ease of the stomach. "N' ye, can nay e'en hold yer own due. Tis strange the plight o' second n' third born on this isle now tha' we are given our due on merit. I suppose tha' m'father Hugh, your brother, had better merit. Enough, anyhow."
In the days of Sleats slide into infamy, Angus had been usurped by popular vote in favor of Hugh, who promised to uphold tradition that extended their power well across Scotland. Hugh had two sons, Tiol and Carver, both of which were no prize, yet by vote Hugh now had the prize to give them: Lordships. As second born Carver was never supposed to inherited the coveted bid but if one considered they never should have inherited the lot at all....
"Yer a mother f-ker, Carver, tha's all there be tae it!" Alexander kicked against his binding after he righted himself back up to sitting by way of a well placed shoulder. He viewed his cousin through narrow eyes, helped in no part since one of them was nearly swollen shut from beatings. Why, by Christ, had they left Scotland? Why, oh why, did Angus feel they should come back?
It was because of the letter that reached him, from Dublain. Like Angus, Dublain was the eldest of many brothers and sisters. Like Angus, Dublain was cast with a dubious lot, though unlike Dublain Angus was still young enough to make use of a great many things. He was aghast at what he read. The MacDonalds were reforming well on the mainland and were given a great many supporters. The crown was upheld by them, and for it they recieved no trouble. It even seemed that in the wake of what Angus lost, Dublain did well to make some sense of their awry heritage. Now, that stood in threat? He never lost his love of kin, but feared what would happen if his brother's son continued unchecked. If the mainland were his ambition, and Broadford smoldering ashes, who was to say what would be next?
"How unbecomin' o' the genteel hero. It matters nay, when we take Kyleakin and Moill becomes the seat o' the Lairdship, we will see how genteel ye remain." Carver considered Alexander, young, comely, Alexander, an asset. It might be enough to still his uncle's hand, given Carver in Dublain's eyes was surely dead. Alexander however might be favorited - he might even be offered the very thing in legal terms without bloodshed that Carver desired.
With no children of his own, what if he validated Alexander back into the line of succession as a future leader from the powerful island homestay? What if Angus became Dublain's Tanist? These were things he could by no means allow. On the small island the three occupied, some of the men were already using the advantage of thick mist to sail in dingies to the coast of Kyleakin. There, they were following signals from men already in hiding, so that in Kyleakin waited no less than 200 hundred refreshed men from the mainland who blended in for weeks to the scenery. Oh yes, Carver had plotted Kyleakin long before the war was called to bare. On the island he emassed the remnants of his escort from the parlay and found the MacAlister had given unto him another 75, and he found them hearty for his original fifty had survived. With them were another 50 MacDonalds, so that in tot, so that no less than 375 men would be used to assay his Kyleakin plot.
Perhaps more, if more came off of the mainlaid to sail straight at Moil itself.
Broadford was merely collateral damage, and Cartevalle Abbey with Cholestrain's dishonor a capital door prize to what he really sought: Kyleakin was a gateway easily to the mainland.
Notes
1. The characters of Alexander MacDonald and his older brother Angus follow the original Sleat MacDonald succession as written by the Creator of Skye, MST Will. The altered order of succession in the family fracture comes from play based during the Clan Wars of 1328 when leadership amounted to words. Alexander and Angus escaped Skye but have continued to do business there on, maintaining minimal family ties for the sake of their reputations.
2. The characters of Hugh MacDonald, Dublain Mac Donald, their father Dhugal, and Hugh's sons Tiol and Carver are original NPCs from the 1328 Clan Wars as well, written by MST Livie. Tiol was convicted of rape and sentenced to death. Carver took Tiol's place as the first, and only son to inherit after Hugh's infamous death in the Ring of Fire. In all of their absence, Dublain came to be the recognized leader of all MacDonalds in Sleat in the legal sense of the word, though they remained spread between the new seat of Rona and Raasay back down to their original place in Sleat.
3. In a rewrite of the true history of establishing new branches, Angus and Alexander have been busy at work with a new branch, possibly between the historics of Keppoch and Glencoe.
4. The Lord of Castle Moill is also an original character created by MST Will, and this and other upcoming cycles will feature additional writing by MST Livie to bring some of them into the current flow of time.
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Jun 5, 2010 16:56:40 GMT -6
She stood shocked for a moment as he accused her of begin a bad mother, and said he was taking her son... Like hell he would, he could have slapped her in the face for the damage he had done to her heart… As Mark held her at bay and Kane barred the door, she glowered at them both… “Get you back to the Academy and bring my son to me... No other... And if you fail God help you.” she trembled with rage... As she jerked from Mark’s hands… sending him a look that would chill a lesser man’s soul… and lifted brow motioned for him to move… and for Kane to stand aside… “You should have never left Robin… I trusted you, above all, with him, Mark…” she gave him disappointed look… a look that spoke of trust broken between once lovers, a bond now crippled, or perhaps broken, at the very least badly bent… then moved out of the tent, the flap dropping with a finality that was ominous.
Iain was outside the tent steaming; and as loud as the lady was, he could hear the confession that she left Mark to watch over Robin… and that made the aggravation even worse.
Mark did not know what to say. Her words were true, and maybe, just maybe, he had made a misstep in judgment, but he doubted it, the surety of safety of the Academy walls. He bowed and remained so until she left. “Yes M’Lady…” was all he, or Kane, could muster. Onto the field she stepped... Her voice ringing out, not that of a woman running after a man... But that of someone in control… “Robertson…” she called his surname as a sign of respect between leaders of the clans, not lovers, or even friends… angry strides took her in his direction… “I belive we have much to discuss…” She came to stand before him, smaller than he by almost two heads but a presence to be reckoned with none the less… “I owe you an answer… do you want it here in front of the world... or in private?” she may as well have tossed down a gauntlet. In the space between them, her lovely mouth, one he had kissed a hundred times was pulled into a grim line, her forearm bore the slash of a sword, that needed attention... and her face the mark of a mans hand now turned blue and angry black up one fair cheek... but her eyes… they were still for him, there was a softenting at the corners, a hint of the love she bore him beneath of the maddness… and something more… an undying loyalty to him… but he was pushing the limits of what one woman could take in a day… Should he answer wrong, it perhaps might be the end of them…
“Aye, much to discuss M’Lady MacGregor…” the baritone voice return the same courtesy she gave him. Who were they fooling with their manner? For those that even cared, the pair seemed less than truly cordial. He looked down at the woman who now invaded his space. And he quirked his mouth into a wicked grin… “Private… as always…” Had the circumstances been different, he would have grabbed her harshly by the arms, and drew her to him, kissing that beautiful mouth, the soul-burning eyes… Ah yes, the passion between them surviving even now. “But first, get yer arm tended to, M’Lady…” as he took her arm, and inspecting the wound… moreso would he see the bruise upon her cheek…
The Griffin Company, that had shadowed the Robertson riders south from MacLeod’s table toward Sleat, had remained on the eastern end of the peninsula, camping upon the marshes at Kinloch. Their orders from the King, and main concern, was more MacDonald or Borderers coming west from the mainland. For this reason, they were not involved in the main battle near Cartervalle Abbey.
It was this arm of the Griffin army that came thundering into the camps… asking after the commanders of the battle and being sent toward the command tents where Chloe and Iain now faced one another down, in their own battle of wills… “We are looking for the Commanders.. Of the Robertson, and MacGregor…" the seargent-at-arms announced as he dismounted his royally-regaled steed, bearing the black and gold crest and motto of the Griffin…
Alas, what they both desired would not come to fruition, as the King’s guards surrounded them… the seargent-at-arms stepping forward.
“Lord Iain Robertson… Lady Chloestrain MacGregor… By decree of the King, you are hereby placed under arrest for Treason against the Crown…” the sergeant looks to his men… “Bind them, set them upon a horse… we ride for Struan most haste… the King and Queen shall convene court at Dun Durroch…” Lances and pikes were lowered at the announcement, and men moved forward to bind Chloe and Iain… Protests by the pair were met with deaf ears… and the army that followed them would not dare go against the King. Now Iain and Chloe were alone, in detention… at the behest of the King.
There were Decrees for Treason out for every major commander involved in the battle. Mark and Kane had already departed, but Iain and Chloe stepped up and took responsibility for Mark and Kane’s actions, as well as the MacLeod and Argyll; the only exception was Dublain mac Dhugal, the Chieftain o' the MacDonalds. The arrest warrant was issued and yet unfilled.
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Post by Queen Beathag Aberdeen on Jun 10, 2010 0:44:38 GMT -6
Part III
Ye will gae tae Kyleakin because from the sense o' a warrior ye dun let the enemy trap ye like a rat on a sinkin ship. Ye will gae tae Kyleakin because some o' ye will want tae enact vengence on a man tha' wears m'name. TIs fine, they are traitors, lowlives. Some o' ye will gae tae make right our name. Tis fine, tis ours tae men. Others o' ye will gae because ye are loyal tae the Griffin. Tis best, fer we all are despite wot he will call us by noon taemorrow. But at my trial, when they say wot turned ye tail from beneath the Griffin Company, wot turned parlay tae war, I will tell them this:Dublain mac Dhugal, the Chieftain o' the MacDonalds, does nay sit by while a plague infests the land. Tha' he took his legal mantle by force, n' restored beset Kyleakin tae herself, because they were tae late for Broadford. They will say the men tha' came with him were true tae the King enough tae defy him, lest the plague make sick his North-Eastern land. They will say tha' nay only did they look on Broadford, but sae done were they at broadford they dared nay touch Torin, or Elgol, or any other land movin in any direction because they couldn't! They will say a man with one eye n' missin fingers took off whole arms n' hands. Tha' is wot they will say. Should ye ride with me they will say o' ye tha' ye lived true tae yer names because ye let them gae in the light o' a greater thin'. Wot comes tae Kyle be nay just MacDonalds, but MacAllister, those who would swallow up the whole 'o Scotland in her malice. Tis been this way since our father's times, n' afore. The King relies upon his clansmen tae make right the true order. E'en in this new time, where we will become traitors, let us dae it now."
Outside of Castle Moil, the men who made up a pauper's band of proud native sons waited to face the castle's Laird. By the time that the Lady MacGregor and the Lord Robertson were taken as traitors of the crown to Struan, these men had ridden forward to their own destiny seperate of the infamy brand lingering above their backs. By the time the horses emerged from the woods, people watched them. Women pulled their children back from the horse's pace translating the will of the men stubborn to reach the destination. Men put arm across wife as in other hand weapon was held in defense. Cold, tired eyes pierced the veil of dust.
On the outskirts of Broadford the only survivors to be found were the outlying people of the farms. With their bodies clad in clothes to prove all they would own for now, they fled the bloodshed that came with wearing their name MacDonald. What was in a name? One need not leave a family but be only an extension of it to feel the wrath associated with a supposed wrong. What one man lacked and another held no care for upholding, all men paid. Few MacGregor called Broadford home, prefering the work and closeness of their lord in southern most tip of Sleat. The northern portions were the homes of the farmer, the cattlemen, the fisherman. He was a breed of simple man who found peace between the MacGregor Dynasty, his own name, and the sure flow need from all around him. Name had no cause when man needed to eat or be clothed. Name had only as much meaning as you would give it.
The only names that mattered to the men who were armed with sword, machette, and dirk were the names of the people lost to them forever. No sirname. Only firsts. Only those in their arms mattered now. What had they encoutered on the flee to Kyleakin? What drew them out now, as the gates were opened to Moil? Lord Hakon opened his arms not in welcome but in confused, angry disbelief. As he invoked speech out of the soliders, he challenged the will of God. So it was with a man who was as stalwart as he, a man who's father supped in Valhalla.
"What happened, I thought all this would be settled at Cartevalle! Look at this.." He acknowledged the right, the left the dirty, blood covered men who allowed Dublain to speak for all of them. "Look at it, indeed, m'laird. Look at it indeed. These men 'ave come tae Kyleakin tae defend the people, the land, n' the laird. M'nephew was nay one for the parlay table n' sits hereabouts a barbaric heathen with nay soul worth tae save n' any eye, we must make ready!" Fain stretched out his arms to capture Dublain's mount. Between the two men, the creature was stark still. Startling that, in contrast to the other beasts that skittered, pranced, and nickered with the same impatience their riders exhibited to be in the thick of battle. On the walls of Moil, the soliders studied the banners under which the clansmen came. Shredded tartan pieces stood for individualism on gore stained poles while in the center of it all a man held up the standard of the proud, loyal gold creature of legend against its background of black. He could see that no matter what tartan these men wore, among them some of them wore the Griffin colors. Dublain himself wore a black shirt that was torn in places, but still shown with gold thread even under bloodstain. Fain Hakon was moved by what he saw, as were his men on the walls.
