Phantoms of Life

[Men of Skye]

The promises of this world are, for the most part, vain phantoms; and to confide in one's self, and become something of worth and value is the best and safest course.

~Michelangelo

Surface and Soul

Rebbeka sat there at her vanity table that evening, brushing out her long hair herself, for she did not seek assistance of a maid in the eve. She depended on her vanity mirror to monitor her grooming.

Shifting his weight, he stepped toward her, his hands resting upon her shoulder as they looked at one another via the mirror. Words silenced as actions took their place. One hand moved the material upon her shoulder, and leaning down, his lips, soft against flawless skin, kissed her lightly. Into her ear, the aggravation now gone. “Fear nothing, nor no one… save my passionate aggression…” and those alluring eyes rose to look at her once more in the mirror. “The only pain yu shall endure is my teeth upon the shoulder, or that of me entering you…” and he smirked. Oh he could be so wicked sometimes… and she never complained. Now he would pull her from the vanity’s seat and to the large bed.

In morning, bright sunlight streamed over the mirror's finely decorated edges, spilling illumination over all the tiny leaves and flowerets that rimmed the one foot by two foot looking glass. To either side of her, within easy reach sat a pair of matching golden boxes, which held her cosmetics and makeup brushes. Everyday jewelry was contained in a second pair of round boxes, whereas her formal gems were under lock and key, in the room's safe box. On mornings when their home held guests, friends near her age, Beka sat there at her mirror, several other young women on either side of her, visiting as they arranged each other's hair, told her the latest gossip and sampled the scent bottles she had to offer them, of her own design. Each one of the set was a ribbed glass bottle with a corked glass stopper, its base the same elaborate gold floral pattern.

The morning found James outside monitoring the running of the manor… Supervising the refurbishing of fortifications and assuring the people were being well-cared for… as this was his biggest asset in ensuring his authority… An authority that would be required to segregate the second major Isle of Skye from its brethren… and in such secured his family’s future.

"Tell me what she did when you came into the room!" Rebbeka did not gossip or talk about her private life to any, but she did encourage the others to share their best stories. Last week it had been this simple question and a dab of rose floral cologne that opened up the once Vera Robbins into telling all their circle she had thrown out one of their maids for having a flirtation with Sir Robbins. Everyone already knew, but now poor Vera had the ladies' sympathy. "Oh mercy! Now you will have to make him happy all by yourself." Beka gifted Vera with some new cologne from the sharing case and whispered some advice to help her friend deal with the straying husband. The mirror in day was witness to the public Rebbeka, bright gleaming pale blonde hair and bright round blue eyes. It saw how little makeup she used. How perfect her skin was, flawless, when she changed her outfit. On the surface the Duchess of Lewis/Harris was perfect. It was how she looked, how she acted.

His duties around the Island required his to be absent most days… saving the evenings, after the dinner meal, for his wife. But upon this particular evening, he arrived late. Dismounting the horse, handing the reins to the handler, he entered the manor. To the kitchen he ventured, for his stomach growled for the lack of sustenance. With bows of respect for their Lord, the servants quickly prepared a plate for him. During his meal he questioned the Chamberlain on how the manor was running in his absence; only to discover the Lady of the Manor had managed to perform a Master’s task very well. She had supervised the evening meal, posted tasks to be done, and managed to run the affairs of the evening quite well.

This pleasing information seemed to make the meal even more palatable. Afterwards, he pushed the metal plate away. Rising he thanked the Chamberlain, and the cooks. As they bowed, he turned, his destination would be his son’s room to bid him goodnight.

As he entered, he found the lad fast asleep, the nanny bowing slightly, then placing her finger to her lips, as the Master of the manor entered. With a nod, he approached the boy’s bed, leaning down and kissing his cheek. Turning, with a smile, he nodded his head to the nanny and departed.

Next would be his bedchambers, where he expected his wife to be waiting. As he opened the door, he saw her and smiled.

In the evening light, as this evening, two tall, fat beeswax candles glowed from atop their golden matching holders, which matched all the other vanity table accessories. Beka opened a slim box and placed all her rings except her wedding ring in it and into the pincushion fastened into its cover stuck the pins that held her gown in place, in several areas.

