Hi Friends!
Long wait = Long Chapter.
I'm so sorry for how long this took. I've gotten pretty caught up in writing "Face Value" and other things I don't feel like mentioning.
Anyways, thanks for coming back to the story and reading! I don't plan on taking this long to update in the future. Thanks to the two of you who nudge me into getting back on track with this...you know who you are.
Please forgive any mistakes.
Enjoy.
Derek's makeshift crutches clicked and clacked against the cold stone floor of the hallway as he made his way back to his quarters. Inside of his head was a thundering storm of emotions that he couldn't tame. His mind was quick to flit from anger, sadness, depression, hopelessness, and determination. If there had been anyone walking next to him they would have seen his facial expressions change rapidly as they struggled to keep up with his relentless shifts in mood.
When he had finally reached his destination he thrust out one of his crutches and pushed the door open with it. The wooden barrier swung wide, revealing his chambers in a state of disarray.
It wasn't hard to figure out that the room had been ransacked by Charles's troops. The chest of drawers that held all of their jewelry and keepsakes was knocked over and empty. The tapestries had been ripped down off of the walls and the bed linens were missing too. All of the silver and platinum candlesticks, mirrors, and accessories had been taken, including the chamber pot.
The worst thing that the looters had done struck Derek like an arrow in his heart. For his favorite portrait of him and his husband had been damaged. It was the one that Hans Holbein had traveled all the way from England to paint for the royal couple as a wedding gift.
The image was by far Derek's favorite representation of the two of them and he had hung it over the fireplace so that he could see it from anywhere in the room. Holbein, a legend in his field, worked hard to capture the love between the two men. It had taken Hans three long days to perfect their images. The boys had to stand still for hours at a time while the man painstakingly copied their appearance with each brushstroke. The lengthy sessions were tedious but Spencer's perchance at humor and Derek's ability to annoy his husband broke up the monotony.
But the hours put into of holding the same pose with Spencer had paid off. For when the artist had finished it and presented it in front of court, a gasp went through the crowd at how accurately Hans had portrayed the two men. Their images were like mirror reflections, straight down to Spencer's crooked grin and Derek's smitten gaze. No two people had ever looked more in love than the royal couple had in that moment.
Alas, the canvas was now unrecognizable for the masterpiece it once was. There were multiple slashes made by a knife cutting through the fabric. One slit in particular had successfully separated the two men depicted in the picture. It was almost as if the person who mutilated it had gone out of his way to symbolically separate the two lovebirds. Now, all that was left of the formerly exquisite portrait were colorful shreds of canvas hanging limply down from the frame.
"I'm so sorry, Your Highness," Aaron said from his position behind his sovereign.
"Yes, well…it seems as though they sought to tear our marriage asunder any which way they could," Derek replied bitterly. The king tore his gaze away from ruined portrait and lumbered over to his favorite chair by the fireplace. He didn't even care that the fabric had been slashed and the stuffing from the cushion was pouring out; he sat down in it anyways.
Sir Hotchner, seeing the emotional and physical toll that this ordeal was having on his king, went ahead and started a fire. He then went to the soldiers that had taken up station by the doors and asked one of them to fetch some refreshments.
When he got back to the fire he sat himself down in one of the other chairs. He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat, not bothering to try to converse with the king until he was ready.
The two sat in silence until the food arrived. Due to the siege on the castle the only sustenance available at the moment was dried out strips of meat, chunks of cheese, and stale bread. Regardless of the meager fare, Hotchner loaded up a plate full of food for Derek and poured him a glass of honey mead. He took it over to the forlorn young man and sat it on the table next to him. "You need to eat, Your Grace."
Derek looked over at the food and shook his head, "I'm not hungry."
"That's neither here nor there; your body still needs food."
Begrudgingly, the king pulled the plate onto his lap and started nibbling at the proffered food.
The young man was halfway through his wedge of cheese when a knock came at his chamber doors. He looked over at Sir Hotchner and nodded his head, giving the other man permission to answer it.
The knight did as bidden and went to greet their visitor. "Ah, Sir Kassmeyer, please come in and join us."
"Thank you," the man answered, making his way over to the fire and sitting down.
"Here, let me pour you a drink and you can update us on how everything is coming along."