The people beyond the gate listened for what the Lord would say. The road whispered of Carver's revenge to grip them. The air screamed with banshee's singing songs at unseen fords washing the clothes of men who would die if it meant the few who survived Broadford might live. The gates were not closed against them, and so they came in to the courtyard intermingling with the same men they believed to have ruined them. "You, stand still. Back now! Hold!" Moil guard held formed a barrier between the men on horses, Hakon, Dublain, and decision. "You stand on neutral ground," Fain said with arms crossed over his body as if sealing himself to the will of the King. At the same time, he was set to defy it in part, "I will furnish you with men, but if they come for you.."
Dublain lifted a hand, finshing the sentence himself, "We will leave the same way we all came, n' gae willin. These are men o' honor, Hakon. They came tae defend Kyleakin nay matter the name despite wot the King will dae tae us come our capture. Tha' accounts for much.."
One man pushed forward through the guard, grabbing at the back of Dublain's shirt, causing him to stumble. His anger reached Dublain before his words did. The words were enough to bring any man to his knees, yet they all stood. "N' wot does it account fer? Eh? Broadford is ashes because o' a name, a name tha' many fled from n' others left be! MacDonald, ye 'eare me, o' great Laird? YE LEFT US TAE DIE!" He pulled back his hist and knocked Dublain across the jaw. Given he was already injured, one more punch was not enough to bring him to his knees. Dublain craddled his face as he watched the man through studios eyes. "N' ye came enough forward tae knock down the one who came tae the parlay. Wot o' runnin' a sword through the men o' Carver MacDonald? If ye will be angry, best tae place it where it be due." The Chieftain of MacDonald thrust his sword in to the hand of the agrieved farmer. It was worth more than the man would make in three years, but it was now in his hands. Confused, he looked at the gift with eyes that said what shall I do with this... The men who rode with Dublain feared for his life. Steps were taken forward to the pair, yet he lifted his hand. If he were stricken, it was righteously deserved. The MacDonald of means had left their fellows of the land stranded between two orders. If he lived? The man would have a future that no price could be put on. The man chose life for them both, offering the lord his sword. "Nay," said he who sat upon Raasay, "Ye take it. The men wot come from Kyleakin upon their feet shall need a man tae look tae, n' those from Broadford will rally tae ye now. Tell them tha' the sword o' yer Chieftain is commond they shall fight like MacDonalds in the name o' the King n' behalf o' the Laird o' Moill. Wot is yer name?" In disbelief, the farmer found the Lord pushing back his blade for the keeping. Stunned, he could only stammer, "En-Somerled, sir. Somerled MacDonald. M'brothers called me Sam." In spite of it all, a smile crossed Dublain's features, "Well, ye shall be same taeday, Somerled's a mouthful n' if ah'm gaein tae the gallows on the morrow tis better tae speak quicker."
It started out as a sound fighting for restraint, but spreading across groups of three men or displaced pairs. A laughter up from the pit of their bellies cascading in a sympohny of tenors. Baritones rose up falling over alto refrains until the lot of it spread across the courtyard. They were not MacDonald, MacGregor, or even MacLean. They were not the men of Moill, Broadford's lost, or Kyleakin's waiting. All of them were a band of brothers in service. Fain laughed, too, opening one arm of his cross to clap the hand on Dublain's shoulder. To return the gesture, Dublain limped two steps forward, nearly doubling over in a mixture of pain peppered with the joy of black humor's expression. "Well, before yer necks are snapped, a horns of mead to pass! We drink before the battle,n' ye are sent off proper as men of my father had been!"
(to be continued)
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Jun 12, 2010 11:40:08 GMT -6
Immediate arrest, without any consideration of their comfort would indeed plague the poor Sergeant whom was only following orders in bringing in what those in Sleat and the men that surrounded them, considered to be heroes of epic proportions. Had he taken time to let Chloe and Iain change clothes and rid themselves of their bloodstained armor, they perhaps would not have looked so valiant.
His wrists hurt as the binding ropes burned his skin. The bindings were tight, but not as tight as they could have been. As MacGregor and Robertson men circled the company of Griffin men, Iain would simply shake his head and blink his eyes. The Robertson stood fast, only words flung harsh against the King’s men. Then both were hefted and placed upon horses.
The Sergeant watched the next few moments with hesitation. He knew that if the crowd went violent, he and his men would surely be massacred… and all of Skye would burn in the flames of separatism once more. As men gathered about them, his men went to draw their swords… he only had to give the command… “HOOLLLD…” The clang of returning sword steel hitting the scabbard rims.
The men who had fought by the Lady’s command however were not the type to take her arrest so lightly, and surrounded the King’s men as Chloe and Iain were bound and set upon horses… it looked to be the beginning of another war, a treasonous war… until Chloe urged her horse forward to the Sergeant’s side… “Sergeant... May I please address my men?” her face told him he would be wise to do so.
The sergeant knew not what the future would bring… what the decision the King would decree… It was not his to ponder upon. He nodded to the woman warrior, and flicked his finger to the soldier hold the reins. When he looked to the Robertson man upon the horse, Iain quirked his eyes and smiled, saying nothing.
And as she turned her steed with her knees toward the men who were willing to commit treason against the King’s men, she met them with a beautiful smile of pride… “My loyal Soldiers… you have won the day... We MacGregor, and Robertson are victorious; defending our land, our families, our honor with sword and blood… Now it is up to you all to see this though. See the dead honored as they should be, return to our Clan’s finest home and see to your families, and continue the defense of our lands. Tell the story that happened here so all will know if you dare harm a MacGregor. They dare even the go against the King’s wishes to defend themselves to the last man and woman…” her voice rang out with pride and honor for the men who had given their all on the battlefield to protect the land they all called home. “Eulle MacGregor” she called to a particularly tall and raw boned man that stood near the front… “You are now in command... See that the wounded are tended, the dead are honored and that the Chieftain and my Family knows what has happened here this day…” did she wink at the man as she gave him the orders, would he know that he was to dispatch a messenger with the moment her horses rear was out of sight to Dunsgate, to let Searc know she had been arrested? Of course he would, it went without saying… but Eulle would take his command above and beyond, sending messengers out not only to Dunsgate but along the road the King’s men would travel toward Struan… with the story of victory against the MacDonalds, and an outcry against the arrest of Lady MacGregor and the Robertson, for in Sleat they were now fabled heroes … “Who knows… perhaps the King wants to present us with Medals…” she quipped gaining a hearty laugh from the men who were willing to throw they swords into battle against the King’s men for her… her smile and her demeanor were infectious, to the men who begin to shout and sing her praises.
Iain could see Robertson men intermingled in the surrounding crowd… He would not wish to speak, leaving it for Chloe to handle. He sat in the saddle with an odd smirk upon his face. No longer the demure, tantalizing lass he fell in love with, suffered at the hands of evil fathers together, had sired a son with… No longer the firey passionate lover… or was it hidden beneath armour. They had always worn armour around people. Their fathers assuredly gave them the reasons to do so… but together? Oh the thought burned hot in his loins… They were soft, tender, and passionate, except in rough sex… Now she led an army… His smirk just grew as the crowd tightened around them.
When the Lady finished, he barked orders to ready the company, by twos… “On to Struan, the King awaits… Forward, March…” then the company started to depart slowly, only when the arrested Robertson man urged men to allow passage.
“MacGregor… MacGregor…” the name was cheered as the little band of King’s Men escorted her and Iain from the encampment and onward the road to Straun.
The Lady MacGregor is fine as they come… Sharpen her sword, Not a Lady to stay home So buckle your stirrups, And shine up your mail We are going to send some MacDonalds to Hell
The Robertson come with a thundering hooves To Aid in the cause, to rout the wolves Back to back like brothers we stood To stand by the lady and our honor we should
Our home, Our Land, our Very Name Be it hers one in the same To defend with our lives, our blood, and our sword To the Lady MacGregor, we gave our word.
Whose eyes are bright shining , more than her sword..? Ohhhhh hoooo the Lady MacGregor Who sent the MacDonalds a packing an home Ohhh hooo the Lady MacGregor
Who rides like the devil and send them to hell Ohhhh ho the Lady MacGregor Who fought with her men till the last enemy fell Stand aside for the Lady MacGregor
This was the diddy her men sung, as they broke camp, and tended the dead and wounded; songs that would make their way through the countryside and become legends in their own time.
The King’s men rode slowly along the road, ever watchful for an attack. But none came.
By the time the King’s men, and their prisoners reached the next hamlet on the road to Straun, there were villagers and country folk lining the road, flowers wreaths and laurels were offered to both Chloe and Iain, as they made they way bound by hand to pommel to their horses. But bearing a regal warrior’s look in their armor and mail… imagine the sight of the villagers to see their heroes bound and being arrested by the King’s men.
Rotted vegetables were tossed at the Griffin men, and slurs and outrage, as well as protest against the arrest abounded, and it would be this way in every village and town along the route until they had passed the boarders of Sleat. The only place on the trek that it would not happen was in Broadford for there were no people left to protest. Only charred remains of the town, freshly dug graves, and still the smell of burning flesh even days after the massacre.
The Griffin Company had been stationed in a neutral area during the battle as ordered, simply ensuring the King’s word was law. They had not seen the after-effects of MacDonald brutality, but as they passed thru Broadford, their hearts would sink to the very pits of their stomachs. Now knowing they stood by while the King’s people died needlessly. This act of aggression upon the King and his subjects would truly be reported and entered into the case.
Holding their shields as protection the soldiers rode quickly past the angry crowds. Now they were the invaders... and it played upon their psyche…
By the time the band of King’s Men that escorted Iain and Chloe toward their date with the King and Queen’s court… had reached the borders of Sleat, they had grown into a traveling band of protesters against the arrest some 100 bodies strong. They followed at a distance, but shouted and cursed the King’s men and the King’s decision to arrest their Heroes… determined to make their way to Dun Durroch and protest there. It was the least they could do for the two people who led the defensive of Sleat against the MacDonald interlopers.
As each mile was traversed, the Sergeant became concerned for their mission. They were becoming increasingly unpopular, but popularity was not their mission. The entourage followed behind… men, women, children… farmers, weavers, shepherds, mill workers… wives, sons, daughters…!! These were the people of Skye…
The sergeant called for a messenger… “Ride forward, inform the King of what you see… Announce our arrival in no less than five days…” With a nod from the Sergeant, the messenger rode forward at a faster pace, a change-horse in tow…
So it was that the four day trek wearied on, leaving no time for even private words between Chloe and Iain. Such paranoia reigned in the King’s men that the crowd of protester that followed might try and rescue their two prisoners, that always Chloe and Iain were kept surrounded by soldiers and guarded.
It was the last day of the trek when they camped that Chloe requested a word with the Sergeant, begging him for a moment for her to bath and clean up in nearby stream. Days of road dust, combined with the blood and gore of battle had left her less than fresh and chafing beneath the armor on the increasingly warm early days of summer. Upon giving her word, that she would not try and escape, the Sergeant relented, both because of her earlier intervention with her men, who could have started and all out war… and slaughtered his men with ease, and because despite her arrest, she nor the Robertson had given him any quarrel, only saying they understood he was doing his duty.
After the men had made camp and in shifts taken their own baths and dinner, Iain and Chloe were led down to the Stream. Iain bound to a tree… while Chloe bathed. The men showing respect and turning their backs as upon her word she promised no escape or… funny business… A cake of soap and a small woolen blanket to dry with were her only luxuries.
The King’s men were possibly the scorn of the people all along the route to Struan… town to town, clan to clan, the story was the same. People gathered along the road and as Sleat became a destination left behind, the attitude of the crowds turned less hostile, but still they gathered along the road offering well-wishes, flowers tossed at the feet of the captives’ horses.
First the rattle of her leather armor breastplate, and fine delicate light mail, found the ground followed by boots, hose, undershirt, and leggings... Then finally the binding of her breast, and drawers... With their backs turned the guards were not privy to the sight of her, but in the waning sunlight, Iain could glimpse the palette of violence that had been painted across her body… in the few seconds it took her to sink into the water… fingerprints merged with the handprint that had darkened her cheek, forming a collar where she had been choked… ringing her neck in a lace of purplish bruises… scratches and teeth prints, on her shoulders and breast, told of things she had not complained of, and that were no common acts of war… her belly and side showed the dark print of a man’s boot. And her thighs were bruised in a way that left no doubt as to what she had experienced… soon enough it was covered by the cool lapping water, as she washed quickly the scent and debris of war from her body. Moments later, she would redress, there was no time for washing her clothes, so she would have to make due…with a cleansing of the flesh…
Four long days, they rode… and with each town and hamlet, Iain was amazed at the gatherings… and at her. She was, and is, amazing. Could love grow staronger than it was? He did not think so, but this trek had proved him wrong. And the bath would be truly welcomed, but the sight of her beauty wwas even more so…
It seemed that she was tantalizing him, for she removed the armour and mail to reveal what he had not seen, nor touched, in months… But what he did not expect were the bruises and mars upon her once unmarked skin. Besides the marks of battle, she carried the symbols of abuse. He grit his teeth as his mind sorted out gruesome details of the imagination as to what occurred. How could she wash off that? How could she wash away the mental anguish? He would ask nothing… nor comment on anything. His slate-grey eyes would speak volumes.
