The Words of a Mother

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

Prologue
- Taken from A History in Pictures; Tales from the East Wing -


The sea had near a hundred miles of water twixt birth place and abroad but in the burning mists she could see her ancestral home taking shape. Thick wood elongating in rafters above thick thatch. Stone was soon to replace the walls, just beginning to. The roof sloped out on either end to form the dragonshaped heads that had been rumored to once been part of the ships that carried the vikings across the blue water. Down the corridor past the lintle post carved with guardian Celtic hounds, beyond the walls where a horse had been painted in knots was a woman who sat beyond in the corner near the great-grandmother. Auburn head reeled back with laughter sweet, brogue flavored Scandavian tongue passing on the same mouth that pleased the Celts with Gaelic. Beathag could almost touch the high cheek bones, the elongated throat to shame a swan. Her mother was so beautiful it could make the heart ache to look at her too long. Two eyes with a rich brown hazel bathed with a touch of crystal for shine turned toward the old whizzened woman in the chair beside her. Two hands curled over the taut copper strings of the family's cherished heirloom harp. Poverty was not for them nor were had they the wealth of kings, but once the harp had been worth a king's ransom. A horse was being led to the stable house, and down by the seashore the skeleton of a ship was being erected. The scent of smoking metal cooling after being dunked in water was prominent. She became aware of the heather, the sage, drowning in the lemon grass. Mother's hands were reached for by the daughter who's touched made the mist wave. Before it dispated the animals in the harp's thistle gleamed: swan, hound. The horse on the wall. Dragons on the roof. Her fingers burned as she drew them back, her mother's eyes seemed to look at her. "Come home, child," they said," So long 'ave you tarried away. Come home."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

1293
Winter


The bairin inside of me is a restless sort of child who won't be quelled in these days by lullaby nor the touch of my hand. It wants to be out with the living. To move, as if the simple kicks of her feet, the crunching of her fist, her very cry could change the world she will be born in. It is beyond the seventh moon now with two more to grow full until the Beltane signals the bale fires of luck, the Christians awaiting the still more distant May Day, and the birth of the child somewhere between.

Such an auspicious child; a wise, mischevious child it will be. I dare venture to say it may have a streak in it for coming to life to such a highly charged, invoked occasion. Brycean enjoys telling the bairin of his expeditions to the other side of the town on his horse, while their father sits often at my side. While smoking his pipe, he will offer me an affectionate caress on the belly while only smiling. After the birth of a healthy boy, he imagines all of his children will be prime examples of life be they lad or lass. I am not particular, but I do hope for a lass so that the harp will not go still for long as the tasks of the household are taken up.

Brycean is not one to be heir to the skills of his mother. No, while he laughs like his grandmother he has the prowess of his father. He is a man and should be heir to his father's legacy. His father has a rare, exquisite talent for horses. To shape them, understand them, craft riders out of the unworthy, the clumsy, the way the great-grandparents had and grandparents do still shape the wood for ships or steel for swords. If a son is to follow in his father's steps, and his son after, let it be with horses. A man can acquire good stature by his command of them; the notice of prominent court persons, of even the King.

Perhaps a girl might follow in the notes of her mother.

Dragon Moor is not the great halls of the King of Scotland nor the splendorous island terrain of the Lord of the Isles at Skye. All of the decorations have been removed, and only a box holds the pieces of the jewels that once adorned the back of the ancient harp. Naked, wood carved, it is still beautiful. Stripped of the golden garments given to her by royal hands for the royal harper, her voice is aching and pure. I am still so devoted to this collection of wood and wire that each day I still sit for hours of practice as I did before the birth of my first born son. My hands are callused and my fingers bleed.