Sam eagerly took the mug of mead out of Hotchner's hands and took a long draught. He let out a small sound of approval at the sweet drink and wiped the foam off of his upper lip when he finished. "Well, I come bearing some good news," he started. "We were able to round up all of Charles's soldiers with minimal injuries to our own men. We've stuffed them all in the dungeon; the cells are filled to capacity. I wanted to find out from you, Your Grace, what to do with them next." He took another sip of the drink before continuing, "Other than that, we were able to recover some of our stolen goods. They were loaded up on carts that hadn't been to ship off to Georgia yet. Let's see…we found your mother's jewels, most of the silver and fine china, multiple barrels of wine and ale, and the tapestries."
Derek was only half listening as Kassmeyer relayed his news. The king honestly didn't care about whether or not the castle's valuables were found. The only thing he cared about right now was his husband and getting him back safely. The only bit of information that he heard in Sam's report that was even remotely interesting was the fact that they had quite a few hostages at their disposal.
"Sam, exactly how many of Charles's men did we capture?" Derek asked out of curiosity.
"Uh…Your Highness…I didn't count…but if I had to guess I would say at least seventy-five."
The monarch looked over at his most trusted knight and friend. "Did you hear that Aaron? Seventy-five."
"Yes, Your Majesty. What of it?"
"Well first off, when we are alone in here you two can drop the formalities. I'm Derek. Second, don't you see? We can contact Charles and tell him that we are interested in a trade – Spencer for his men."
Aaron carefully considered Derek's suggestion before he responded, "But Your Grace – uh, Derek – don't you think that King Charles will find it suspicious that you want to trade all seventy-five of his men for one slave? He'll know right away that Spencer is more valuable than he thought and that discovery alone could endanger Spencer even more."
"Aaron is right, Derek. Charles will know something is fishy and he could very well try to force it out of Spencer," Sam added.
The king sat back in his chair in a huff. "Well than what do you propose?"
Sir Hotchner ruminated on the young man's question for a few minutes. "What if we approach him with a peace treaty?"
"Peace? I don't want peace with Charles after what he did! I want him dead! I want his head rolling across the courtyard. I want to feel the dirt under my feet squish from his blood! There is no way I'll ever consider peace with that man," he vowed vehemently.
The wise knight allowed his friend to rant and rave, knowing it was good for his soul to let his anger out. When his sovereign had calmed down he broached the subject again. "Derek, here me out please. I know you don't want peace; Lord knows that none of us do. But Charles is a vain and greedy man and right now he has no idea that his precious conquest has been thwarted. When he finds out that the men he left here at the castle were vanquished he will lose it. He'll immediately start planning his next attack and he will never be satisfied until you and King Spencer are dead and Quantico is ruled by Georgia."
Aaron took a deep breath and allowed Derek a moment to think about what he was trying to say. "If we approach him with news of his failure but we do it in a way that massages his ego, we may be able to open up negotiations with him under the veil of peace. We trick him into thinking that we are impressed by his abilities to lead an army and we want to join forces with him to take over the rest of North America."
"Go on," Derek encouraged, his interest in this plot growing with each word Hotchner spoke.
"We'll have you start off by sending back some of his troops as a goodwill gesture to convince him to open up a line of negotiation. You'll ask for nothing in return except for the safe passage of your men and tease him with a promise to return the rest of our captives on a later date. Then, if he buys into it, you will offer to go to Georgia to discuss the terms of peace. Once we are there you will engage in diplomatic discussions that focus on uniting our kingdoms and plan for a future in which together you will conquer the rest of the land. It's at this time you will bring up your demands. Again though, you cannot ask for Spencer alone. Tell him you want all of the people from Quantico that have been taken to be returned, including your mother's slave. From there, sign any papers that you must and discuss the dates that you will be ready to start the joint campaign. Once it is all settled, we will get out of Georgia as fast as we can and renege on our agreement. Spencer and the rest of our people will be safe and sound and we'll be ready to take on Charles when he realizes he's been deceived," Sir Hotchner concluded.
Derek tented his fingers and bit his lip. He really liked the knight's plan but he had some doubts about it working. "Who do we send down there initially? I'm not sending either of you. I need you two here to run things while I'm out of commission."
"I thought we would wait till Lord Rossi was feeling better and send him," Hotch said simply.
"What? Are you insane? Charles will try to kill him again," Derek argued.