A quick few steps and she would stand as he was unbound holding out the blanket and soap to him; her eyes downcast, as she saw the look on his face. But surrounded by guards was no the time for this discussion… “You need a bath Robertson, you are beginning to smell ripe.” the soap was pressed into his hands as she dropped to sit at the tree where he had sat while she bathed, fingers combing though her long dark wet hair… and pulling it into a tight single braid...
At least she would arrive at Dun Durroch clean... She mused, her eyes on Iain as he undressed and bathed… it was a testament to her love for him, that after all she had suffered at the hands of men, that she still found him most beautiful and exciting, so much so that her cheeks flamed but she did not look away. For with what lay ahead of them, how many more times would her eyes have the chance to look upon her love… she cherished each moment they had been together these last four days, even separated and bound, and barely words spoken... It was still enough, just to see him... breathe the same air... hear his voice; if only fate had not twisted their lives so far from the little girl and boy who played marbles and fell in love all those years ago…
“A sure fact I am sure, but nay as ripe as after I am hung… or my head stuck upon a pike...” he chided as he was released to cleanse himself… a welcomed relief. And as he removed his clothes, he would do so, slow and tantalizing… attempting to revitalize what they had felt oh so long ago. As he washed himself, he offered her much reason to be embarrassed… but her expressions were met with a wicked lil smirk.
Words he wanted to say never came to lips, but he thought, if only to reassure himself of how he now felt. “Anyone can give up, tis the easiest to do. But to stay the course when everyone else would understand if I have self-destructed, that's true strength. Being deeply loved by her hath given me strength, while loving her deeply hath given me courage… I accept my destiny and go freely to it. If I am nay to enjoy life with, and beside her, I shall take what I can, when I can… What I am destined to become is not revealed now, but apparanetly, it is pre-determined. Forget this failure, as it was essential to lead me to my destined path.” And to that he smiled and walked from the water.
As she sat by the tree, he walked back to his clothes, and winked at her; dressing slowly. “All this is essential to our destined path my love…” he repeated, this time aloud, and he smiled, pulling the mail back over his form.
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Post by Sir Kendrew Campbell on Jun 13, 2010 19:57:12 GMT -6
The Return of the Steel Tooth of the WestKendrew, to Struan, and Kyleakin, on a PromiseWhat are new paths to the future but different things built on the backs of what has already been? Kendrew Campbell was a man who earned by the qualities of the state, his chance at leisure. He had served the King of Scotland known as Robert Bruce, and the reign before him. He served the Duke and Duchess of Skye at a time when it was not popular to do so, only to kiss their hands once crowned. Along with the many whose blood has run on the soil of the land, he is one of the few entitled to endless seasons of peace. It is his whim to train the men after him that would ensure it. At the age of forty-three, Kendrew has been greeted with the rarity of full retirement. He has enjoyed his seclusion from the affairs of state these last several years, and emerges only as a counselor to his regents, a close friend, and as the rock in a sea of turmoil. The world revolved around him. He was given glimpses of scenes but for not participating in them, did not know the full extent of the damage they'd done. He knew little of what ailed his land until he felt the absence of the General in not seeing him. He knew nothing of the family that fell apart, until he saw no ship of Ealora in the docks. War ravages Sleat where there should be skirmish. Arrests are made. Treason is declared. Families that are never silent have said nothing, and the lesser stand to lose everything. Beside Kaelyn's bed, alongside his wife and the sword sworn man named Gao Jia Lee, he witnessed the opening of his own eyes to the world around him. Disgusted by what he saw, he made visits to another ward of men. Some old enough to remember his time of complete service. Others young enough only to be hungry for his legends and benefit from his teaching. It was at the side of a young man of seventeen he learned of desertion by one who claimed fealty, but even that was not so harrowing as seeing a man whom had only served merriment from his tavern wounded by war. The MacSweens of the city, Charlie and Grufford, went down to Broadford to pull forth their kinsmen from the fray only to find they would survive an atrocity so hideous in its conception that it rivaled the destruction of Sleat City itself in 1328. Charlie, too injured to go on, was taken to the infirmary. If word reaches the ears of the regents of the MacSween dealings, on either side, a clan already small and often disliked could be gone forever. Grufford, he said, had gone on with Dublain mac Dhugal to Kyleakin. It is no more a war of fueding families, but a war against the very core of deception banished from Sleat, in the form of Carver MacDonald. How could he remain asleep, when the world screams so? So many things jeopardize the world so beloved that he must cast aside his peace, even at the screaming of his wife or the cry of his infant son. * To Their Esteemed, Sovereign Majesties, My friends, I have learned the way of things and am much aggrieved by the way in which our realm is coming to be so soon during your new, and blessed reign. It is still a young reign, and in fearing for our people who live as family I fear for you both. Do you know that all you have written of to me and mine is expounded thrice o'er? I can find no sign of the General, nor his wife. The Weapon's Master no doubt is overburdened, having returned from Lewis-Harris, having seen the state of the Elite Ranger his sister. Oh my friends. My kindred. Beathag my sister, Adam my brother. I have stood at the foot of the ranger's bed to see her listless. You are much aggrieved at these tidings. You are stricken, I know. You have gone to Struan to make a bold, just point. There is no rule stronger than your rule. There is no law stronger than your law. Regrettably, as I have come to learn in my own experiences as a Chieftain, there is a code more ancient than any of our places. Family is everything. The way of a name should not mean what one will become but we are bound to this, all of us. We either must live up to or defy our very lineage. While learning of the ranger in fishing village and seeing the outcome of the Austrian's abandonment, I saw Charlie McSween bandaged. What cause has had to be bandaged among soldiers? His tale will give all of you pause as it gave me pause. He is a MacSween, as is Grufford. They went hence to Broadford on learning of the danger that was there from Carver MacDonald's call to arms for his kindred. Those that did not answer did so out of loyalty to you, their peace, and wanting no affiliation with the disgusting nature of him. For this, he slaughtered them all. Then he went about the town. As you know Broadford is mixed hence between the MacSween that keep it, a MacDonald partnership as it is a border land, and those who simply settle. There are few left to testify. I can not write what he told me all of, for it is not proper for the ears of your lady Adam, but let it be said there is nothing left of Broadford. He witnessed Cartevalle, and said of his own word that Dublain mac Dugal rode to Kyleakin to cease the breaking of this vile war to the North. He rode with band of mixed men, mixed clans, to cease Carver's advance with mainland forces. It is my belief that this is not a battle of traitors here, but now a battle of the Griffin seeking to stop the true treason there. I can not attest for the crimes of the men commited before Kyleakin, but must commit myself to this battle. If I do not, there will be none to witness without bias, and none to carry your banner without failure. I do not know what men you will commit to me for this cause, if any at all. In the absence of your other fellows I would ask of your majesties to allow me the chance to lead a suitable company of men to Kyleakin to assist in the ending of this battle. To find the truth for you, and to find the truth for the MacSween. There will be nothing left of them if they are found guilty of treason. Some may be worth of it, but what little of them are not will faulter. I can not speak of Robertson or MacGregor, but among the greater are also lesser. I speak only for myself as your man. I will bring my Liliana to you at Struan, so you, Beathag might have a lady of valor in your valorious company. Both of you have need of the other, and Adam should you have need of me but ask. Know I can not stay, and my time in Struan will be short. God pray you grant my request. God keep you. The Lord Guardian
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Jun 16, 2010 20:44:56 GMT -6
Arrival in Struan The day dawned beautiful and clear, the sky blue as a robin’s egg, with only streamers of white cirrus clouds here and there to mar the perfection of the azure spanse… Horses hooves beat in steady rhythm on the dirt road, still fragrant and damp from the nights dew, smelling of rich earth, fertile and sweet as the suns rays begin to heat the countryside, cokes crowed, and the country folk moved to see the day started right as usual… in Straun.
The file of Griffin men, a banner of black and gold raised before them, heralded the much anticipated arrival of Skye’s now most notorious Treasonist… Iain Robertson and Chloe MacGregor… Warrants were out for the others, Carver and Dublain MacDonald, and the whole of Skye waited with anticipation the trial and punishment of the lot of them… But today the Roads that lead to Dun Durroch were lined with common and nobility alike all hoping for a glimpse of the now dishonored Robertson and his Witch Whore... MacGregor… Scenery changed along the route from Sleat to Struan… as diverse as the Isle itself and the people within her… and so follow suit was the sentiment against Skye’s traitors… or were they martyrs? Regardless, from beginning to destination, they would be lauded and applauded, and cursed and hexed.Keliana had done her job well... The moment she had heard that Iain and Chloe were arrested together… that Iain had fought for Chloe... Had faced the death of himself and his men, pledged Robertson’s men to the defense of that whore… Well, any feeling she had left for the man was gone in her humiliation, a rage at her husband’s betrayal… And her poison spread like a plague upon the people of Struan. A pamphlet, author unknown, circulated in the days it took for the King’s men to reach Struan with their prisoners, words of betrayal to clan and kin… betrayal against a lawful and loving wife... words of the MacGregor Witch and how she had bespelled the Lord Robertson to her will, calling him away from his hearth and home with her siren’s song and her fleshly delights. It painted the responsibility for all the wrongs upon the scarlet woman’s head, and the Lord Robertson as her imbecile pawn; surely it was Satan’s work. And in the heat of the days, and the anticipation of the arrival, the words took hold like flames upon a ripened wheat field, feeding upon themselves until a frenzy of hatred and ill will took hold and was unleashed when the Griffin Cadre and their prisoners arrived.On the road, Mark Collier had been added to their ranks, and it was between the filed men that they rode, first Iain surrounded by Griffin men at arms, then Chloe and finally Mark… kept some 2 horselengths from each other and surrounded… the Sergeant of the men looked at the crowds lining the road up to Dun Durroch with trepidation. This could turn ugly at any moment, and as if his thoughts were read at the time they turned the bend in the road that showed them the face of Dun Durroch… the crowds had moved from hurling insults to hurling rotten vegetables at Chloe and Mark.“Curse you witch! Damm you to hell…” “MacGregor Whore…” these were things that were chanted out in unison as the crowd became increasingly violent. To Iain, the words were different… “Renounce your Whore... and save yourself… cast off her spell… and cast her back to hell…” different versions of the same sentiment left no doubt as to the way that Struan felt about their Chieftain Iain, and his MacGregor woman. They would forgive him anything... but they had been totally turned against Chloe and the MacGregors… and found them blamed for every sin under the heavens.Iain had listened to MacGregor, MacDonald, Robertson and MacLeod, people from opposite ends of the Isle and it was in his own city that they chided the three… As far as the people were concerned, it was Chloestrain that had behexed Mark and Iain… Even some would relish her as Aracellis reincarnated… vowed to destroy the Robertson… All he could do was to look at the crowds, filled with rage and anger… and wonder, how could they change such attitudes in a few simple months…
The past relationship of Iain and Chloestrain was infamous… passionate beyond many’s ideals of desires…secretly men, and women, wished they could do as those two… the freedom each had… Then as Lord Alexander began his underhanded dealings, sentiment soon swayed away from Iain in favor of a marriage… even ill-fated as he and Keliana… and now, the people seemed almost pleased to curse Chloe and laud Keliana… Iain just glared at the crowds…A rotted turnip smacked Chloe across the shoulder, but she pretended not to hear the slurs or taunts, to feel the pelting of the, objects thrown at her. Head held high, she set her eyes upon the castle, her mind wandering back to the most happy time in her life spent within those walls, the few weeks of pure bliss she had ever known, when she and Iain were together before the world went mad. Her heart beat quickened as her memories flooded her, of nights of passion, days of love, and a world that was made by the two of them. Alone… how she wished for those days, or to be lost in the memories and not have to deal with the reality of her life. She watched Iain from the back, watching his jaw work in anger at the words his people flung at them. The soldiers that escorted them moved in closer to guard them; and some shouted down the people who hurled insults and objects, but to no avail… it seemed the sentiment in Struan was much different than in Sleat… where once they were heroes, now they were monsters, shamed and condemned.How could so many be influenced? He wondered… Mark knew most of the people… his family a sept within the Robertson… and his boyish ways with his best friend Iain… Yes, he knew that Alexander really hated Iain, but thru the years, eventually handed over the reins to Dun Durroch. And yes, Mark knew that it was a forced marriage, for his Lord did not truly love Keliana… but Chloe, ah yes… he knew secrets about them many did not. He wanted to scream out the fine words for Chloe, as he truly knew her… nothing like what the crowds cursed… Still, he looked around and seemed confused… Him, a traitor? All he wanted to do was protect the Academy from invading MacDonald…Some fifteen horselengths from the gates of Dun Durroch... A stone flew, resounding thud that cracked the serene façade that Chloe had been presenting; brave and undeterred… until now, as the grey rounded stone struck her temple, accompanied by the shout of “Die MacGregor Witch…” toppled from her seat upon the horse, her hands bound to the pommel.. She was dragged beneath the beast as the crowd pushed in, finally the stoic grim line of a mouth opened, but it was in a horrified scream. Monsters, shamed and condemned… it was a lightning strike to the psyche… threats bellowed from the crowd against them… and his heart sank to its lowest depths… or so he thought until he heard a scream…
Far from the front, a scream echoed off stone walls, a scream that sheared the soul… one of pain… and he stiffened his legs to stand in the stirrups… and he looked around…As the horse reared, dragging and flinging her into the air, as it did like a rag doll… The Griffin men were intent on pushing back the crowds, as the gates swung open… it would look bad for the Lady Prisoner to die within a breath of the destination… The horse let loose a panicked whinny, for both the press of the crowds, and the flopping unfamiliar weight at it’s side, had spooked it. Her last thought, before blackness took her, was to look upward toward Iain; eyes the color of Irish Moss in the spring, flecked with drops of gold… spoke volumes… silent… “I love you…” Iain saw the head snap to the side like a marble hit by a bumblebee… he saw her weight shift, and the horse rear, and her weight shifted against, this time more violently… and he saw Chloe slide from the saddle, hanging by the bindings, and her forlorn look of depair, and her silent I Love You, as if she knew she would surely die…
As soon as the horse reared and the crowds took attention from the guards, Iain began to work at his bindings, but the most he could do would be to work them loose from the saddle… and this was done just as Chloe fell from the saddle… the horse began to crush into the crowd in its panicked state, and Iain lept from his mount and ran to grasp the reins of the panicked horse which now split the crowd into people dodging for their lives…
One hand worked at her bindings, while the other held the reins fast… most of the guards now working the crowd, disconcerned with the prisoners… whilst others watched in awe… Iain managed to loosen Chloe from the saddle… and with bound hands hefted her to first his shoulder, then into his arms.