My husband will sit at the end of a long day to listen to the songs that once captured a broader audience than his presence, though it could dwarf everyone in a room. "One day," he says, "one day, they will call you back again. You will redress that." He points to the naked arch of the harp as he says this. Each night the same is said. He goes on further," I will hammer back in the pieces of gold, silver, crystal, the jewels in the eyes of the hound, swan, and the amethyst in the thistle. You will be the House Harper, the Bard revered, once more and I will thank him with a matched pair for his stables. Just like I gave of two geldings when he and your kin gave leave for you to marry me and the arrangement was final. Ah. One day, meg hjertet ," he grinned, "one day." So it has gone on since Brycean became three years of age and we did not sojourn beyond the ancestral home. It was too dangers for a harper in a world where for a time even the sight of the instrument invoked fits of rage, supersticious calls of witchcraft. A harper may still flourish in Alba, a bard may still be chief among Celts, and two together such as those out of Aberdeen? We must be spirited away.

I hope to be able to tell my son and this child soon to come of a history beyond these walls, as loved, as sacred as they are. To tell them of how like their home, there is a castle with a history enscripted in every wall that they will know how to decipher and thus know a story that their father often ponders over and their mother plays of in her songs.


"Tis written afore the winter turned o'er to the Spring o' m'birth," she looked up to Adam across the circular table in their chambers, "Tha' though happy was life at home, she was being kept in a sort o' secrecy. There were many wars a this time, many raids n' things could be calm fer only a moment before brewin' to boil over." She was going to close the book, but instead let it remain open on the table. The candles shone down on the words in faded ink. No, this was not how the children were supposed to find out but life didn't always go the way one planned. The author of the words had been dead for many years so this was all that would tell the tale her time in the world forgot to mention.

Business had called her away, returned her, and called her away again only to return to the beginning of a path of circles. Thus far, with Adam, she stood on the outermost ring as to construct the necessary clues would mean they had a way to reach the inner sanctum.

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Calloused fingers touched the material… tracing the outer rings of the dark-haired woman’s image… memories flooded the mind of the Duke as he was rverted back to the early days of his youth… A young, beautiful woman, who held the lad upon her lap as he lay against her breast, he could hear her heart beat, the rise and fall of her chest, both soothed him… as another woman played a beautiful harp, the tunes generated by the strings seemd to ease his Mother’s concerns… a small golden haired girl wandered about as he mother played… eventually to land near the Mother and her son. The golden haired girl would take the lad’s hand and smile, urging him to come play… but play he would not as times were difficult and his Father begat the difficulty for his Mother for some reason… Confusion harnessed the boy’s activities, lest he remained in his Mother’s loving arms, her attentiveness turned at the melodies produced by the skills of the harper…

The venture that Adam and Bess were to take to Aberdeen had yet once again been delayed… as the duties of Duke and Duchess drew them apart… only to be reunited again… both drawn unmerciless to the tapestries… a hidden, and coded, past lurked within… The delays would cause Adam to call forth scholars, sea masters, carpenters, and weavers to research, refit, and bring to the Skye fleet a refitted Mistress… a refurbished leader, proud to be called the Highland Duchess… Adam demanded diligence… asked for assistance and pleaded the requirement for a ship to represent Skye… and the Duchess would be such, for when they sailed into Aberdeen… it would be on board a seemingly new ship… the pride of the Skye Fleet.

The delays offered Adam time to study the tapestries… to study where Skye needed to be… to study his wife, and know her every twitch and twinge… to love her as she needed to be loved, and give her the passion that would stir even the most inner self… It had been said that she was barren, unable to further the blood of them both… but that did not alter the fact that he could not practice… that he could not hope… Even with the injustice of infertility, he would love her always… and make love to her when and where he could…

Did his Mother love as he does? His fingers traced the woman’s face… her finger extended to the island of Skye… “What lies in yer mind Mother? What is stored within this material? Dammit Mother, speak to me?” he utters in that low baritone voice, unknowing of anyone behind him….

