AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Well as they say in Scotland – "Och!", indeed "Och!" sums up my frustration recently - finally chapter ten is done, because the other day my other pc broke ¬¬ so I am not a happy bunny, but it now rots in a dump in the city (hah!) Aaaaanyway moving on, as always a big thanks to LazyChestnut from reading this story so far from the beginning and giving forth good reviews, and so I present to you all chapter ten. Please review and I shall proceed to chapter eleven ) – E.S

Chapter Ten

"The Birth of New Stages"

'What have you done?'

Meghan sniffed and raised her eyebrows at Latham, securing the blanket tighter about her waist. When she failed to respond to Latham, he strode forwards and grabbed her tight about the shoulders, staring wildly into her face.

'Answer me!' he hissed. Meghan stared vacantly back at him, vaguely noticing how much the tightened lines around Latham's mouth had pursed with fear. It did not perturb her; she languidly tilted her head, glancing at Aldrich's splayed corpse. His head lay crooked to one side, with his eyes and mouth opened in a vague expression. And piteously sticking out of his stomach was the sword. It was slowly sinking back to the ground due to its enfeebled stance, procuring fresh streams of crimson blood to begin their winding journey from the large gash. They seeped straight onto the wooden floor, gathering into small puddles.

'Didn't I tell you,' she murmured in a low voice, her gaze flicking back to Latham, 'I don't belong here.'

'Too true you don't,' Latham said, his mounting anger and panic disabling him from steady speech, 'you - we, if this gets out we will be killed! Oh God. You - You stupid, selfish bitch!'

'NO I'M NOT!' Meghan suddenly shrieked, stumbling back from Latham, her whole body was shaking and her eyes were wide with a wild, angry madness; she looked a mess, 'DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT TO ME! I AM GETTING OUT OF HERE! NOT ONCE HAVE YOU EVER REGARDED - ANYTHING! I am going to go back and find Stephen, -' she tripped over a chair leg and fell clumsily to the floor, falling a mere metre away from Aldrich's body. His gormless face gazed blankly at her. Meghan gave a frightened squeal and recoiled, quickly crawling away.

'Old man had what was coming to him,' she said quietly, clutching her knees with trembling hands, 'he had no idea. And neither do you.'

Latham stared at her, from the shadows on the other side of the room. Indeed, she spoke the truth. The brutal truth. She had hit him and made a bid for freedom. Yet he had not known what was coming to him. He had not known her intent. Little hellcat, he thought, no-one is going to believe that Aldrich was murdered by his own "wife". If anybody knew, his position of a high ranking officer, high-guard of the noble would be severely knocked. He, the man who had been instructed to spend more time with Meghan would be immediately blamed.

Questions would be asked: why had he not stopped her? Call himself a guard? A soldier? A man? More like a failure entwined into a fool, not even able to discipline or control a woman. A common girl, the "Lord's whore" and he himself would be labelled to something near to a traitor. Oh, how his pride would be laughed at. He would be degraded let alone be possibly sentenced. Latham felt the blood leave his face and he stroked his chin in thought, the hairs pricking up on the back of his neck. What to do ….

'You have blood on your hands,' he said faintly in to the deathly silence of the room. He walked over to Meghan. His scuffed leather boots stopped before her recoiled form and he held out his hand for her to take, 'but we're in this together. There's no going back.'

'Then let me leave,' Meghan said, a note of quiet desperation, as she stood taking Latham's hand, 'leave a nanny take care of Alden, say his mother perished of - illness or something. And you - you can say -'

'- hush,' said Latham tacitly, he put a paunchy finger on her lips, 'look at him,' he moved her head to look at Aldrich, 'you have killed a defenseless man, Alden's own father.'

Alden's own father … killed... murdered …

Meghan's breathing rapidly quickened as she observed Aldrich's corpse with intense fear, it whistled raggedly through her nose, heaving her chest up and down, Latham stopped speaking and looked at her in confusion.

'Meghan?'

Meghan's throat constricted and she doubled over, opening her mouth as a river of vomit issued from it. Her head grew light and her body collapsed clumsily to the floor. She had fainted. Swooned at the very sight of Aldrich. Shaking his head, Latham scooped up her flaccid form and placed it carefully upon the bed. Briefly, as he stood beside her, his fathomless brown eyes flew to Aldrich's blank ones.

'Thus passes Aldrich Harrington, tenth noble of Harrington estate.' he murmured, his lips curling.He walked slowly over, bent down and shut Aldrich's open mouth which had been gaping at the window. With a grim nod, Latham stood up and left the room; he had preparations to attend to.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

'Volunteers coming in!'

The voice reverberated across the air, resonating through the trunks of trees. Stephen looked around the wood and saw groups of sitting men cock their heads up at the sound of the voice. As far as he could see, he saw men sat down languidly before fires, sharpening weapons and chopping wood. Good men they were, he thought, he could see the hunger of determination, very much like his own, to fight the English linger in their eyes. Their hearty mumblings of their voices filled up the grove.