It’s often amazing what one can do with adrenaline pumping in their veins… and here at witness to the fact was Mark, still atop his steed, bound to the saddle, watching from far to the rear… and as Iain carried Chloe thru the gates, Mark smirked at them, yet sneered at the crowd.
Iain carried Chloe thru the gates, his back straight, the lifeless form in his arms… the crowd prevented entry by the guards… the mounted soldiers now dismounting and surrounding them. Iain lowered his head against Chloe’s… “Hold, my love… hold… we shall be safe… I promise my love eternal…” She stood there on the steps of Dun Durroch beside the Royals and their Retainers, as the Cadre finally entered the gates… rage and shame filled her face causing her to flush red with hatred at the sight of Iain…. In his arms the figure of his Lover, his whore Chloe. What sort of arrest allowed him to carry her through the gates of Dun Durroch? Had he no shame whatesoever..? Deep in her guts, she roiled with hatred for them both... She wanted to see them swing from the gallows… but rather than show it, she set upon her face and impassionate stare… She was the Lady Robertson of Dun Durroch... And now that Iain was arrested and accused, and soon to be executed if her plan worked out well… She would never suffer his embarrassment again… The Lady Keliana had been scorned… and hell hath no fury...!!!The King and Queen would peer out the window at the scream and witness the chaos below… and witness the valiant effort by the man known as Iain Robertson, when it came to the woman, Chloe… Adam just looked at Bess and shook his head. "People are quick tae judge Ahdam, they want heroes n' villians, salvation n' heresy, all within the same. See the fickle love o' people." The Queen watched vegetables being pelted at the bodies, call for damnation, calls for being made whole again on the promise of renouncing. People could never have what it was they always wanted, was it? See then the clansmen, "N' they find us terrible, fer how we wish choices for them. If such freedoms were truly embraced by the people this would 'ave ne'er happened." Wouldn't it have? What if Chloestrain had bawked convention, took use of the law, and married her Iain? What if Iain cared little for glory and more for her? How everyone was so tied to the land, rocks, and dirt they would do anything to preserve it...anything.
There was not a single one of them that watched the affair that hadn't sold their soul. Even Adam, Even her. They sold themselves to the Papacy as much as they advocated freedom of faith. They sold their souls to the people no different than Robertson or MacGregor, for peace, fortune, a chance...for love. When Chloestrain was hit with the rock from above, her heart raced. No matter what the woman had done, she hadn't deserved that. How ancient the ritual of casting stone on a harlot. She held Adam's hand even tighter as the entirity of the scene unfolded.
Indeed, they were criminals, but none of the guard went forth to help them. Did they control the crowd so much they expected it. Did they find the King's will so absolute, it was better to let her die anyway? She turned from the point of watching on the walls, moving to one of the guards that never strayed far, waking or sleeping. "Ye will find the caster o' the stone, n' ye will bring them hence. None are above nor below, n' if the woman dies afore the trial proceeds, tis tadamount tae near murder. Bring them tae me, Ah want tell them this." The guard went, and yet thought to interject, "But the faith, my lady. They are all people of faith." Not dissuaded, she reached out with a hand to grip the man's shoulder, "If ye find it a hard thing tae dae o' faith, then be gone from my service. Judge lest ye be judged. Yer book o' 'faith' says tha' much. Ah'm nay unfamiliar. Heed me or be gone."
Treat others as you desired to be treated. That was the oldest rule of any in all the world. Part of her abhorred the idiocy of their fight, and more of her understood it. Part of her thought them all fools, and part of her knew they were all genius.
She understood Chloestrain for she had worn a cause on her arm in steel for many years, and loved what she loved so much it drove her to the ends of the earth. She understood Iain, for we are all craving possession as much as meaning, and it is hard to differentiate between both. To judge them was to judge herself. The Queen would never forget that. In some ways, she even understood Keilana and Alexander… the woman looked on the aged gent with too much greed in her eyes, and too much obdience. She was so quick to cast her own husband as a traitor, yet speak none of herself. Alexander? The boy was his own blood, and he wanted to throw them to the wolves.
Yet part of her wished it was them two going to trial now. Dun Durroch seeped disdain into the veins. The King and Queen would peer out the window at the scream and witness the chaos below… and witness the valiant effort by the man known as Iain Robertson, when it came to the woman, Chloe… Adam just looked at Bess and shook his head.The trio was escorted, not to the front doors, but to the massive doors leading down… down to the dungeons, and Iain was finally struck with reality… and just before he carried his beloved Chloe thru those doors of destiny, he glanced to the stairs… and there he saw evil incarnate… his wife, Keliana…
Disappearing thru the doors, down the corridor, to the dungeons below, a guard tried to relieve Iain of his burden, but he resisted… and followed the guard to Chloe’s cell. Her bindings now cut away, he layed her upon a bed of straw, for they had no beds… and he lingered too long, as a Grffin guard pulled his arm, cutting the bindings, then guiding him to his cell.
A fate would have it, his cell was next to hers… and after all had departed, and Iain’s screaming requests for a healer was ignored and eventually silenced, he sat next to the stone wall, his hand upon it… he could hear her whimpering softly…Several doors down, Mark was thrown in, as he had done nothing but resist the guards the whole way in… his bindings remained… and would do so until he vowed to calm down when food finally arrived, but for the meantime, he would sit in his cell and contemplate the predicament.Meanwhile, Shyvonne, Kane, and Robin finally arriving in Struan, finding Griffin banners futtering in the wind… vegetable remnants sprawled about the gate and its surrounding area… The crowd now dispersed. Thank God, the boy had not witnessed such an atrocity as what occurred earlier.
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Post by Sir Kendrew Campbell on Jun 19, 2010 22:45:54 GMT -6
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Post by Lady Chloestrain MacGregor on Jun 25, 2010 13:01:32 GMT -6
The McGregor Arrival in Struan
Searc There had been a time, not in the too distance past that he had cursed her to hell, clabberd for her blood, wanted her death, and all the suffering a heart of vengeance could want heaped upon her flesh and soul. Now he stood in an antechamber within the Castle walls of Dun Durroch.. The place of his enemy, the Home and Hearth of the Man who was his wife’s lover, the father of the bastard child, that Searc Claimed as his own.. And now he owed both Chloe and Iain a debt. Of honor, a debt he might well never be able to repay. Searc was a harsh man, never given much to sentiment, or easy feelings, he cared more for his dogs than he did his wife.. For her feelings had never really been an issue for him, as long as she assumed the role he wish of her in public.. Until that night.. So long ago now.. The New Year.. Was only some months back, but that night had redefined history for the McGregor’s.. Still to this day he could not place his mind around the moment that he snapped, the moment his mind twisted and she became a possession not a person, a thing not a woman, an means to and end and not a wife. It mattered not now, when the moment or where, or the cause, it had happened, it was done and there was nothing to do for it but go foreword from this day. In the Chair he sat in, he moved uncomfortably, his wounds still healing pained him without mercy, and he believed Father Prious when he offered perhaps it was penance, this pain that never seemed to wane, for his sins against his wife, Searc was inclined to believe, something had changed in him, and he knew the moment it had.. He was lying in Bed at Cartevalle Abbey, his mind drifting over how he would exact his revenge on his wife.. When she arrived at the Abbey.. Not to finish what he started, not to berate or exact her revenge.. But to save him, rescue him from sure death. In his invalid state , guarded by a few soldiers, and a Abbey of Priest and Nuns, Searc knew he would never have survived the Forces that Carver McDonald came to bear in Sleat. It was impressed even more deeply in his mind and soul when on their journey here to Dun Dorrch that they passed Cartevalle, and Broadford, seeing the devastation brought it even more into focus, just what She had faced, what she had won against and what she had saved him from. The Fact that because of the relationship that Iain Robertson held with Chloe, the love he bore her, he went against the Kings command to help her defeat the McDonalds was without doubt one of the most unselfish acts Searc could have ever witnessed. Now sitting in the Chamber listening to hour after hour of testimony from soldiers and priest that were at Cartersvalle, he made sure the Court Scribe recorded it all.. A grim line on his face, his body stiff and hard, left no doubt that even thought he had fought off the “PLAUGE” and survived, he was still a force to be reckoned with. The Thing about his marriage to Chloe, while it was not a marriage in the purest sense of the word, it was a joining of forces for a common goal. That goal being to provide peace and stability, along with growth and prosperity to the Family and Clan of the McGregor.. Chloe had provided him with an heir, albeit, not of his own blood, but few people in the world knew of that, and as it stood young Robin was indeed the tanist of the McGregor’s. The second goal that Chloe had provided him was the appearance of a marriage and a wife, so that questions that had arose about his lack of wife and heirs , were finally moot. Chloe had put on a good act, and indeed had settled into her life as a McGregor, Chieftains wife and beloved of the people.. He knew it was mostly to secure her sons status and future, but it was also because after Iain married Kelliana, Chloe had no where left to go. Her life in Sleat had not been idyllic, but she had been wealthy and privileged and had a loving family in Lindall, Ivella and Shyvonne , if not in her husband. The two had come to a mutual agreement and over the past four years had endeavored to much enterprise and commerce that had lifted the People of Sleat and the McGregor’s into a new age of wealth and vitality. In the four days it had taken them to reach Struan by carriage to come here, Searc had had much time to reflect over the years of his marriage.. Enough so to know he had made many mistakes..and was deserved of her anger and hate.. And yet when push came to shove she had saved him, defended the land in his stead and acted admirably.. When she could have left him to his fate. He did wonder over her motivations, wonder if she were indeed the creature of conscious that he believed her to be, and a good woman that he had failed and abused. Regardless he would himself now try and emulate the qualities he now believed his wife to own, and at last become the Man who was worthy of the title of Chieftain. If for no other reason than honor and his sense of loyalty he would defend Chloe and Iain, there was a reason the word ” Clannish “ would survive past the days of actual clans, you see in most Clans,, there were internal struggles for power , lands and money.. And there would always be so.. But woe unto those who dared to attack a Clan member, it seemed the whole of the McGregor Seed that had ever been sewn in all of Kingdom come had descended on Struan to show their Loyalty and Support, and their fidelity to the Clan and the Chieftains Wife. Over the Next Few Days Searc would spend any amount of time effort and money to see to the defense… and find evidence that would leave no doubt that Chloestrain was within her Lawful Right to defend the Lands of the McGregor.. With force against the McGregors.