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Memories -- A sandy brown haired boy with sea-green eyes played marbles and merrills with a blue-eyed golden hair ed girl while the female parents enjoyed the tunes that the harp gave forth. Nimble fingers plucked strings creating the most beautiful sounds that would sooth both parent and child. Adam would look up to his Mother and smile as she would attempt to sing, or hum, a tune the harpist played. It was the summer of 1300, and Lord William often allowed his beautiful wife, Davena, to return to her homeland while he was away on Crown business.

Adam sat in the bedchambers chair, looking out the window when a noise behind him woke him back to reality. His vaguest memories were of those days among lush valleys, and cragged hills, but with whom and where he stayed were lost… lost to the abuse received by a tyrant of a father. For some reason, his mind refused to allow such pleasant memories…. Memories of his Mother and the days of their youth. Had time been so cruel?

Pleasant memories of days past lost to days present often aggravated Adam, but now his mind would veer in a different direction. The Highland Duchess was refit, sea-tested and ready to be presented to the Duchess of the Isles… Adam made his way down to the docks… Kendrew’s task was to keep the Duchess far from the coast and the docks, whilst the new Duchess made her way to her old station.

At the docks, Adam boarded the ship… her hull frame foundation was the same as before, the trees of the northlands still strong after all those years… but the rest of her exterior appeared brand new… especially the new gun ports along her sides and the sails upon her masts. The two hour inspection tour of the new Duchess made him smile… “Aye, she’ll bae th' Pride o’the fleet…” looking to the Engineer master… “Ah’ll expect five more a’fore year’s end… with yer special supervision on wot the Ceannfort shall provide once Ulster is free…”

He was bound and determined for him and Bess to go back to Aberdeen and retrace the steps of her mother… and present his beloved wife to her people in the stature she now held… as Lady of the Isles, the Duchess of Skye… upon a ship well-deserved of royalty.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

The Summer of 1300

The words of my daughter's father proved right, though I did not believe the utterance of them when his hope's were so feverant. It has been long since she was on her feet that he fell backwards to be held by the sea, but he is not gone. I see his eyes and hear his laughter, his deeper thoughts from his son. I see his eyes and the storm in his daughter. She is a happy child but if a way is blocked she will do what she deems necessary to cull a passage!

A letter came to the long house, asking if I would take up the work my family had so long done. Einar began the work of restoring the harp before his death, fixing in the eye jewels. Amhlaidh, my husband after him, hammered in the gold and silver. It was Beathag who hung the crystal just shy of her 4th birthday, and so the remaking of a dream took four years.

It is good, though, to see the family from the mouth of the two rivers has prospered. The Lady Davena could be the incarnation of the old stories and her son is good. Both are quiet, modest Christians but they give no mind to the fact myself and child are of older persuasion. Beathag often pulls on Adam until he has no choice but to surrender to her games leaving his mother and I to talk of women's things. How good it is to do so! Her Ladyship returns home only as her husband's business allowed..but the offer has been layed to see them both remain here or in Glasglow, to which if it is so my husband has given though to sending a man to open additional business, so that we might live there hence...


Memories.

Locked inside of books, spanning countless pages. Pushing to be realized though without words or help, at least in Beathag's mind. There was no time to sit idle and think when the world called one by the name of "Her Grace." Expectation was met and defied in every action. Fires burned in the valley, rivalry among certain parties were becoming nastier and more intense. All of this she dealt with better than her own mind's inability to conjure at a whim the faces of the text.

She knew what wood made strong hulls, and the smell of smoke as a log was hollowed out. The lines of music were akin to breathing, but her memory could not come together fast enough. In utter frustration she launched the journal across the room to careen with end of a small table. A heavy thud and the clatter of the table echoed in the room as she stood up. With one hand to the wall, the other combed through her hair. Kendrew had done a fine job of keeping her from the docks given that in the interest of memory's pursuit with the small bit of personal time she had, it kept her in the recieving room. The loud clatter made him groan as he peered in through the slit to see what the matter was. He had done a fine job, aye, but the Duke would not be pleased to find his wife so utterly frustrated.