"No, he won't. He'll be upset that he failed. Having Lord Rossi deliver the message is like a proverbial slap in the face. I think Charles will be baited by having to face a foe he could not defeat. And, Lord Rossi will know how to keep his cool and not let on that he knows Spencer. In fact, Charles already knows that they are familiar with each other due to Lord Rossi courting your mother. He won't think twice if Dave wants to talk to Spencer, whereas if it was someone else he might be suspicious."
"True…I hadn't thought about that," the king admitted. "Okay…which prisoners do we initially send to Georgia and which do we keep for the actual negotiations?"
"We send a small group of about ten down with Lord Rossi and a few men of our own to keep them in line. We only want to give Charles a taste of what he can have back. We must save our best for last."
"And who or what is our best?"
This was the first question that Aaron did not have an answer for. He turned to Kassmeyer, "Sam, you were there when the prisoners were rounded up. Did we manage to capture any of Charles's higher ranking officers?"
A large smile overcame Sam's face, "In fact, we did." The knight turned to face his king and revealed, "Your Grace, we managed to apprehend one of Charles's most trusted knight, Sir Buford."
Derek froze in place as the implications of the bastard's capture filling him with hope. "Carl Buford?"
"The very one, Your Highness."
A vengeful look permeated Derek's features as he uttered, "Excellent." He then grabbed his mug of mead and threw back the rest of its contents. "Gentlemen, I believe we are at the start of a brilliant plan."
Later that night, Derek sat all alone in front of the fire and reflected on the plot that he had ironed out with his men. He knew it wasn't a perfect plan but at this point they had no other choice. They had to go down to Georgia and bring Spencer home.
He took another swig of mead and closed his eyes.
The lovesick king conjured up an image of his lithe lover. Derek could feel a smile spread across his face as his imagined husband flashed him a mischievous grin as he tucked a few strands of his long brown locks behind his ear. The king reached his hand out and cupped his beloved's angular face, reveling in the feel of the boy's soft skin against his calloused fingers. What excited him even more was how responsive Spencer was to his touch. The way the young man tilted his head to fit into Derek's palm and how he nuzzled his nose against the king's fingers set the king's groin on fire with desire.
The sovereign was just about to send his dominant hand down to his nether-regions to take care of business when a loud knock thundered through the room, causing the arousing image to vanish from his mind.
"Who is it?" he yelled, knowing that he couldn't get up due to the embarrassing bulge that had popped up in his breeches.
He heard the door creak open and one of his favorite voices in the world called out, "It's just me, Your Grace. Do you have a moment to talk?"
"Ah, my buxom beauty, of course I have time for you," he answered as he straightened up in his chair and tried to pull his jerkin down to hide his swelling. "Come on in and take a seat."
Penelope giggled at his kind words and scurried over sit in one of the vacant chairs. The king poured her a glass of the sweet drink in one of the extra mugs sitting on the table next to him. He handed it over to her and asked, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
She took a tentative sip of the honey mead, wincing as it burned going down her throat. "I came to see how you were doing…especially after what happened with Jennifer."
Derek grimaced at the memory of his behavior, knowing that he owed the girl an apology. "I'm fine."
Penelope was quick to call him on his lie, "Don't even try that, Your Grace."
"Sweetness, drop the formalities. It's Derek right now."
"Alright, Derek. How are you doing? And don't even think about trying to lie to me again."
He turned his brown eyes to meet her gaze and exhaled. "I feel like my life is crumbling down around me and there is nothing I can do about it," he admitted truthfully.
"Ohhhhh, my liege," she cooed, scooting her chair closer to his so she could reach out and clasp his hands in hers. "You will get through this and we will bring Spencer home safe and sound."
"I wish I could believe you," he said. "But there are too many obstacles standing in our way to say that with any certainty. We'll be lucky if we can even get Charles to let us into Georgia let alone rescue Spencer if…if he's still alive."
Penelope gulped before she said her next words, "I know you don't want to hear this, but the way Jennifer describe his treatment…it sounded like King Charles wasn't interested in killing our darling genius anytime soon."
The young sovereign closed his eyes as mental images of what she was implying infiltrated his brain. "Honestly, I don't know what's worse, sweetheart, the love of my life being killed or being forced into sexual submission."