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Post by Lady Chloestrain MacGregor on Jun 25, 2010 13:03:22 GMT -6
Lindall The returning soldiers from Cartevalle had brought with them both good and bad news, for the clan it was good news, the Invading McDonalds had been turned back, routed by the combined forces led by Chloe, Iain and Dublain.. The bad news for the clan, both Chloe and Iain had been arrested for treason.. And a price was on Dublains head.. None of this mattered to the shattered and bereaved heart of Lindall McGregor though, it seemed as if life had stood still, the moment the cart was untarped and the shrouded figure of her husbands body was left before her eyes. A body now limp in the days heat, already flies buzzed about the cart in greediness, the stench was unbearable, as Jonas had been laid upon the cart last, upon the bodies of some 25 other men who called Dunsgate home.. There were more carts.. It seemed the line went on for ever.. And for each cart 25 or so families that would nay have father brother or son at the dinner table ever again.. And yet the crowds cheered.. The victory.. She stood beside her brother as he managed the chaos of the homecoming, barking out orders as to the placement of the dead, sending messengers to the Academy and making haste to ready the Family for a trip to Struan. To all this she was numb, though she seemed to be made of such stern stuff, not even a tear fell from her eyes, her hands did not cradle a belly now gone some five months with his child, nor did her lips open in wailing as one might expect.. From a normal wife. Not Lindall.. She was known as the logical one, the durable and level headed one. Beautiful in her own right, she did not dwell on flights of fancy, get lost in the drama of books and prose, or gossip. She stayed the course, did what was expected and good for the clan, for the family. It was 2 short years ago that Searc had signed a marriage contract for her to Jonas McGregor, a distant cousin of suitable means, but that had and explementery head on him for numbers and money. This was the deciding factor in her marriage to Jonas, not love or affection but his ability to further the holdings of the Family and the Clan. How shocked was she and he to find that in the weeks after their marriage, courtesy had turned to a fondness that grew into affection and finally bloomed full force into a love they could have never foreseen.. It was with all the joy under the heavens she had told him she was expecting, and the same joy that he had gathered her into his arms and twirled her about. Life was good.. Now she followed Searc into the Library where he was briefed, and made plans, passing her a written list of her duties.. He paused only a moment.. “ You will see to Jonas’ funeral that it is done quickly.. He already rots, and we must leave for Struan by afternoon tomorrow. “ it was not a question, there was no worry in his voice over if his sister was distraught over her husbands death.. Until he looked up at her face, seeing emerald green hues brimming with tears he stood and embraced her heartily.. “ Shhhhh do not worry.. Within a suitable time we will find you a better husband.. Jonas Died a brave man.. He will be honored.. “ that was Serac’s form of comfort, seeing to the future.. “Of course “ she murmured against his shirtfront, any amount of affection at this point was comfort, even it he thought she was upset because she was now a pregnant widow, and without husband. The truth was her heart was breaking . “ I shall see to it “ she pulled away turning to hurry from the room, making the preparations for a dawn funeral, as well as seeing to the other things that Searc had proscribed her do.. Clothes for Chloe, bedding and seeing the coaches outfitted for the 5 day journey to Struan, already they would be several days behind the Griffins men, but geography could not be changed. It was later that night as she sat alone in the bedroom where they had brought Jonas’s body to be cleansed for burial that she finally shed her tears, washing his body tenderly, she vowed she would hate all McDonalds for the rest of her days for taking her sweet Jonas from her. No matter the stench of softened flesh of the corpse of her husband , she tended him gently, with loving hands, and would not allow a maid to help.. By dawn he was laid out in his best tartan, his shield and sword with him.. As a pyre was built in age old custom.. He would not be buried in the Christian ways but in that of his forefathers, that of a warrior.. As the sun rose.. The flames were lit..blazing to heaven.. Carrying his soul upward on angles wings.. There were few there, for many were in preparation for defense of the castle should Carvers men turn back, the others in preparation for the Journey to Struan.. But Lindall stayed, until the last flame flickered out.. Then turned her mournful soul toward the task of heading to Struan, perhaps Chloe’s life could be spared, Lindall had always liked Chloe and the two had come to be fast friends in the years that Chloe had been at Dunsgate. Lindall was indeed steadfast, and forthright and was a comfort and joy to Chloe, She had rejoiced when Robin was born almost as much as Chloe falling in love with the infant, as did everyone in the family, save Searc. Lindall however was not privy to the fact that Robin was not her brothers son, nor that Chloe was in love with Iain Robertson all these long years, more than likely that would not have changed her love or respect for Chloe, as once given it was hard for Lindall to take away anything from another. Following her brother into the Dungeons at Dun Darroch was and exercise in control. It was a dank dark hellish place, little light and less air, made the place seem otherworldly as her eyes focused on the cells looking for Chloe’s form. Searc stood it seemed unmoved , before the cell that held her.. The guard eyeing him with trepidation.. “ We have brought bedding and food for my wife “ his voice was calm yet commanding, the tone brooking no argument. It was then that Chloe stood from her pallet of straw, her body looked almost comically small inside the cell meant for criminals, now only in her undershirt and britches, the armor having been removed.. She looked the part of a lost urchin, blood and dirt smeared her face, and her hair was pulled into a finger combed braid, that was messy at best.. Lindall’s heart broke as she pressed the blankets and pillow, extra clothes , and a brush thru the bars “ Chloe… oh good lords.. I’m so sorry “ was the only thing she could say as her sister in law took the offerings with a soft grace. “It looks worse than it is “ Chloe spoke softly, as Lindall reached though the bars to test the injury the stone had caused to her head. Small hands met Lindall’s and pressed a kiss to the knuckled “ Thank you for the things “ she looked across the way to Mark who sat sullen upon his straw, and knew Iain suffered the same lack of comfort. “ perhaps if possible some bedding for Mark and Iain as well ? A change of clothes ? If you can manage ?” Her eyes flickered up to Searc, wondering if he would allow it and he nodded solemnly.. “When you get cleaned up, we will Bring Robin down to see you, I know he is bursting to see you, he’s with Shyvonne. Safe an sound “ Lindall assured her of her sons well being, but neglected the story of how Vargus had kidnapped Shyvonne and Robin, that was something that Shyvonne and Mark would have to tell Chloe in their own time.. “If you don’t’ mind, I would like to speak to my wife alone “ Searc dismissed Lindall with a politeness that was cool and distant as Chloe eyed him warily though the bars… “ Go see to the bedding for Robertson and Collier, as well as clothes , proper food and send for a bath for Chloestrain, I’m sure it would be a comfort. “ he spoke his orders to Lindall, knowing they would be carried out, and didn’t bother to see that she left to do his bidding, it was his way, he was used to having no one balk at his orders, It would be less than an hour later that Lindall returned with both bedding clothes and proper food for the trio, behind her followed maids and chamber boys, carrying two large wooden tubs and pails of water. Mark and Iain would share one, and Chloe would have her own. It was a luxury few prisoners had ever been subject too and had come at great expense of Searc coin purse.
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Post by Lady Chloestrain MacGregor on Jun 25, 2010 13:05:07 GMT -6
Chloe and Searc The only person who ever had stood before him behind bars. “ Open the door “ he ordered the guard and when the guard looked as if he wouldn’t Searc barked “ She’s my dammed wife and I demand to see to her.. Open the gates or I’ll have you head “ a growl issued from the man, though the reason perhaps was not as the guard thought, it was not affection nor tenderness that motivated him to be inside the cell with her but rather privacy Once inside he moved toward her backing her into the furthest corner from the prying ears of Mark and Iain, and the guard. “Do not fear me Chloe..I come not to do you harm, but you must listen, your life hangs in the balance, as The King is in a conundrum, if he allows you and Robertson to go free on your treason charges he, falls victim to those who will say he favors Robertson, and is soft, if he condemns you both he faces loosing the support of the McGregor’s, McDonalds and the other clans that are with us. Times are uneasy for all involved. What you did for the Clan, for our people was brave and Right I have no doubt, I can prove that for you, I’ve been investigating , and I have evidence that you were within McGregor Clan rights and you were only defending our people and our lands.” He looked back over his shoulder toward the cell that held Mark, and then at the wall that hid Iain’s form behind it. “ However.. I cannot speak to the others… The King will need a sacrificial lamb.. And Robertson will likely carry more weight than Collier “ the implication was clear.. Mark would be tossed to the wolves, even Iain would be tossed to the wolves.. For her defense.. “ Right now the people consider you a Heroine.. You have much support.. But we can turn the tide against Robertson and Collier.. To make sure they shoulder the blame.” His eyes bore into hers willing her to his plan, but as usual, Chloe defied him. “ No Searc.. I will not play the Hero and allow Mark and Iain to suffer as the villain.. We are not to blame in this.. Mark defended he McGregor’s when he had no reason other than his allegiance to me, and Iain brought his men to defend us.. We will not turn on them now.. It would be cowardice and dishonorable to not only the McGregor Name.. but all those who fought and died to defend us.. No we will stand together, fall together as Fate decrees..as we Fought together” her voice rose, carrying true and clear to Mark and Iain’s’ ears.. “ Shame on You Searc.. For even entertaining the Idea.. SHAME ON YOU “ her voice was that of honor speaking to him.. Her chin tilted upward in defiance and moss green eyes glittered with determination. “You are allowing your girl-thingy to lead your head “ he hissed at her, his hands wringing her upper arm and jerking her toward him… “ I won’t allow you to go to the gallows for your “Love” or your silly notions of Honor to your lover. “ he growled down at her from his long lanky height.. “ You’re my wife, and you will do as I say.. You will be loyal to the McGregors, or so help me I will turn my back on you and see you in the gallows…” the threat was not idle, she could hear that in his voice.. “I’ve put our differences behind us, now we must stand tall for the McGregors and our way of life.. The time has come for you to choose your family over your lover..” he challenged her, awaiting her reaction. “There is another way, we are all innocent we must make the King see that it was the McDonalds who were the aggressor and we were defending ourselves. Surely he will understand when we explain to him “ She countered.. Not taking up the challenge as that would only further enrage him..and goad him into more threats. “ We shall see what the King has to say first before we throw our honor to the wolves. “ she yanked her arm from him and pushed past him with a determined look.. “ Don’t ever touch me that way again, I am your wife, but I have proven my worth as your equal, I’m not your possession “ she spoke flatly without emotion, she was exhausted and her head pained her and she wanted no further quarrel with him. “ Remember Chloestrain, possession or not Robin carries my name, and with a dead mother, hanging from the gallows.. My son will be raised as a McGregor, I have no chance of producing another heir thanks to you so the Boy is my possession, and you think long and hard about what side you line up on, because Robin will be on my side. “ it was true the laws saw child as the fathers possession, mothers had little choice in the way children were raised. The fathers held all the rights. “Don’t you dare” she hissed and moved toward him, for a moment it looked as if she would strike him and the guard moved uneasily at the sudden violent ways of the woman inside “ Do not even play at using my son against me.. Searc you said you wanted peace with me.. Cannot we try.. And do the honorable thing, stick to our pledge to our people.. And hold our head high.. Why must we turn upon each other and sacrifice one when We were not in the wrong “ she stopped just short of him, her hands open in plea.. “ Please.. Let us try the honorable way.. The Truth.. Let us be a example of Truth, and Honor for our People, Our Country and our King..” “Your notions are romantic and silly… it is not the way of politics nor the world of men . That is why women bear children and tend the home and the Wars and Politics are left to me, because of such drivel.. Do you think that the King will sacrifice his good will to the people over You.. Or Robertson, or some groomsman?” he shook his head sadly.. “ this is not the times of fairy tales.. There is no magic wand, or white knight to save you at the last minute.. My strategy is sound.. Regardless of your sentiment for Robertson, I will do what I think best to defend you, and if that means throwing Robertson and Collier to the gallows so be it. “ He turned waving his hand to the guard that opened it an allowed him to pass.. Then disappeared into the gloom.
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Post by Men of Skye on Jul 22, 2010 17:44:51 GMT -6
Incarceration in Struan
The Dungeons – Mark and Shyvonne It was only an hour after the incident in the streets that Shyvonne, Robin, and Kane arrived through the gates of Struan; their horse's trampling the rotten vegetables upon the ground with the wonder of the riders looking curiously around for the source of why there were rotten vegetables and fruits upon the ground. But by the time they had arrived, the crowds had disbursed and life seemed to go on as normal.