"Lady Beathag," he used the terms of friends, his allowance and right, "ye can't help what ye don't know, woman. Now stop it!" He said with worry as he came in to put a hand on her shoulder. "M'friend, what more can ye do?"

Unknown to Kendrew, his words were the key that slipped into the door. Frustration would make her head throb, the memory gaining entry burn..but she turned to him as he spoke. Once, the little boy with sandy hair had said:

"M'friend, what more can ye do? Momma and I have to go home."

"But I dun want ye to go home, n' m'brother does nay either. Ye could come with us. Doesn't your Momma want to meet Papa Amhlaidh? And m'other brother n' sister just came. Adam why do ye have to go?"

"Papa said it is time to come home, but they say you might come near our home so that is good," he shyly took her fingers, "You're hair will still be gold then and you'll want to play?"

"Mmhmm. I'll e'en bring ye some sweets n' we can sit under the trees n' let our finger get sticky again.."

The women watched them from a distance and smiled. It was the last pair of days they had and no one wanted it to end..





"Lady Beathag?"

"Aye..um..aye Kendrew. There isn't much. Would ye send for my tea, please...m'had is splittin in half something terrible.."

"Aye."

The Highland Duchess was ready to be the ship of royalty, of beauty, and grace, but for what of the woman who in irony had the same title as the vessel? What would they go home to find? Was home even there anymore?

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

The young lad, let loose his thumb, the smooth stone marble rolled into the bunch of others… “Ah got ye Beth… now ye only up by 3…” the lad exclaimed… He could not pronounce Beathag, so Beth was all he could muster. Swiping the darkening hair from his eyes, he takes aim again. The marbles bounce outside the ring and he reaches to collect them. The golden-haired girl snarls at him then pushes him back… “De bae mine, nay yers… twas mae turn…” The older golden haired boy laughs… “Beathag, de bae Adam’s… dun go pushin’ ‘im…”

Adam’s lost years were a void yet to be filled. He had yet seen the crazy man from the dungeon but had heard rumor of such. His time of late had been spent readying the Duchess and handling internal affairs as usual… the Ulster situation also played heavily upon his mind as breathern went to fight the English… this time, should the English wish to fight Skye, they would be met with much greater resistance. The day had passed so quickly, and yet now under a full moon, he smiled, the Duchess’ looking ever splendid. Patting the Captain on the shoulder… “Ah shall go see mae wife tonight… that is if she’ll still have mae…” he laughed with the Captain as the man bowed his head at the Duke.[/color]

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

"C'mon Beathag, dun be cross with 'em. He really did best ye now come on, beh a nice lady 'bout it. We're visitin' Lady Davena n' ye can nay beh actin' as wild as yeh dae in Aberdeenshire.."

She huffed and gave a distinct arch of eyebrow that was said to be an attribute from her father as the face melded in to more expressions than any one face should have been allowed to make. Brycean could see the storm quieting on his little sister's face as she at last relented. Thank goodness! If she got the motivation than the poor little boy would have met with his sister's fury. Hell, even he knew when not to pick on her! "A lady does nay start nothin', tha's what his Mama says but ye sure as anythin' bet I finished it!" Wry little grin on a wry little imp before she laughed, "a'ight, Adam ye can have 'em n' I'm sorra. Maybe next time we play dry bones. Tis a dice game Papa learned from the sailors.." she whispered "I play it with m'sister n' brothers n' gets lots o' wot..but won't nay play ye fer nuffin big, just some sweets cook'll give us aye?" Gambling! Adam's face blinked as he recalled somewhere that it was a sin, along with whoring and not listening to your Mama, but Beathag had already taken his hand so he was comitted..that, and they always had such fun! Maybe cook would even let them play in the pantry again..