The face one saw in the evening was not the shell of a face; it was much deeper than that. The light, slightly over head showed back a face with high cheek bones under that beautiful mask. Her eyes full of energy and twinkling were less animated, more thoughtful and quieter. Serious, if you think about it.

He could see her looking at him via the mirror as he entered. This time, no maids to help her… and he smiled… “Good eve Madam… yu look radiant…” He did not lie, as she was a beautiful woman, fair of skin, hair of gold… and in the candlelight, the shadows flickered. But he did notice a bit of concern in her facial expression.

"James?" she sat the brush down and gathered her hair into a coil, tying it up with a single ribbon, for it was hot summer and this was cooler. "I meant to tell you about Auguste and the poison business, but it had not come up before this. There may be other things I need to relate to you, but..." It weighed heavy on her that she had to take out the creditor, so many years ago.

“Yes M’dear?” he could only smile at her confession and asking forgiveness. He approached her, once again placing his hands upon her shoulders, offering her support in the form of a slight squeeze. “Beka… past is past… and ours may have been wrought with deeds that many would deem evil… or at least less moral than others. And when yu are ready, yu shall relate those matters to me… in yer own good time. As I shall mine…” he once more offered her a smile of reassurance.

Her Aunt knew what that man was like and sent her to deal with him alone? Her still an innocent young girl. It was that moment Beka realized she was alone in this world, her Auntie used her for this task, her Father abandoned her care to go back to sea and her Mother? The woman went back to her husband, she was told. Was that true? There was no way to find out. "...I had been on my own for ever so long, I seem to have to pry out my secrets, and only to you can I say the things I have done, without censure." She continues to turn this way and that, observing her face as if to see if the past had left scars on her soul.

“Beka darling… I am glad yu can confess without censure… for I shall ne’r condemn yu for past errs…” then he got an evil smirk… “Only errs against ME in the present…” and then he winked. “Which shall be difficult…”

"James?" Her tone changed and Rebbeka turned in the vanity table chair, her image backed with a square of glowing mirror and gentle candlelight. "I am in the mood to play something Biblical. Like do a dance of seven veils. But I have only six." Her smile turned up at the corners of her mouth, as if waiting to see what he would say.

Standing behind her, he stepped back, his hands going to his waist; his head slightly up and tilted back. “And I shall be King Herod… but there shall be no need for me to be drunk to be seduced…” he then tilted his face toward her, the wicked smirk grew. “Six veils…? Even better, as I shant have to wait as long…”

"The weather is so nice and warm, perhaps before the King and Queen arrive, tonight would be a nice time for us to go into the garden and play 'Adam and Eve'?" This was about as religious as the Duchess of Lewis/Harris got.

Apparently, the lass was more frisky than usual… for he would never turn down sex, in any form, from her… Her capabilities now were far better than the most experienced prostitutes he knew… her sensuality was more astute than most any courtesan… In his mind, he had wed the best of both the formal and wicked worlds… and the smirk grew even larger, and his eyes narrowed. “Aye, maybe we should go forth and be the Beginnings of our own world… for with yer nakedness, I could not be resist the temptation.”

One day, in the far future, an average woman would come across Rebbeka's dressing table set and stand, admiring it, taking in how grand and fine the gold work. The golden proportions they used to size the mirror's glass. Glass still in the perfume container bases. The mirror had faded over the centuries into a gray haze. The individual looked into the mirror seeing a pale face, high cheekbones and bright eyes. There she was. Still in the mirror, surface and soul. The woman looked into the mirror and saw that instead of herself, there was the Duchess of Lewis/Harris.

What would the future woman of the mirror see when she looked in it…? Possibly someone preparing for a ball… or bed… or even a familiar backside pressed upon the tabletop, whilst the contents askew upon the floor, the husband looking at his wife’s bottom whilst he pummeled her interior… or even a loving mother hugging a son before bed… or a wife hugging her husband and crying into his shoulder after finding out their son had died in battle or of a disease… What would she see? That is the question of the future for the past that would occur in the mirror of the ages.