So here was the rebellion. His heart skipped a beat and beside him, he swapped a glance with Roger. In front of them both, a young Irishman Stephen had seen vaguely on the boat, presented himself before a small congregation of Scottish men that were eating from a small pot of stew.

'My name is Faudron, my sword is yours, I've come to die for ya,' he said, taking a deep bow at the feet of a tall man. A few of the Scottish men laughed quietly at this, as Stephen watched Faudron steadily, carefully assessing everything about him. 'Stand up man I'm not the pope,' laughed the tall man. Faudron rose, smiling amusingly and he reached inside his tunic for something. Stephen watched intently and saw to his disbelief that Faudron had whipped out an ornately sewn cloth.

'I brought you this,' he said, handing it to the tall man, 'my wife made it for ya.' Fucking hell, Father, thought Stephen rolling his eyes, fucking butter it up for all it's worth, why not try offering to be the man's personal arse wiper next time. A sardonic smile split his face and he strode forwards, laughing to himself.

'Him? That can't be William Wallace; I'm much prettier than this man,' Stephen strode confidently into the group, making his way over to the pot over the fire. He bent down and took the ladle, shoveling down a hearty mouthful of stew without being offered. Mmm fine venison Father, he mused as he swallowed a few mouthfuls down his throat. He then turned his head abruptly to the sky, 'alright Father I'll ask them, If I risk my neck for you? Will I get a chance to kill Englishmen?'

Stephen spoke directly to the tall man before him, waiting for a reply. Suddenly he heard a sardonic voice to his left.

'Is your father a ghost or do you converse with the Almighty?'

Ah an enquiring mind is he not Father? Right as rain, chuckled Stephen inside, he felt his eyes light up with his internal laughter. The man is brawny and vicious looking, with a shock of red hair twisted about his potato-looking face; well I don't let appearances deceive me … lets see Father …

'In order to find his equal, an Irishman is forced to talk to God,' replied Stephen, 'yes, Father. The Almighty says don't change the subject; just answer the fucking question.' Stephen doubled over in a peal of laughter but the red-headed Scotsman did not crack a smile. Fuck's sake, did I enter a land where men are as staid as mourners at graves?

'Mind your tongue,' said the red-headed Scotsman sternly, his eyes flashing.

'Insane Irish,' piped up the voice of an old man. Stephen's head whirred madly. Insane … insane Father, hah! Let's just see if they have THIS coming to them … deep in the folds of his leather tunic, Stephen whipped out a small dagger and struck it toward the skin of the old man's throat. The old Scot did not even flinch but gazed steadily down at Stephen who watched impressively as the others immediately raise their swords and spears straight at him. Clever lot … alert as the wolf … watchful as the hawk… fuck me Father … talk about a test of faith.

'Smart enough to get a dagger past your guards, old man?' asked Stephen, looking directly into the Scot's face. The old man glanced at the tall Scot Stephen had seen Faudron talk to earlier and he pointed his sword further at Stephen's chest.

'That's my friend, Irishman,' he said calmly, 'and the answer to your question is yes; if you fight for me you get to kill the English.' He blinked and Stephen was slightly astonished to see such striking blue eyes stare at him from beneath his eyelids. A wide grin cracked his face, 'excellent,' he said, promptly moving his hand away from the old man's throat and putting the dagger back in its sheath, 'Stephen is my name. I'm the most wanted man on my island, except I'm not on my island, of course. More's the pity.'

He gained a few laughs as he said this, more notably from old Roger and Sean, who stood several metres away, observing the scene with intense amusement.

The brawny, red-headed Scotsman raised a bushy eyebrow.

'Your island? You mean Ireland.'

Aye, Ireland; land of the fair and of the brave, isn't that right Father? You best be keeping them safe. 'Yeah,' said Stephen, smiling somewhat, 'it's mine.' A laugh began to grow in his chest at the man's incredulity, and behind him he heard others joining in; it buoyed his spirits.

'You're a madman,' alleged the red-headed Scot, grinning cynically. Stephen even felt he heard a distant, echoing laugh in his own ears …is that you Father? Yup, you're humouring me too aren't ya?

'I've come to the right place then,' grinned Stephen, as all the men around him lapsed into jovial laugher and began back to attending to their jobs and meals.

- - - - - - - - - - -

'What have I said about pointing your sword that way?'

A small boy with feathery auburn hair ran rapidly around the trees, brandishing a stick playfully at a man. 'Hoy yahhh!' he yelled, charging straight in front of him. The man dodged his son and crept up behind a tree, grabbing him deftly by the waist. 'Boo! Couldn't get a stick past your old man could ya, eh?' the man laughed as he ruffled the boy's hair, holding him firmly against his chest. The boy wriggled about laughing madly, trying to escape.