It wasn't until she met up with her family to deliver Robin safely into her mother’s hands that she learned the people had revolted against Iain and Chloe pelting the rotten mess at Chloe until someone had finally hit her with a rock and she had been taken down to the dungeons without the assistance of a healer. She learned too that Mark had also been taken down to the dungeon fighting the whole time. She did not know why, but this made her smile.
The dungeon was no place for him. He did not deserve to be here, especially charged with treason. Though, little did he know that Lord Alexander, with Keliana’s assistance, had named him in the conspiracy. Being so close to Iain, the old man, Alexander, wished to rid any close associations in one felled swoop. Banging upon the door, Mark continued to protest his incarceration, requesting audience with the King. All he would get would be threats against bodily harm should he continue the incessant annoyances.
What transpired in the following hours was a whirlwind of activity. To prepare for the trial, the family had interviews with the men of the field to hear their accounts of what happened. Searc was ever rigid when the men of Iain's company were interviewed but Shyvonne kept a straight face trying to understand how it all started and what it had come to, but also trying to figure out how she could help. The one thing she understood was Mark had been arrested since he was Iain's second and the charges were convincing Oisles to join in on the fight. So why was she not in jail with them? This did not make sense. Did a woman have no conviction in times of war besides Chloe? She had ridden in on the war with her head held high to defend the name and people of MacGregor in Searc’s stead. And at least Searc was here now to defend her, but she considered so simple that it seemed as if she had been swayed into the war, by only Mark? Was she not allowed to support the war on her own just being a MacGregor?
For hours she listened to account after account, unable to slip away from her family or prying eyes to try to get to the dungeons to visit Mark and it wasn't until the midnight hours when she lay awake in bed, unable to sleep with everything going on in her head. The whole war, in which Lindall had lost her husband. Her heart broke for her sister. She could not fathom loosing anyone she loved in the war but Lindall had lost her husband, a husband she had loved. What was she going to do about the trial? What could SHE say that would fix it? She felt so much of it was her fault and it was tearing her apart that she couldn't fix it right here and now.
The prisoners would receive brief news updates that the trial would soon start and now were only the preliminary interviews… the defense and the prosecution gathering information for the King and Queen. Royal decree had been issued that both advocates would gather information, interview witnesses, and present a complete case with recommendations to the monarchy PRIOR to the actual trial. Mark, would continue to proclaim innocent to charges of treason.
It was then that she realized there were now no prying eyes, and she could visit Mark if she wanted to, albeit she had to swindle her way in but a large part of her was crying out for him. He always made her feel so comfort, at ease, and like there was not a care in the world. Sliding the covers back, her robe was plucked up from the end of the bed and her arms thrown into the sleeves as she crossed the floor to the door. She winced as she slid the bolt back, the ancient lock making a loud click as it slid back. Peering out into the hall, she was relieved to find it empty. Sliding her slippers on and closing the front of her robe, she moved quickly out of the door, keeping a hurried step lest she be caught and hauled back to her room or worse, caught by Searc and quested about her where she was headed!
The door to the dungeons was loud as it swung open admitting a loud squeal, and Shyvonne winced even though the guard with torch in hand was escorting her down the steps into the lowest recesses of Struan. Al ready, she did not like the place. The setting that could be the death of people she cared about, but moving into the bowels of the dungeon where the trio were kept made it even more plain that she disliked this place.
Frustrated, Mark sat on his bed of straw. Of all the years at Dun Darroch, this was the first time, he actually saw the INSIDE of the cell… Oh of course, he had seen it… but from a different point of view.
"You got fifteen minutes. Maybe less, me Captain would 'ave my head if he knew I let ye down here…" The guard grumbled at her as he turned the key in the cell door.
"I do appreciate it." Shyvonne responded and stepped back as the door swung open and then sweeping the skirts of her robe and nightgown back she swept inside, but paused past the threshold at the look inside the room. Not even a bed, just straw. Her lips pulled into a frown as she jumped with the door closing behind her, but when she saw Mark, she found her feet again and moved across the room and kneeled beside him.
When the lock clicked, he knew it was not time to eat… but when the door swung open, the first thought was it was his time to be judged… but when Shy entered, he was sort of relieved…
"I heard about what happened when you arrived. I had to see you, I am sorry it took so long. Are you all right?" Her hand went to his face as she looked over him for injury and then sighed seeing no injury past those he had all ready received in the war and her rescue.
He smiled and saw her move to him… a sight for sore eyes to say the least… and now her voice was the angels singing to him. “I am fine… It is alright my dear… but the dungeons are no place for you… How is Robin?”
"The dungeons are no place for you either. Robin is fine, very happy to see his grandmother and his Aunt Lindall again. He is no worse for wear and he didn't see anything that apparently happened in the square." Shifting the folds of her robe around and slid onto her butt upon the straw.
"I don't understand any of this. Well I do, you won't believe the hours of interviewing soldiers and guards, scribes, and witnesses. I'm not saying the arrests or this trial make sense though." She realized she was beginning to ramble and pressed her lips together to give herself a minute to collect herself again.
"They say your charges are for convincing Oisles Academy to join the war. As if I don't have control over my own Academy. It should be me in here. I insisted you join the war with Kane when the news came of what was happening. Or at least I should be in here with you all. This all feels so insane and wrong. I knew this war would up-heaved, with this war but haven't we all suffered enough? There are hundreds dead. Wife's and Mothers who will never see their sons and husbands again. Lindall, my sister, her husband died, and my heart breaks for her. She loved her husband, you know, not that Searc counted on that when he set their union. And it is not just the battle, Chloe and Searc nearly killing each other, Iain thinking Chloe was dead, and having to deal with that wife of his. There are stories about her you know. I only saw her for a brief moment and from afar, but I don't like the look of her. It feels so wrong that I cannot just give a command and get you all out of here."
His facial features alternated with the information she gave him… and he just huffed… “The charges are horse chyt… and it is Lord Alexander and his wench, Keliana, that is up to this, I know it… He wants to rid Struan of Iain, and Keliana wants it all for herself…” and he shrugged.
Her head lifted and the most curious look crossed her face, a mild amusement at his language as he called the charges horse chyt. She began to play with the folds of her robe as he spoke about it being Lord Alexander and Keliana doing. What was it like to be so hated by your own father and wife? Now her anger for Iain began to diminish as she felt a kind of sadness for him. She hadn't known her own father but at least none of her family hated her, enough to sabotage them to the King and Queen for treason. Her own shoulders shrugged as her head dipped casting the dark waves of her hair over her shoulder and cast them into her face. So many secrets and so many betrayals, it was a wonder the clans had survived this long. First the MacGregor and now the Robertson with their secrets that destroyed so much more than just the people involved. It destroyed everyone.
At this she let out a laugh and then shook her head feeling ashamed she was laughing at a time like this. "You should know, Kane found letters in the tower of the abandoned Castle from Portia to Vargus about Robin's whereabouts and what to do..." she made a face giving clear knowledge in the look that she had read the letters. "to the both of us. Kane took Vargus head and piked it at the Academy. He would have killed her, but Eulle stopped him and took responsibility of Portia and they have both disappeared."
“Letters? What letters? Make sure the King sees them…” thinking it could help them in a sort. Then he could not help but laugh at Kane’s actions. “Oh really? I did not think old Kane had it in him…” And regarding Portia, he just smirked… "I wish he had… she is an evil wench…”
"Letters Portia wrote to Vargus about Robin being at the Academy. Also letters of how you and Kane were gone and how to get into the academy to kidnap him... and me. I didn't think I was a part of the plot but apparently Portia wanted rid of me as much as she and Vargus wanted Robin dead. She detailed exactly where to take us and what to do to us. They are not pretty. I gave the letters back to Kane but I will tell him the King should see them. I'm not sure how this can help you, Iain, and Chloe." Her nose wrinkled when he said he wished Kane had killed Portia. "He wanted to pike her head with Vargus on the Academy gate. I understand wanting her death but I can't condone putting people's heads upon my Academy gate, for the children's sake. For the reputation of the Academy too, it doesn't sit well to have rotting heads on the gates… and the reputation of the Academy is everything to me."
She stopped here pressing a hand against her lips. Part of her did not want to admit what Portia had revealed to her because part of her didn't want to know but also part of her wanted to believe it was all a lie.
Mark saw her facial expression change, and her beautiful hands press against the mouth he desired to kiss…
"Mark, um, when Portia left with Eulle. Well before she left. She said..." An again she stopped to take a breath and let it out in a rush before dropping her voice to a whisper afraid of who was listening.
His eyes narrowed, wondering what the bytch would reveal… nothing he knew of that he had not told Shy, that was sure… still what lie would the bytch, Portia, would utter. “Yes dear?”
"She said you have slept with Chloe." Moss green eyes lifted to meet his own. There was no accusation in her eyes. In truth, there was a look of slight hope that Portia had been lying but there was a deeper look in her eyes begging for the truth.
Infidelity, a violation of the mutually agreed-upon rules or boundaries of an intimate relationship, which constitutes a significant to extreme breach, or outright default, on the implicit good faith contract of a relationship, or a betrayal of core shared values with which the integrity and nature of the relationship is defined. In common use, it describes an act of unfaithfulness to one’s husband, wife, or lover, whether sexual or non-sexual in nature. What constitutes an act of infidelity varies between and within cultures and depends also on the type of relationship that exists between people. Close relationships involve a lot of truth telling as well as some dishonesty. Not only can our close relationships sometimes cause heartache and anxiety, but it's also difficult to discuss lying and cheating out in the open. When you mention the possibility that love and betrayal might go hand-in-hand, people tend to get angry or they become defensive.
Mark started to laugh. “Me? Sleep with Lady Chloe? The bytch is crazy… Iain is my closest friend…” he shook his head, with no indication of any falsehood. “No, I did not sleep with Lady Chloe…” He had not slept with Chloe, though he did fornicate with her, but he would die before he would reveal that truth… It would cause a great divide between two people… and possibly even more damage, especially should he reveal it… No, he would lie to everyone should the accusation continue… he would go to the gallows before he would reveal such a truth... He loved Iain greater than a brother… Oh it hurt him to lie to Shyvonne, but they were not connected when “it” occurred… no, he would not reveal the infraction to anyone… for Chloe and Iain’s sake. “Fear not my dear… I told yu before my past is history. I have fallen in love with you… what is past is past… and we are strong together.” The infidelity that had occurred had not been between him and Shyvonne, but between Iain and Chloe… never to be revealed. Though he wished he had succeeded in killing the bytch.
Reaching for his hands, she took them into his own and seeing the marks upon his wrists from the bruising, her fingers began to massage at the marks upon his wrists though her touch was as soft as a butterfly's wings so she would not injury them further. Her heart was pounding in her chest as he was silently looking at her after her little confession of what Portia had told her. Part of her was praying and hard that it wasn't true and there was a large part of her that felt Portia was just trying to be hurtful because Shyvonne would not come to her defense and Eulle had. For both of their sake's, for Chloe sake, as well for Shyvonne, whole opinion rested upon the truth of Portia's words.
He hated lying to her, but he knew the actions that he and Chloe took would far reaching effects that would destroy things as they were… It would have to be a lie that both had to live with.
When he started laughing though, her fingers stopped their massage and his hand was lowered into her lap along with her own hands as her face lifted to his own in confused questioning of why he was laughing. Her shoulders fell and she realized then she was tense and had relaxed as he confessed it was not true. Letting out a sigh she laughed herself if only a short huff. "I had hoped as such." She answered with a smile as her eyes fell down to his hand in her own two within her lap before lifting again when he said his past was behind him her eyes lifted to his own again and there was a twinkle there tantalizing and teasing "Promise?" She spoke as she poked her chin out but it was when he said he had fallen in love with her that all teasing left her face. "You're in love with me?" Again her lips curled into a smile as her fingers curled with his own again.
With a slight squeeze. “I have confessed as much… I know our time together has been short, but we have a special, if not odd, connection. I tried to prevent my emotions but they were too difficult to control.” He just smiled and looked at their hands. “My task was to protect Robin… as ordered by my Mistress… but…” he stopped and smiled. “Coming here was fate as it seems…”
Even as this little confession had made her heart skip a beat. Shyvonne could not help but thinking back to Searc and his rant when he realized she was in love with someone and suspected it had been a nobody. Of course, Mark was a nobody to her brother, but for Shyvonne, he was quickly becoming everything. That did not mean anything though, as much as she wished it, Searc was never going to approve of Mark because he was a 'horse master' and worse, a Robertson. Because of Iain's love for Chloe and Chloe's love for Iain, Searc hated the Robertson. That alone did not work in his favor. Because he was a Robertson, they would never have Searc blessing, he would never allow her to marry a Robertson man.