Auguste Fonti

He had arrived on Lewis Island via the cargo ship, from Venice by way of Lisbon and Paris. In all the commotion of the seaport, there was little notice of a russet cloaked man who slipped off into the town's small inns and pubs, asking no more than one or two questions as he enjoyed a pint or a meal after such a long journey. That the dark stranger went to so many inns on the some day, none took note, for it was a busy port, with one wave of new customers disembarking after another.

"How far is it to the castle? I have business there." Auguste gave the stable owner enough coin to insure a good horse for the distance. "There are glass products to be delivered and I need to verify the road is good enough for a wagon of highly breakables." Today he used the glass merchant disguise, the one he had in play when Auguste first met the "Lady Winter".

"There be no more than a village or so on the lane, and that there," The little stable worker pointed in the direction, leather arms of his jacket creaking in the early morning crisp breeze, " it be the way to the castle. Be ready to show yer papers, they got security."

"Sensible. Keep my room at your inn, as I expect to be returning by afternoon." With that, Fonti got himself into the rented saddle and set out to the castle, expecting to see what he did could be certain. Lady Winter last appeared to him in a cemetery, dressed in widows weeds and dealing packets of lethal powders, the ones for which she was known fondly known as Lady Death.

He had met her in so many different images; like a peasant girl drawing water from a well in Grasse, a fishmonger on the docks of Paris, and many more disguises. What was Beka Winter up to hiding out here in this remote island? He had to hear what happened, for did not the Court in France look out for this one? Well, this was going to be another strange encounter. Perhaps this time he'd talk her into relocating to Verona or somewhere not too near, but closer. At any rate he'd get his "weapon" of choice, poison undetectable and be rid of those Carlucci clods, one at a time. The thought made Auguste smile, if you might call that a smile. He looked out to the world with dark black eyes, so dark the iris melted into the iris. Black. Dark brown hair tied tight back at the base of his neck. Olive complexion and average build, he was the ordinary man, one saw him but not really noticed him. Revenge was his one goal. If not for that, what did a man have to live for? Good revenge was, to Fonti, a life well spent.

"Hold up there. Identification and why you on this road?" One uniformed guardsman stood hand in a halt motion, backed up by several others, some seen and the others only sensed.

Prudently, Auguste Fonti drew the reins in on the best rental horse from the stable and got out his folder of Glass orders. "At last, I have come half the world to the right place, yes?" His accent was not one of any particular location, but somewhere in Italy was a good guess.

[Men of Skye]

Clarity

Rebbeka sat at her dressing table, shifting one chunky glass perfume bottle and then another, as she waited to see how her husband was going to deal with a most insistent man from her past. It had not been anything romantic or of a sort of interest that could make James jealous or suspicious, it was merely monetary. That Armande Fonti was attracted to her other identity, the Lady Winter, Beka did not think important. That was until Fonti tracked her here to Lewis/Harris Islands. He would be wanting those deadly gloves, that was it. Beka turned on the chair and observed her son at play.

"The green carpet is the ocean, Mother. See how the ship is launched into the shipping lane." He directed the carved wooden cargo ship replica onto a line of the carpet's border. "The ship owner, that is me, is taking his cargo of walnuts to the warehouse, off there in the wood-box, in Hearth Harbor." He played what he overheard, what Albert thought was what a man did; like his Father directing ships for trade. The child was going to be three in a few weeks but he had the knowledge of the sea of a ship owner's son might. He crawled across the carpeting in a precise pattern coming near the bowl of fresh fruit he had placed on the rug, confiscating it from off the end table. "Ah! Look! Pirates! My crew will have to deal with them or else."

Rebbeka allowed the child to batter the snack dish with his toy ship, in mock battle until the creaky wooden wheels took the "traders" safely onto the hearth bricks, home. "I want to be like my Da, when I grow up." The serious smile he gave to his Mother was so like James', inherited and copied as well.

She daydreamed and thought of what she had dreamed that previous night, of touring a glass factory. There were rows and rows of new colors for perfume bottles, in a row, with sunlight illuminating them in a rainbow too glorious to watch for very long. Just seeing them made her happy, it seemed. In her dream book, the Glass factory meant "Fortune is ahead…" and the rainbow at sunrise means "Riches".