By now the cup of tea had turned into a pot with the herbs left to steep as one cup turned to the third. Aislin's oil was being applied to abate the pain but all it did was slice it thin; dull razors instead of firesharp pins seemed better than nothing so she took it. Sir Kendrew retained his post but closer now, in a chair just to the side of the one facing the windows. Windows her childhood was reflected in with memory, windows a history was painted on to preserve it. What should bring her comfort only made her wish she could feign ignorance if only long enough to have done, seen, been more to the people who were no more. Brycean, Moyra, and Caldean were gone. Three people, three siblings that shared the blood of their mother left her alone. If they were alive, she thought, Moyra would know how to soothe the lot of them. How like Aislin she was..in looks, in voice, and the pair would have gotten along so well that Moyra would have coaxed laughs from her. Brycean could have been a brother in blood and could have easily abated the storm or know when to let it rage, he would have been the better of Eamonn and she, and Caldean? Why, he would have forged the steel all the sons would carry and sat every daughter on his knee. He would have loved Edme, but she too, was gone.

"This is shyte, tis all shyte," she spoke out loud to no one imparticular, "What the f-k m' I daein' here with a book tae tell me my life n' a mind tha' doesn't give a damn if it fathoms? Why the hell is this on walls, n' why did she nay just tell me! Dae ye hear me, mother? Was this honor, this..place sae terrible ye could nay tell meh, tell any o' us again as we aged!? Sae what the hell do I do? "

Kendrew had bid the doors be shut and all matter of business left with him to present to his Lady for her mind was ill at ease. Many took that as a sign, still considering that shock ought not be given to her or they had no permission to touch her, or some such flim-flam the heads of every household office told them to avoid confrontation. An ale came to his mouth to wet the words he spoke, "I don't know, Lady. God help me, I don't."


"N' ye know the worst o' it? Took m'brother's father." "What do ye mean, ye did nay.." Kendrew huffed but she continued, "Didn't mean tae, but it happened. Find out I have a brother, n' the only livin' blood I have save m'little boy does nay know wot tae do with me. N' I dun know what to do with him, because e'erytime m'mouth opens somewot stupid or snippish or life ruinin' comes out. Oh..aye..n'then the only thing he has o' our father he gives tae me..Gods damn it all. If I could remember this shyte already I'd keep m'mouth closed. Twas his ring, Kendrew,his memory. His life n' now it's twisted. Wot if someone knew where m'father had come from n' just did nay say anythin? Wot if they knew n' it comes out n' makes things worse?"

He had no idea what to say for he could not refute the logic in that. If someone had told him that he and Roric were only half brothers, or secrets were known, would things ever be the same? To learn that your life was not what you thought. What do you do? He sighed softly as she stood. The tea took effect, the oil had done it's job, but the frustration was still rolling under the surface...[/color]

Summer 1300..

"Take yer hands off o' her My Lord! Can ye nay see how sick she is, Gods above she is with yer child!" Murieall flung herself out at Lord William, staying his hand from hitting Davena one more time. "No! William!" The man pushed but stalled for a second, long enough to see that Davena would defy him no longer, and the harper? She was only Scott's kin, tolerated, but they would be on English soil soon without her.

He, for once, muttered an apology that caught Murieall off guard as he helped his young wife to her feet. He kissed her forehead, leaving all in the room astounded as the man famous for his tyrades promised them time together on the mainland.

A month later, it was granted. Amhlaidh collected Davena and Adam from the docks himself and drove them down to Glasgow. The Norseman, too, was a man who favored control in his home, but he was not one to do it by hand. His life listened to him because he used his strength, efforts, and intentions to give a good life to the children. Would that he could keep Davena with them but what sort of lady as she would favor life in a long house? No matter how long, how many rooms, or how much love was in it, Murieall lived in comfort but far simpler than castles or palaces. He was a ship builder, her other male family members smiths. She was the one who afforded them merit with her talent and a man before him who had a unique gift with the horse. All he did was bask in it, provide, and love her.