Of course she couldn't see it, but her moss green eyes had dilated as she was thrown back into her memory of her visit with Searc before her and Robin's kidnapping. Shaking her head, she blinked and lifted her eyes to his again. She didn't want to think about what Searc would not approve and disapprove of. Mark had only said that he was in love with her, not that he wanted to marry her. Marriage for her in any case was a long way off. Lifting one hand to her mouth, her fingers pressed against her lower lip as she thought of something to change the conversation again.
He could see her mind working as her facial expression changed from one manner to another. She was an artist at changing subjects and surely she would veer from the current conversation; for he believed she did not wish to appear weak by demonstrating emotion nor speak of her feelings.
"Uh, did I, um, tell you I sent a petition to the King and Queen to speak at the Trial?" There that was a good conversation changer. "Since you are charged with convincing my Academy to join the war, I think it only fair I defend the right to say it is, as you say, complete horse chyt. I think I also should speak for Chloe and Iain. I do hope the King and Queen allow you all to have your own say."
He was surprised to hear what she said. “Love, do not implicated yourself in these charges. These are so serious, yet mysterious…” he shakes his head. “I feel someone has been hard at work to implicate us…”
Her hand lifted to her head as she let out a sigh and closed her eyes. "What I wouldn't give to go back to the days before that rider came to tell us of the war. Back at the Academy, worrying about the children's lessons rather than the secrets of both our families getting out in the open. Why do I feel like this will only get worse before they get any better? Like this trial isn't the worst part. I thought when I saw you and Kane riding East rather than south in my dream was worse. I still don't understand how you saw my vision with me in my dream." Yes she was jumping from topic to topic but her face was beginning to show wear and the lack of sleep upon it.
When she closed her eyes, he took a leap of faith, or a chance at fate, and leaned to her kissing her cheek. “I too my dear…” he whispered, and as she quickly opened her eyes to a smile. “I too !” And as she continued, he nodded his head. “I know not why you invade may dreams with yer visions… As a I said before yu and I have a bewitched connection… I shall not speak of this with any, as you would be arrested and charged as a witch… But we shall keep this as a part of us…” he smiled.
Despite their predicament, this was quality time betwixt them… and he enjoyed it. But he could see that she was exhausted. “My dear, go get some rest… maybe upon the morrow, you shall be able to think better. Soon the King shall arrive. The guard tells me the Queen waits for him before the trial is to begin. Do not ponder upon this, go rest.” He hated her going but the lock sliding back with a click and the heavy door opening brought them to reality.“Time tae gae M’Lady… a’fore yae are discovered… Ah dunnae wish to be reprised before the King.” The guard spoke softly.
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Jul 22, 2010 18:22:52 GMT -6
Iain and Mark The two men had been placed in separate cells, the heavy wooden doors and thick walls prevented any conversation between them. Neither could figure out why they were considered traitors, especially in the light of the MacDonald invasion.
Iain sat upon the straw that had been provided instead of a chair and table… he now saw his prisons from a different viewpoint. For two days now, he sat behind the heavy wooden door… the one that barred any view of the corridor, and the small, high-placed window that prevented him from seeing the free world. In obscurity, he pondered his actions, the reasons of his incarceration, and the extent the King shall have against branded traitors.
After the morning meal of gruel and water was delivered, the guard left the small door for the trays open. And Iain would lay next to it to breathe in the fresh air. Later that morn, the sound of voices ruffled his sleepless wake. He lent an ear to the small door and listened.
He could hear Searc MacGregor’s voice and knew that Chloe had a visitor; still that man’s voice made Iain angry… regardless of what he said, it was just the fact that he was able to speak. Had the rumors of his death been false, just as those of Chloe’s death been false? Too bad.
Bedding and food? At least the man was seeing of some comfort for his ‘wife’. For one who the woman saved a land for, he was being most generous was he not? He heard her cell door being opened and he neared the opening once more. The conversation between them was a bit soft, yet Iain strained to hear. “Oh no he was not…” Iain thought. “He’s gonna throw me to the wolves it seems… to position himself in a better light.” he thought. What defense did Iain really have? How did any know he was going after Searc… to retrieve Chloe? All Iain had, was questions… When would he have answers… as the axe severed his neck?
Mark was in the cell catty-cornered to Iain… and alone he sat upon the straw. He heard the muffled voices in the corridor, but paid no mind, as his thoughts were upon Shyvonne and Robin. God, he missed her. So much had transpired in such a short time… Life had taken severe turns for the worse… He had bedded his Lady Chloe… and Portia… all in one night… then he met Shyvonne… How could he know he would become so attached? At least he had warned her of his jaded past… but bedding Chloestrain would be a secret he had promised to die before revealing…
Using a rock from the floor, Mark began to scratch days on one block, trying to maintain some sort of sanity… Upon another, he would begin to scroll notes to Shyvonne… Nearly unreadable, he continued to scratch his words into stone. He knew, and truly, that was all that mattered.
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Post by Lord Iain Robertson on Jul 22, 2010 18:44:40 GMT -6
Chloe and Shyvonne Shyvonne MacGregor: To Robin this was just another playland, another thing like the Academy to marvel at, but to Shyvonne this was purgatory and would turn into either Hell on Earth or Heaven deciding on the outcome of the trial. So far Shyvonne had been remiss to tell her nephew anything about what was going on. He was young but definitely advanced for his age and his constant bridging that he was not a child and pouting for the truth grated in Shyvonne nerves even more. Despite not being Searc blood, he sure could show a temper as the future tanist of the MacGregor clan but Shyvonne was stubborn as well and would not relent in anything, information or otherwise until the day had calmed down. Still trying to explain that there were consequences for actions to him had proven to be difficult as Robin continued to point out that she taught the children of the Academy that when they did something bad all they had to do was say sorry and why could this not work for Mommy and Uncle Mark. Figuring the best way to get Robin to settle down at least a little was to take him to see his mother. Leaving him in Leigha care, she had arranged it with the guards before returning for the boy. There was no reason for him to see the cruelty of men in the way they kept the trio even if it was a lesson he would learn eventually, she would shield it from him as long as she could. With a blindfold on so he would not see the cells, Shyvonne lead him to the dungeons and waited patiently for the guard to unlock Chloe cell while Robin wiggled as if he had ants in his pants. "I told you Robin, it’s a surprise. Don't mess with your blindfold or I'll turn us both right around and head back." She scolded but there was laughter in her voice as her lips curled into a smile as the door swung open moaning with the action as the two were admitted in and the blindfold was removed from Robin eyes so he could see his mother.Chloestrain MacGregor: Chloe had bathed and changed into the clothing that Lindall had brought her, a servicable in plain light weight linen that would be comfortable enough considering her surroundings. She had settled the bedding over the straw pallet and been on it when Shy had arrived with Robin... almost chuckling as she watched her son fidget behind the blindfold, she understood the reason Shy had shielded her son from the horrid conditions of the dungeons, and the less fortunate prisoners that did not have family and money to ease their way as Searc and Lindall had for herself, Mark and Iain. She knelt before him as the blindfold was removed, a brilliant smile lighting her face... as she waited for his eyes to focus, and then grasp him in a tight loving hug, holding him so close and tightly he squirmed even more… " Ohhh good Lord in heaven I'm so happy to see you " kisses were rained down upon his cheeks forehead and nose, in the ways that all mothers shower affection on their children… "I've missed you so much. " she held him at arms length and surveyed him... her voice carrying past her cell to Mark and Iain… "Look at you... you seemed to have grown at least several inches… why, your practically grown up." Chloe had not seen Robin in almost 6 months, since the fateful night that she and Search had abused each other to the point of madness and death. After that Ivella had sent him to the Academy for safe keeping... into Shy and Kane's care… Mossy green hues flecked with gold, met with Shyvonne's over her sons shoulder as again she grasp him in a tight hug… "Thank you for caring for him... knowing he was safe with you was what kept me alive. " she cast Shy a brilliant smile, that made her wince at the bruise at her temple moved with the effort… "I owe you everything."Shyvonne MacGregor: Shyvonne hands folded in front of each other before her as she felt the wind from the door closing more then heard it, focusing instead on the mother and son reunion. It was unfortunate it had to be in a cell. At least Chloe looked none the worse for ware except the bruise on her temple and even then, it would perhaps go unnoticed by the little boy who squirmed with the affections his mother was laying on him. Shyvonne grinned, all most feeling sorry for the little boy but at least it was not in front of his friends! "Grown in height and intelligence. He is as smart as his mother and as stubborn as his father." Shyvonne commented focusing a smile on the woman again despite it pulling at the cut on her lip. At least the swelling had gone down and with it, the incident behind her. "You have no need to thank me, we are family" She offered and shifted a step away from the door though she would not lean against the wall, not in these filthy conditions. At least Searc and Lindall had seen them with fresh clothes and a bath. At the mention of keeping him safe, her lips quivered and then pulled into a smile again. "I would gladly give my life for any of my family." She debated on whether to tell Chloe of their capture and then decided against it. Not in these circumstances. There was no need to lay more stress on Chloe then there likely all ready was; besides Vargus was dead and Portia was gone. The threat was gone as far as those two were concerned.Robin MacGregor: "I am all grown up now Mama... I helped Uncle Mark kill the bad guys that kidnapped and wanted to kill me and Aunt Shyvonne, Uncle Mark said I was a good help , and Kane promised to help me learn to shoot a cross bow." Robin grinned pridefully, wanting his mother’s approval and pride in his actions, what five year old didn't…? "And Kane hung Cousin Vargus Head on the gate, and Aunt Shy made him take it down it was all bloody and stinky, but he hung it in a tree near the road. " he nodded matter of factly then looked at Shy to get her approval of his story telling. Chloestrain MacGregor: Chloe paled as Robin continued speaking… captured and almost killed and her son, helped in the killing of people...? Her eyes lifted to Shyvonne in question… "Explain this to me... I have heard nothing of this." her eyes darted across the way to Mark’s cell... narrowing, as if she could see thru the heavy wooden door... she couldn't' believe he hadn't' said anything to her, on the ride here, or after they had arrived; he could have found a way to tell her; fury welled up inside her at Mark that he would keep this from her and she eyed Shyvonne with a similar anger…Shyvonne MacGregor: Shyvonne fingers tightened against each other. Blabber Mouth! Her face flinched but her chin rose. She would not hang her head for wanting to spare Chloe more stress than what she already felt. When Robin eyes found her own, her chin dipped a little as she gave a small shake of her head, now had not been the right time and she would not praise him for his storytelling of the event. While most of it had been correct, some of it was not. Moss green eyes lifted again to Chloe finding the woman giving her a look that could kill most. "Robin tripped up one of the men that was chasing him, Mark actually made the kill." Shyvonne spoke softly and yet with no less authority that she was not wrong in her decision to hold this information back, except for the blabbermouth. "Wipe that look off your face Chloe, I am not the only one holding secrets here." Her fingers relaxed only to fold into the bends of her arms as handled the situation perfectly, albeit Kane took it a little far.Chloestrain MacGregor: At Shyvonne's snarky comment she should wipe the look off her face an eyebrow raised, and lifted even higher as she explained further… "Do not dare to suppose you know of my secrets, or that you are not responsible for him being in this situation... and for his safety... do not presume to tell me of how things worked out just fine…" she stood placing her hands on Robin’s shoulders and glaring at Shyvonne, they were almost the same height, Chloe seeming taller because of her anger and motherly protective instincts. "What would have happened had Kane and Mark not come to save you… had the battle went on another day... what then... I would be mourning my son...?" her voice broke at the thought... "What were Mark and Kane thinking leaving you two?" again she looked thru the bars toward Mark’s cell... the meaning clear there was going to be hell to pay… then she turned on Shyvonne once more.. "What has Vargus to do with this? Tell me everything you know?" she commanded... long gone was her brother’s wife who tried to calm people and forge peace, now Shyvonne inhabited the same cell as a Lioness protecting her child, and her clan.Shyvonne MacGregor: "I presume to know of some, though I dare not speak them in front of young ears, as this conversation should not be taking place in front of them either." And Shyvonne’s chin went down again as her eyes left Chloe to Robin and then back up again. Releasing her arms from their cross, she ushered to Robin and kneeled down as he came from his mothers protective hands to her. "Why don't I have the guard take you over to Uncle Mark's cell, I bet he needs a good story and you tell good stories." She offered before taking his blindfold and holding it over his eyes. "Guard" She called and then waited as the door was opened. "Young Robin would like to see Mark Collier please, and don't let him take off that blindfold until he is inside the cell." She ordered pointing a finger as the guard rolled his eyes and ushered the boy out before closing the door behind him.