There was a certain clarity in the dream, in the pattern of little Albert's desire to be like his Father, and that fortune is ahead, for the very idea of making more money gave Rebbeka a sense of delight that only James could understand. It was not the having money but the earning profits that motivated her.

"Will you ask Father to get me a dog for my birthday? Even Loomis has a dog of his own." Albert had to mention the farm child, his first friend of his own age.

"Yes, we will discuss it. You know you will be responsible for a pet it one is granted to you, Albert?" Beka replied, distracted in her thoughts, off curious what was going on at the gate, as James met Fonti. And was she going to be able to continue selling her special deadly gloves as before? It came to her in a moment of clarity. Life was not as it had been. There was family to consider, even before the excitement of dealing with poison vending. Even before profits. Now that thought rocked Beka's little mental patterning to the root. She loved her little family more than anything.

Meanwhile, Armande Fonti stood at the door, looking windswept and travel worn from his long journey to Lewis/Harris. He waited beside the guards as a shorter, determined man came to meet him.

The Chamberlain had knocked upon the door… “Your Grace… a man requests His Grace’s audience… or more, the Duchess’ audience.”

With that James glanced to his wife sitting at the dressing table. “I shall see who it is…” and he made his way down the stairs to the main gate. There, just outside the gate stood a man, patiently… Dun Charlabhaigh Castle, the residence of the Duke and Duchess Leòdhas agus na Hearadh, was a very old castle, well built centuries ago, and over the years expanded and refortified. Inside, the Duke and Duchess lived and worked... The rooms that Lord and Lady du’Chere resided was a very lavishly decorated; as well as many others in the buildings. The du’Chere’s lived very comfortably in the old castle with a full retinue of servants, who would continue to see to their every whim, even to the point of agitation.

Inside the main gate, James flicked his wrist, and the guards began to crank open the heavy wood and iron gate. As the man entered, the gate shut behind him. James waited patiently for the man to approach him and state his business.

Armande Fonit, watched the lifting of the gate, and as soon as he could, he entered. Watching the Duke, he simply jumped, being startled by the gate being lowered suddenly, and glanced over his shoulder at the heavy gate as it thudded, settling into place. Recollecting his thoughts, he nears the Duke and bows, most formally. “Buon giorno il mio signore…” [good day my lord…] he said in his native language, with a glance upward.

“Buon giorno il mio signore” [Good day, sir] James relied in his limited Italian. “How may I help you sir…?” James was not too naïve to realize the man did not come all the way from Stornoway to Dun Charlabhaigh Castle because he was lost. The man had a purpose… and according to the Chamberlain, the man had requested to see Rebekka… though he referred to her by another title.

"Your Grace." Armande bowed as correctly as he knew, when addressing the Duke himself. "I come from Venice, by way of Paris, with a glass shipment for the Lady Winter. I am told she is currently in residence at this estate." His attempt to converse in the French language was fraught with a struggle to quell that Italian accent.

The man before him was rough in protocol… but at least he was direct. James stepped back from the door… “Enter Signore… and please be so kind as to wait here…” he spoke to the man in Italian… James’ linguistics was limited to English, French, Gaelic, and Italian… in that diminishing order…

"At the docks is a wagon full of glass vials, per her order, and I am trying to find out where she would have them delivered." The vials were to contain perfumes Beka had designed for individual members of court. She was after all, still Perfumer appointed to their court. "Is she still at this location? If I may be so direct, may I speak with Lady Winter?" Fonti had high hopes of seeing Beka again and to make his deal for the special poisoned gloves with her directly. His motive was not monetary, oh no, but the revenge he hoped to have, back in his homeland.

James stopped and looked over his shoulder when the man spoke… but turned slightly to answer. “I am sure it would be delivered to the du’Chere Warehouse in Stornoway… but I shall see if the Lady wishes to speak with you…” Apparently, the man knew not with whom he spoke. Then he nodded and walked up the stairs to the bedchambers.

“Make yerself presentable my dear… a man wishes to meet the Lady Winter… he seems insistent…” Was that the green monster of jealousy that was nipping at James’ heels? So many years of distrust of fellow man and loyalty to oneself could not be overcome by less than four years of being together in love… Did she love her husband? Or would this become a tale of courtly love…? He had no idea that it was purely business from her history past…

James was a shrewd and patient businessman… but as a husband… this was a new realm to him… and he stood with his hands upon his hips, looking at her. Oh she was a beauty… and great in bed… a smooth operator in the business world… If all this could excite him beyond all means, could it not excite another man? He doubted that… and those sea-green eyes narrowed, watching her body language.