'Yes I could,' laughed the lad, 'someday.'

'Yup.'

'Don't tell ma but I've been teasing the dog again.'

'Again? But, I won't' grinned Stephen, tapping Logan's nose, 'though next time he might bite your hand off, so it's best if I tell you not too. It's our secret.'

It's our secret

… Secret …

Meghan awoke to feel a gentle rumbling beneath her body. She slowly sat up and looked blearily around; she had been sleeping in the thick folds of a small bed inside of what was unmistakably a carriage. What? … Something clammy and wet touched her arm and she started in surprise, only to see a small dog nestled beside her, it gave a sharp, excited bark, fervently wagging its tail as it realized she was awake.

'Shhh,' said Meghan impatiently, briefly stroking the canine's ears in a bid for it too calm. But it only got more energized by the sound of her imploring voice, its high-pitched happy barks filling up the hut. Meghan groaned. 'Am I going to have to throw you out this carriage myself for you to shut up?' Nope. The dog sat up and began circling its tail on the floor, yapping joyfully. Meghan gave a defeated sigh and sank back into the blankets, her mind reeling. Where in God's name was she? Her question was answered when she saw the inside door knob begin to turn and Latham entered.

'Finally she is awake,' he said briskly, smiling to himself. He sat down on a bench opposite her, allowing for the dog to jump happily onto his lap and lick his face, 'we thought we were going to have to pay for your burial.'

'Pardon me?' Meghan croaked, her eyes widening.

Latham laughed at her surprise and absentmindedly pushed the dog's face from his head as it tried to lick his ears, as it barked loudly. Meghan scowled.

'Don't jest,' she muttered irritably picking at her nails, 'and shut that bloody dog up.'

'Hush Donn,' said Latham casually, the dog calmed and lay down on the bench, resting it's head on his lap, staring adoringly up at Latham with its large, chocolate brown eyes.

'Where the hell am I?' Meghan said, speaking to the ceiling from where she lay. Latham could only see her restless arms waving in the air and her red hair streamed messily about the cotton pillows.

'You are in a carriage on the way to London.'

'London?' Meghan exclaimed jolting up from the bed, frowning over at Latham. He observed her reaction amusedly.

'Yes London,' he replied lazily, absentmindedly scratching Don's ears, 'an inquest has been made into Aldrich's death, and with my being a general, I have needed to go to London to confirm it over with the King.'

Of course, the marriage … the sword … the death of Aldrich … his murder … Meghan paled and she gave a suppressed gasp, her palms beginning to feel cold and sweaty. Latham wouldn't …

'You're taking me to London' she said quietly, 'oh God … how could you?'

Latham rolled his eyes at her panicked state. 'Not you silly girl, we. Nobody knows it was you. I have said to everyone who has asked, that the old fool – pardon me- his lordship was poisoned by an unknown assassin. I ordered the guards to search the place only to naturally discover no-one, relax, the whole calamity has been smoothed over,' he leaned back and heaved a yawn, 'we've been traveling for five days in England yet you my dear have given us enough trouble. When you fainted from looking at his corpse, -'

'Don't –' moaned Meghan, flopping back into the bed as the ghastly image came crawling into her head.

'– you came down with a fever. So for our benefits you took a turn for the worse, only now you have finally awakened, by the useful loud barking of Donn here,' he gave the dog an affectionate pat and it leapt up and began furiously licking Latham's nose.

'How kind of you to place that dog with me,' muttered Meghan irritably from the bed, 'my head has never felt so bad. So we're off to London, to confirm Aldrich's death. Why do you need me?'

Latham gave a small smile, and the austere lines in his face momentarily softened. 'I have no doubt that King Edward will know of William Wallace's whereabouts –'

'William who?'

Latham laughed, 'oh yes I forgot, you've been asleep for a week and a half, Wallace my dear lady is a leader of a disreputable Scottish rebellion, so I have no doubt that your husband will have joined him. He's gone to Scotland to fight you say, well there you have it.' He abruptly stood up from the bench, immediately adopting a more business-like manner. Donn slid off his lap and landed onto the wooden floor, barking sadly. 'Then I will not object if you wish to find him but you must inform me, we will sort it; because we do not need a debacle like last time because killing King Edward would most certainly have you found and hanged. Possibly worse.'

Meghan slowly sat up from the bed, staring at Latham with her mouth half-open. Her mind was whirring madly from trying to decode all of the new information.

'And as soon as we arrive in London, you will be known as my "wife", understood?'

Meghan's jaw dropped but knew it would be much worse if anyone found out her true identity. Reluctantly she gave a small nod and sank back into the bed, pulling the sheets tightly up to her nose. She curled her toes and released a contented sigh as she felt a wave of warmth spread through her body. Rolling his eyes, Latham left the carriage.