With Robin gone or at least a few cells down, Shyvonne lifted up from her kneel and turned to Chloe again. "He may be your son Chloe but he is FIVE years old! What are you thinking talking like that in front of him? I spent days playing pretend with him so he wouldn't even think about what would happen to him or I and here you go talking about mourning your son! The fact remains that Robin and I are both fine, you are not mourning your son!" Shyvonne voice lowed to a hissing whisper so Robin would not hear. "Kane and Mark left to help you with the war because I told them to. Because it was the right thing to do. They may not of single handedly won the war but they brought more odds against the McDonalds. Furthermore, don't take that tone with me; I know full well what my responsibilities are. I took them all with full knowledge of what I was doing when I took Robin into my care and need I remind you, I would not of had to take responsibility for Robin or had it come to all of this if it hadn't started with you and Searc. I don't condone you defending yourself but this all started with both of your tempers! I will not tell you a thing, it is past." That indignant chin lifted defiantly.Chloestrain MacGregor: Chloe stood aside while Robin was led outside and to Mark’s cell, then listened to Shyvonne's rant... with a patience that was saintly, when at last the girl stuck out her indignant stubborn chin, Chloe moved closer to her grasping her arm in a painful grip.. "You will listen to me now that you have had your say... How I speak and what I speak in front of My son is my business. Apparently in your company he has seen men killed and beheaded, been kidnapped like the work you seem to live in…" she released her abruptly shoving her back slightly... "As for you blaming the whole of this war on Searc and Me, I think that regardless of the actions Searc and I inflicted upon each other, the McDonald were ripe to invade and had been planning it for some time, as well as gathering men, arms and support. I don't' give a flying pig about how you feel about me, or your brother’s actions, and I don't care if you condone me defending myself or not, it is not for you to decide, that is between your brother and I and it has been settled between us… Furthermore, you will tell me about Vargus and what he had to do with all this because it may be important to bring up in this trial, to exonerate Mark, Iain, and myself... SO you can stop with your childish stubbornness and attempt to help out or you can act all high and mightily telling me how many mistakes I've made, when you know nothing of what I think, or have done in service to This Family, or my son." her voice was strong and calm... and then looked harshly at Shyvonne once again… "Do not think for one moment that my whole life is not committed to Robin and that in six months you can possibly love, care or know more about how a mother feels when her child's life was in danger… or preach to me on how to raise my son when I face the uncertainty of not seeing him grow into a man… Don't you dare!" her finger lifted and pointed at Shyvonne's direction, anger making her tremble… it was obvious that Chloe was passionate and loving on the subject of her son.Shyvonne MacGregor: As Chloe hand grasped hers near painfully, Shyvonne jaw tightened. "Chloe, if you don't let me go..." She warned turning a dark and cold glare at the woman before finally yanking her arm out of the woman's grasp and moving a few steps away. "Kane was the one who beheaded Vargus, not I; and I made him take it down so the children wouldn't see, apparently Robin did but do not think you can hold THAT one over my head. That will be allowed a cold day in hell. He is five years old Chloe, I'm not trying to tell you how to raise your son but he should be allowed to be a child, innocent of the evils of adulthood for at least a few more years, or do you want him to grow up like Searc or Vargus? I have no intentions of shielding him from anything but I happen to believe he is too young to learn such lessons, as hate, so young. Now that may not suit you, if that's the case, withdrawal him from my school. Your little jibs at my profession as childish as much as you would like to call me a child. I may not be a mother, Chloe, but each one of those kids that attend the Academy are under my care and I do care about them, far more than just their education. Vargus has nothing to do with the charges brought up on the three of you and if it has any weight in the trial, Kane and Searc will see to it that it is brought up. You say I have no judgement between you and Searc but he is my brother, family, and so it is my business and what you two have done to this clan..." She stopped pressing her lips together and shook her head as if shaking off a thought. "You may care enough about this clan to go to war in my brother’s stead, Chloe, but I haven't forgotten how defiant you yourself were in marriage to my brother and because of that, and yes, because of Searc, the MacGregor were weakened enough that the MacDonald, planning it or not saw the perfect opening to attack when it shouldn't have been there! Even Vargus saw it and attacked my Academy to get to Robin and I. This war has destroyed the reputation of my clan and my Academy. Things are crumbling all around us Chloe and your sitting here puttering about what DIDN'T happen. Robin is still here, thanks to me, thanks to Mark, and thanks to Kane." She threw her hands up into the air and shook her head. "I had the upmost respect for you, despite being defiant in marriage, you were good to the people and you fought despite being a woman for the people of which you were married into but now, you can make mistakes, but they are not allowed to be thrown into your face; while when others make mistakes you are allowed free reign at them? The worst of it Chloe, is given the choice...you would not have chosen us, as a whole and clan had Iain not been taken." Shyvonne eyes turned to her sister in law. "Yes, I know of Iain, more then you think I do. So don't think you can sit there lecture me about what you have done for this clan."Chloestrain MacGregor: Chloe glared at the girl... as she spoke, it was obvious that Shyvonne lived in a world of black and white and knew nothing of shades of gray, or what truly went on between Searc and Chloe for the last five years, nor the truth of her or what truly went on between Searc and Chloe for the last five years, nor the truth of her passion for the welfare of her child, she bit her tongue as the girl continued on with her self righteous speech, a fine brow raised when at last the woman stopped for a breath, casting her a look that said.. are you finished before she spoke in a calm and controlled manner, it was all she could do to take such a manner but it was obvious that Shyvonne had made up her mind and there would be little to do to sway it…
For a moment, Chloe was saddened and hurt, betrayed that Shyvonne thought so low of her, when she herself thought Shyvonne a bright and strong young lady, if she had not thought her such a loving person, Robin would not have been left in her capable hands, that she could not ascertain the shock and the emotions of a mother who was faced with not only the uncertainly of her life beyond the upcoming trial, but faced with the thing she loved above even life itself, the one person she would sacrifice everything under heaven and hell for… her son Robin’s, brush with death... and to know she had indeed failed him, for she had not been there to protect him. It mattered not, only that should the unthinkable happen and she be taken to the gallows that Robin was safe, it mattered not what Shyvonne thought of her, as long as the girl still bore love for Robin and would see him unharmed. "Shyvonne, Things are not always as they seem from your prospective, your right Searc is your Brother, your Blood, so I understand you are loyal to him... I wonder if that loyalty will extend if he marries you to someone you don't know, a stranger that cares nothing for you save if you produce a child, I wonder how obedient you will be to your new clan, and husband, if you will be defiant, forced into a life, a marriage you don't' want, perhaps even torn away from your academy? Taken from your home and the people you love...?" her eyes settled on Shy a moment… "I don't care if you hate me, or if you disapprove… All I want is your word… I know you are a good person… a good woman and that you care for Robin greatly... If I should be convicted of treason, and executed, and God forbid Iain is too… please... promise me you will look after Robin… he is my life, and my heart... the only good thing of me..." her voice soften as she knelt before Shyvonne… "I beg you this.. Take care of my boy." Shyvonne MacGregor: Despite the conditions of the cell, she lay her hand against the stone wall and bowed her head after her rant. It was not so much she disliked Chloe. There was indeed a very good woman there but Chloe was bashing her for bringing her her son home safely and making demands and it wasn't so much Shyvonne didn't want to tell her because her pride had been hurt but it was better Chloe have no knowledge of Vargus’ plans least it come back to bite them in their behinds. They needed no more rumors, no more weight on the trail, and she left it to Kane and Searc to use the evidence as they saw fit with her as a victim only because they did truly know how to use it where she saw it as no bearing on the accusations thrusted on the trio. She listed to Chloe speak and huffed, turning her head to smile sadly at the woman as if it were she in here and Chloe the visitor. "Nothing is ever was it seems in my world Chloe." she pressed off the wall and lay a hand against her stomach as she paced a step and then another and turned to move the other way. "I don't hate you Chloe and I don't disapprove, if I were in the same position, I can't say what I would have done and my loyalty to my brother may come to an end one day, I don't know that it will and I don't know that it won't. I still pray, daily, that his heart will soften, and he would not do such a thing to me. I can't say those prayers would go anywhere and once, I saw reason to hope he would become the man I always dreamed he could be, and the ruler that the people need. I can say you have done more for them then he ever did. Perhaps in some way my prayers said for the people were answered in your 'capture' and unwanted marriage to my brother."
She stopped for a moment to collect herself. The veins in her neck pulsed and her throat constricted thinking on what Chloe had said about being thrust into a marriage she did not want, it seemed more a possibility now than it ever did, and she saw more of herself in Chloe now then she ever had. Torn away from the man she loved, now her comment to Mark, about them being Lancelot and Guinevere, did not seem so stupid and off the wall. "None of you will be executed Chloe. We will work hard to see you all released. I will work my hardest to see it done. Despite what happens now or in the future, you never need ask of this. I love Robin greatly, and will always see his welfare above my own." She stopped her pacing as Chloe knelt in front of her and slowly she dropped down to her knees as well and embraced the woman against her. "A very wise and good person once told me to love, love with your whole heart, now I am saying to you, take that love you feel for Iain, as I know it stronger than death, and make it your hope. You will not die here; you, nor Iain, nor...Mark." She faltered on Mark's name her throat constricting again. "I swear my life on it."Chloestrain MacGregor: Chloe bent her cheek to Shy's shoulder clinging to her gently, before pushing back, her pride and grace bidding her sister in law off the floor… "If the unthinkable should happen, I will rest well in knowing you watch over him… Thank you..." she honestly did not see a way out of this for her and Iain, Mark might be exonerated on the fact that he was only following orders of Iain, but... She and Iain had blatantly went against the King’s word of no aggression and now they would pay for it… but if it was as Searc said, and there must be a scapegoat, she already knew who would go down… she paled and stepped back from Shyvonne... "Go, Take Robin from this place, and See to your sister... Lindall... she brought bedding and fresh clothes earlier for the three of us… She is being very Brave, but I know her heart is broken over Jonas' death… She will need a good sister to comfort her in this time. If only to help her grieve, as I do not think she has even had time to weep properly." she smiled sadly, knowing in less than a week that Two McGregor Siblings might well be widow and widower, "And write your mother and tell her all is well… her health is not good and she will worry unnecessarily... no need for her to worry until there is a verdict. " She took a deep breath and presented a brave face to Shyvonne… " Shy... I hope the best for you... make sure as Robin grows up... he knows I loved him best…"Shyvonne MacGregor: Pulled up from the floor she dusted off her dress and pressed her hands against her stomach again. At that moment she asked Shyvonne to take Robin from here the guard was leading Robin back into the cell holding the blindfold over his eyes, the guard had a pitiful look on his face to tending to a child he felt he would break. Shyvonne gave a nod of her head that she would do as Chloe asked and then smiled at Robin. "Go give your mommy a kiss and a hug Robin, we have to go now." She hushed a hand to Robin back towards Chloe and then folded her arms over her chest as she waited for the two to have their moment. Before holding her hand out to Robin and waiting, while the blindfold was put over his eyes again and then took his hand into her own and lead him to the door pausing to turn a look at Chloe, while Robin with arms out in front of him to guide him moved out into the hall. "You are loved and you are wanted, don't loose hope Chloe." and Shyvonne slipped out of sight as the door closed behind her, the last view were her hands on Robin shoulder and the two giggling despite their surroundings while Robin wobbled unable to see where he was going and bumping into the guard who had seemed afraid to break him now backing into the wall at the advancing boy.Chloestrain MacGregor: Chloe hugged and kissed Robin almost squeezing him into whispering in his ear a secret joke between the two of them, they had shared since he was a baby, a special nickname that only she called him when they were alone… then nuzzled him softly, " I love you… you be a good boy and mind Shyvonne; and cause no trouble and see to your studies." her voice broke as she tried to act as though nothing were wrong… "Soon you and I will go back home and forget all about this place... ok?" she smiled and kissed him once more turning him toward Shyvonne; "On with your blindfold, time to teach Auntie Shy how to play the game the best… and win!" her heart ached as the cell door closed behind them and she watched them disappeared up the steps… when they had gone she slumped down onto the pile of straw and wept… until her voice was hoarse and her chest ached… oh how she hated knowing she would miss him growing up... becoming a man…
Behind thick wooden doors, the voices rang out, slightly muffled, the men could tell that Chloestrain and Shyvonne were having words of distress between them but Iain was oblivious… but Mark knew of some of it… Iain heard Robin’s voice and he drew near the foodtray slit… and tried to listen. Mark would sit near the door and feel as if he was the cause of the discension between them; his past catching up to him. But in the end, all the conversation were muffled whispers to them. God only knew what was going on.
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