"Will you accompany me? I am afraid of anyone who would come looking for Lady Winter." Beka had not put her mask, as she called it, her confident face on before her husband. She looked to him for support and to back her up as she was always promised, to be there for him, no matter what. Oh it might be that Italian, the one with the moo-cow eyes who always looked as her as if she was the pastry cart at a court banquet. So creepy.

As they stood there, before going to meet the visitor, Beka told James, "I cannot understand anyone who will not deal with their battles straight forward, sword to sword, you know? Perhaps a frightened little girl like I was once might need poison, but not adults. Not men, ever." She had been practicing with a handgonne at targets, to gain a new skill that interested her.

“Of course I shall accompany you… Do you think I shall give opportunity to those who do not deserve it… You are my wife… and I reiterate that I am here to protect…” then he gave her an odd look. “There are many who would use the easiest way to eliminate someone…even poison my dear…” he smirks… “Oh my dear, do not be so optimistic… yu shall fail yer wisdom if yu think that way…”

She admired him totally, from the first she saw James, descending the stair to the Masque auction. Strong and confident in his stride and his stance. The one regret Beka had for placing her garter on auction that day was that she could not go over and speak to du’Chere. She had been drawn to him from the first sight and no other, but did James know that?

"I know what I will find upon meeting the one seeking Winter, but I do know it cannot be a good thing." She laced her hand over his arm and looked up into his sea green eyes. "Let's get this over with."

“Aye lass, let us get this over with… I have more wicked things that I could do to..er..with you…” he pops her arse…his hand then going to her back and guiding her down the stairs to meet this mystery man… “We could always give him a taste of his own business… and dump the body in the sea…” he teased her in a wicked whisper.

Upon his arm, the Duke and Duchess Leòdhas agus na Hearadh went to meet her past, face to face.

Fonti watched the duCheres approach where he stood and calculated what to do next. This was Rebbeka, but no longer did she have that friendly smiling face he recalled; now she was serious, almost stern. It was true, the rumors he heard at court, Beka was never coming back. And now he knew the reason. That James! Oh, he had seen him from a distance and heard things, gossip, but if it were any true, Armande was in jeopardy here and now. He needed a resupply of his store of poisons and this was no time to make a request. What to do? He made a sweeping gesture when bowing so that it was clear there were no weapons in his hand or at his side.

James released his wife’s arm and allowed her to step ahead of him. Meanwhile, sea-green eyes scanned the man with curiosity. Who was this man? What did he require of his wife? Questions with no answers… yet !

No doubt, many from France would know of Lord James du’Chere… a former courtier of the French King. And no doubt rumor swelled in and outside of court. James was a renown and shrewd businessman… If anyone crossed paths with him, the victim would surely regret it. James was also an expert at making people… disappear… so Fonti had sure reason to be wary…

"Fonti? It is you. How is it you came so far just to deliver a shipment of containers" There were a number of unique colored glass bottles in the cartons, back at the wharf which were a part of the luxurious product Beka's Perfumery made, individual personal scents for those at court.

Evidently, his wife knew this man… A hand caressed the now bearded chin of the Duke. ‘Wait and see…’ he thought.

"I have been charged with handing these posts in person, to you," The Venetian held out a leather folio, tied and sealed with a signet ring imprint, of an individual known to James, but not to Rebbeka. "And some messages from France, the court ladies are anxious to renew their perfume supplies, etc. before Winter sets in and the seas are too treacherous for shipping." He held out a cambric drawstring bag for her, offering it to James first, for propriety. Included in the notes was an order for what Fonti braved this journey to gain. Poison.

James stepped forward, accepting the portfolio, and glancing at the seal, pausing momentarily, his green eyes glancing to the man. Simultaneously, he handed the folio to Beka, unopened. It was hers, not his… and he would not infringe upon her realm. Knowing the seal, James stepped back once more and watched.