"Come, little man." Amhlaidh let Adam sit in his lap to take the reigns, "We drive to your cousins. You show me how, eh?"

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

Gambling!? Adam suddenly became confused… his cousin wanted to gamble !… and he knew the Church teachings his Mother offered him. Already he was structured in the Church, but confusion played again upon his mind, as several times he had overheard his mean Father curse at his Mother and blaspheme against the Church, but then with a turned face, the man used the Church to get what he wanted. Sin! Something his Mother would mention time after time… Unknowing Davena was using the Church to protect her son’s future… and in the meantime, she, along with Murielle, had devised a plan to preserve their way of life…

Adam tottered to where Murielle was scrolling in a book… “whatcha doing Auntie M…” as he called her… “Tis ye always writin’ in that book… if’en nay you, tis Mama…” Snuggling under her arm to press against her breast, sea green eyes protruding from darknening hair, as he looked to the woman.… “Why does Mama hid her book when Da comes around?” He felt so safe with the two women… but his Father… now that was yet another story… fear, anxiety… he hated that man... especially when he hit him, or his mother!

Adam startled awake from the short nap… the sun shining bright. “Dammit t’all…” rising to his elbows, he cursed at the dream that seemed only as a fog… “Ah cannae remember a damn thing… ah must bae losin’ mae mind…” he mutters to himself.

[Queen Beathag Aberdeen]

The thick, relentless fog of Adam's memory pulled back a little more to offer him a glimmer of what he was striving for, reaching for. A whisper became a voice that could have been beside him now were it not for gentleness it reserved for a child he once had been:


Murieall smiled up from over the pages of the book. The soft scritching of the quill moved in time to the lull of his little footsteps creeping closer. "Well Ahdam," the way she said his name was a full, round about way that made it sound larger, more important than usual. Every name Murieall said was as such, "Tis m'duty tae right wot down in m'book 'ere. Some things the king wishes tae know. Some things 'bout the island, n' history wot goes about. See tha' is wot bards dae, n' then I play fer yer mother, n' the Chamberlian. I advise n' wot e'ere we talk about I write down either in the book for the realm, or in m'journal sae I dun forget." Her hands opened out for him to take hold of. He could always smell the scents of Scotland in her skin in the oils of heather, lilac, grass, and bluebells. She traced a ginger path up his shoulders to gently rub his back as he came to sit on her knee. Silence reigned supreme for a long time. A question was poised and no answer had ever been denied Adam before. With a furrow of her brow, she maticulously let the words come out so he would remember, "M'heart, I think she does tha' for she is nay ready tae share them with your Papa. Sometimes we all have somewot close to heart tha' can be hard to say or e'en think. One day..one day...she'll say all tha' can nay be said now."

The Lady of Obar Dheathain walked a path that had been laid down for her by The Chieftain's Daughter, by the Chieftain himself when Aberdeen was no more than a village on the mouth of the two rivers Dee and Dun. Now, Obar Dheathain was what people with mouths for only Scottish-Gaelic said. On the royal maps it read Aberdeen, so as Time did what it was warranted to do, so the descendants of the Chieftain who remembered themselves were bequeathed the same name as the royal burgh by the sea. Prosperity visited in the form of foreigners, ships, and new languages filled the markeplace. More were there foreigners than natives in the city. Soon, the numbers of the family fractured as they blended with others, took on new professions and new names.

Murieall was of those who remained Aberdeen, who in the homes with kin knew themselves by Obar Dheathain. She knew which of the family had always been at the sea, and whom came down with the Dragonships from Shetland and Orkney, out of Norway. She was a favorite the great aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Kept in the craft, she had been exalted for it and cursed by it in equal measure.