Armande stood arms folded, his cloak still folded back, not removed and awaited their response. Was he going to be offered hospitality or the gate? It remains to be seen.

James would not interfere with Fonti and Beka… he would leave her to her own resolve regarding the man. He was there merely in support. But something was not right… but he could not put a finger upon it… He had doubts of the Venetian’s motives for being in Stornoway.

"Pardon my speaking frankly," with a nod to James, Fonti directed his speech then to Rebbeka. "Had anyone told me you were married, I would not have come this far to ask you to come back home with me. Married, if you would have agreed. Now I see that I am not worthy of a note? Any word that you have found a new life? Is that fair? Almost five years, Beka. How did I find you? From following your orders for certain ingredients that come through Venice. As far as the glass order, keep it. No charge. My 'wedding gift' to you."

Armande folded his arms and just looked at them both, trying to control his resentment of being treated so coldly. If he had pondered it all rationally, Fonti would have realized Beka was never that interested in him, himself but in selling that lucrative product, Powders of Inheritance for which he had use.

"What I ask what would you do if you were me?" He inquired of James, about to turn and leave back to the town.

James finally stepped forward. He did not like the way the man spoke, nor his presumptions. An arm nudged Beka behind him. “MiLord… Tis unfortunate you sought Beka, and made the journey, in vain… but she is married… and if she had truly desired your company, she would have sought you out… for she is an independent woman, worthy of a man’s attention.” And then he smirked… “Especially during the five years… you should have suspected her desire of you was in your mind only…” James then crossed his arms upon his chest. “As for the glass order, we shall fund your foolish endeavor and buy the glass at cost… We require not your charity… nor gift…”

James just chuckled… “I would do nothing… for I am nothing like you… I have a better business head than you do…” James was definitely not friendly with Fonti… he trusted him not, nor appreciated his honesty of emotions… The man was speaking about HIS wife… not a friend, nor business companion, but his wife… If James had not been changed by Beka and Albert, and them not being as Duke and Duchess Leòdhas agus na Hearadh, Fonti would be found face first in a river… This he was certain. James just looked at the Venetian and smirked. “Good day sir… safe journeys…” he said sarcastically.

A mental note was made in James’ mind… to contact both French and Venetian associates. Armande Fonti needed some manners… Maubrey-style.

[Rebbeka]

Powders of Inheritance

Rebbeka watched the man, Aramande, stomp out of their home, angry that his plan for a future were defeated. Fonti had hoped to snare the talents of Beka for making subtle contact poisons for his own benefit by going to the extreme and even marrying her, if that was what it took to get her back to Venice with him. Now not only did James beat him to the vows, but du’Chere gave added insult by insisting on paying for the glass shipment at cost, instead of accepting it as a gift. The plan had been genius, according to Fonti. He already had the artisan who crafted the rainbow of glittering elaborate shaped glass bottle Beka used for her perfume sales but the man was a virtual prisoner back in Armande's home fortification, on an island he owned. For Beka, he intended the same fate, but in a nicer confinement. Now the du’Chere were free of him, Fonti headed back to Venice. He was not to arrive home, however, vanishing somewhere between Stornoway and the Strait of Gibraltar.

James had stood upon the stairs, his arms folded across his chest as the man known as Fonti departed… a mental note to have the man dealt with. In the days that passed, James ensure his men were paid well, ensuring his desires fulfilled regarding Aramande Fonti… and that was another chapter in the life of James and Beka du’Chere.

Meanwhile, once Fonti had left Dun Charlabhaigh, James would escort his beloved Beka back thru the halls of their home.


Beka continued walking arm-in-arm with her husband, back into the main hall of their home. Once again, he had been there when she needed help and for that there were no words to express how she felt. "James? I am thinking about the Perfumery business and I have decided to continue making the specialty scents for those at Court and special friends. As well, the concentrates that my shops use to make up colognes for sale to the public. Yet, the one thing which has been so profitable, the Powders of Inheritance, has to be done and over." She looked at him with sad but hopeful eyes.


James patted her hand upon his arm. “I think that would be a very profitable area to continue… the more royalty we supply to, the better the profit… both financially and politically.” He smirked at her as they continued thru the corridors. James was always open to finding new ways of ensuring their lifestyle. “Powders of Inheritance…?” his head canted toward her… “I have heard of that before… my Father use to speak of it… and a woman who specialized in such…”

"I made poisons, many types, that others used to clear out their elders and gain inheritances faster. I did not see the harm of that, although I only gave my old Auntie pain killers when she was dying." [/b][/i]

James chuckled… “Mercy killing…eh?” He got this wicked smirk upon his face. “I would presume you were the woman my Father knew, but you are too young…” his hand, which now moved to hers, squeezed her hand on his arm. “My, my, such a small world is it not?”


"People were buying the Powders for more than simply easing the old out of this world. Yet, I thought that is not my concern; it was like a sword maker feeling guilty for who was slain with their made weapons. The fault fell with the user, not me." They entered into the main room, tall arched beams overhead were painted with gold leaf borders and patterns of butterflies and dragonflies. Below, warm wood chair rail high panels rimmed the area, each one topped with a rail carved with vines and flowers. The carpet was woven with sprays of Lewis native flowers. It was a lovely room, full of patterns taken from life.


“True… so true, my love… You cannot perceive yourself as a murderer… or a conspirator to murder… it would play havoc upon one’s mind… steel yourself from such thoughts… It is our nature to supply our clients with what they desire… our concern is our profits…” There lies the difference between James and William… William performed atrocities in the name of power… power that had eventually, brought him to his end. James is a shrewd businessman… His Father had sent him to the finest schools, and he eventually led a life on the court of the French King… and that brought him to Stornoway… where life was altered by his wife and his brother. James is not so innocent, for he too had committed atrocities… but those were to strengthen his business affairs… and affairs of the heart.

"I am surrounded by things which tell me that life is a precious gift, not to be taken lightly. I am thinking on that. If anyone threatened my family I would do anything necessary to save and protect our lives." She glanced over to a portrait of their son Albert, his square jaw and direct gaze caught in paint, so like he is in life. "I cannot make Powders of Inheritance any more. No matter how much it paid."

James stopped, turned to face her, and took Beka by the arms. “Life is precious… what we have here is what we make of it. Albert shall not grow up as I did… I will be here to guide him… we, our life together is great… we have a fine home, plenty of money… and a people who depend upon our guidance. And the sex is great…” he offered her a wicked smirk, watching her blush.

"The only exception is if you ask me to compound the powders; only if you need me to do it. That is because I am here to watch your back, to help any manner you require. You have already done so for me." She was changing.


“Make yer powder… use it as you deem fit… and if I am of need of it… I shall ask you…”[/b] he smirked… “See, I trust you not to use it on me…” he teased her evilly. “I… shall always have her back… and never allow you to retreat from what you enjoy… for I know, you shall always be there for me…” James had changed… in many ways… and some he remained the same. He knew his limitations… and hers… but would not use that knowledge as a crutch. They had come a long way in the past few years.

He looked left, then right, and smirked at her wickedly… Backing up, he pulled her into a cul’ de sac in the corridor; turned and backed her against the wall, her hands raised over her head and pinned against the wstones… and there he began to make love to her in the small alcove of their castle.[/color]

Later, Beka rode about the estate with the groundskeepers. She practiced with a gun, firing a pistol at targets, and then skeet to learn to sight on moving items. From the Chamberlain, she learned how the estate worked, yet still sat back and let him do his job. A little hobby size perfumery room allowed her to keep in practice with her art while scaling it back to allow for a more leisurely life. Best of all was the time spent with James and their son Albert. This time at Lewis/Harris was a time to remember.


James was amazed at Beka… From his station on the bedchambers’ balcony of Dun Charlabhaigh, he watched her from afar. He thought upon their days shortly after the masquerade years ago… visits to the court of the French King… their earlier escapades in Stornoway… and their eventual appointment as Duke and Duchess Leòdhas agus na Hearadh.

She belonged as royalty. This woman, one who was able to capture the heart… and sex drive… of James du’Chere. And she was even qualified to wear the name of Maubrey… as evil as that was… Mostly with a good side, she could…if required, have an evil side… She was a grand Mother… Wife… Lover… Friend… and Partner. Life was good…