Beathag Gavina was the daughter of Murieall, the second eldest of four children that she bore. Like the tribes of old, the lineage was tracked through the womb instead of the loins of warriors. Her father was Einar of Norway, who fell from the cliffs backwards until the sea carried away. Her father was Amhlaidh, who reared the heritage one of his country could not. She was golden haired, green eyed. At her birth they lived in the shadow of lineage's honor, of heritage glory and ate from the work of shipbuilding and the sea. Her mother gave council to merchants, to women, laughed with her family and children.

Beathag Gavina remembered much of this and little all at once, just like Adam. Something had broken each spirit once to the point of cutting it open to rob away precious memories. The way back home is long, treacherous, and plagued with peril. [/color]

Summer, 1300
Glasgow

"Papa, papa! Did ye bring 'em back with ye, did ye bring back Adam?" My daughter recites this over and over, and her siblings echo the same. In a sea of dark hair, she stands out from between Brycean and the smallest of my children, Moyra, like a shooting star in a sea of idle ones. My littlest daughter began to walk toward her father while the elder jumped up with clasped hands. "Adam!"

My husband was as good as his word. Amhlaidh had driven from the other port to Glasgow with the daughter of Lara Aberdeen and her only son, Adam. They are kin, and more importantly, have a rightful place in Scotland. May time be good to us, for we seek to do all we can for them. All we can do for now is live in the innocence of the season.

My children know nothing, knowing only that Davena has brought them sweets, gifts, and Beathag's favorite playfellow. Says my husband to me when he passes, touching my own dark hair, "You have gold in your heart as much as her father had gold on his head. So. He is close to her, she to him. They are all close." He would pull me aside to speak in the shadow of the doorway of the cottage we had occupied for the time, "I don't want them to hurt you, any of you."

[King Adam Aberdeen I]

The famed walls of Tursa Lan, where a sandy brown hair boy played… the guards providing the young Maubrey an army to command… the boy preferred books to swords at the disdain of his Father.

Twas one of the walls that he descended into the Castle, where he roamed the halls of his Mother’s descendents… the name of the Castle renamed several times of those who claimed ownership.

The sandy haired boy, whose hair began to darken, wandered into a room, where he hid when he saw the inhabitants… His Father and a finely clan older man… “I know its here within these walls. The MacRauri were the last to wear it and I am sure Davena has it hid somewhere… if we find it, we find the capability to rule this land… and even more…” The older man sighs and bows his head. “Aye M’Lord… tis yer will be done… but the Lady Davena… she shall ne’r give it freely. Are ye sure tis here is Turas Lan…” The young brash knight of red smirked. “Tis here or in Aosta… I would stake my life on it… Now be gone… pressure the Chamberlain once more… or his life shall remain in the dungeon for all eternity… meanwhile, I will take the woman and boy home… that way none of us are linked to what happens here… the Clan leaders have signed a treaty with the King… and the King orders me home…”

The older man sighed, bowed and back away from the young brash knight, whose sea green eyes shown as dragons’ orbs. “I know its here…” the knight muttered as he began to trace walls for hidden passages.

“Mama… why does Father hate me so? Why do yu write in the book so much? Auntie M says one day yu shall tell me?” The auburn hair woman, one is fine clothes of a Lord smiles at her son… in the Scots Gaelic she speaks to him… “Ahdam… yae Da nay hates yae mae lad… only he has much upon his mind… Question nae yer mind’s wild ramblings… Some day… some day hence yae shall knaew all tis bae to know… for this book will pave yae future faer… “ Her words interrupted as a young brash knight of a husband enters… “Davena… speak English, woman… speak not that pagan language… yu and the boy shall accompany me back to Aosta… it is there I shall make the decision upon his admittance to the Church… If’n yu say nay, then he shall never enter the sanctuary of the Lord…”

Adam was daydreaming… he was touched upon the arm by a scribe wishing to ask a question… “M’Lord…? M’Lord…?” Adam sighed as he was startled back to reality… once again the vision lost… “Yes? What is it?” he snapped… The pair involved in the discussion of the day’s realm management.