His good friend squeezed his hands tighter in support. "Right now, you can't think about that. If you do you'll just spiral down into a depression so deep you won't be able to help him. You must stayed focus on his rescue. We will help him - you both, pick up the pieces once he is home safe and sound."
"…If I even make it home," he muttered. There was a good chance that this rescue mission could get him killed or captured and he had to face that reality. The thought of dying didn't bother him as long as Spencer safe. He'd willingly sacrifice his own life if it meant his lover was free.
A sudden smack to the back of his head knocked him out of his ominous thoughts. "Don't you dare," the plump woman said heatedly.
"Ow! Don't I dare, what?" he asked, rubbing the sore spot.
"Don't you even dare think about getting yourself killed. Whatever happens – whatever it is you have planned - you had better make sure that you come home too."
Derek eyed his distraught friend, "Penelope, I'm going to do whatever it takes to bring him home, even if saving him sends me to Heaven."
"And how will that help Spencer? Did you think about that?" she asked shrilly. "Did you even stop to think of what your death would do to him? He loves you with his heart and soul. Losing you would kill him faster than a sword through the heart; especially if you died trying to save him."
The monarch allowed Penelope's words permeate his skull. She was right. Spencer would blame himself for Derek's death. The poor kid would probably shut himself off from the rest of the world after that and allow himself to waste away to nothing. All of the king's efforts would have been for naught.
The young man knew then and there that he'd have to be more meticulous in his planning with Sir Hotchner and Kassmeyer. They would have to triple check every single detail and come up with multiple contingency plans. There was no way that Derek could allow Spencer to come home alone. "Either we come home together or not at all," he vowed.
Penelope nodded her agreement, "And that's why you're going to let me help."
"No! There is no way I'm going to put you in danger too. You'll stay here and help run the castle while we're away."
"To hell with that! I'm just as strong and stubborn as the rest of you. You will not make me stay here like some kept woman. Spencer is my friend too and I can help. You never know when a woman's touch is going to be needed, especially in that horrid place. Believe me, we need to be prepared for anything and having someone as well-endowed as me could come in handy," she lectured.
"How?"
She gave him a sly wink and leaned forward and lightly kissed his cheek, "Because I haven't met a man yet that can resist my charm…even you."
Derek grinned, "Truer words were never spoken."
"I know," she said triumphantly. "So, will you let me help?"
"Will you take 'No' for an answer?"
"No," she grinned, knowing that he was about to concede.
The king frowned before he spoke next. "Alright, you can help. But you've got to promise me something…"
"Anything!"
"If things start to go bad – if for some reason it looks like Charles is going to win, you'll get out of there. You'll save yourself."
Her sparkly smile fell at his demand but she knew she had to agree, "I promise I will." The blonde then tightened her grip on his hands again, "Sweetie, you look exhausted. I think it's time for you to get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."
"Yeah, I am tired, but I doubt I'll be able rest. I just…I can't stop thinking about him and what he's going through. And it hurts…it hurts knowing there is nothing I can do to ease his suffering."
"I know…but you have to try. You'll feel better in the morning. I promise."
"How? The rising sun doesn't just take away the pain," he said miserably.
"No, but it gives you strength anew with which to deal with it," she said wisely as she got up and placed a tender peck on his forehead. "Now do as you're told and get some sleep. There is much to do and you must be at your best. Spencer is counting on you."
The king reached out and grabbed her hand as she turned to walk away, "Penelope…"
She turned and looked back at him, questioningly.
"You are my God given solace," he said sincerely, tears sparkling in his eyes.
Overwhelmed by his words, she used their connection to pull him up out of his seat and embraced him in her arms.
As soon as the preparations were complete the slave was dragged by the head groom down the hall and into the king's private quarters. The young man had tried to put up a fight along the way but his struggles were weak and didn't deter their progress at all. The guards standing outside of the doors to the king's chambers saw them coming and didn't hesitate to open the doors. Spencer's handler tugged at the golden leash that was now attached to his collar and drug him into the room.
The young man was about to cry out against the harsh treatment but the second they entered the bedchamber Spencer halted his steps and gawked at his surroundings.
The young man had never seen such opulence in his whole life. For starters, in the center of the room was a five tiered chandelier littered with tiny pieces of glass that caught the light emanating from the lit candles perched along its perimeter. If Spencer didn't know any better he would have thought that it was made of diamonds for the brilliance that came from them was overwhelming.
The bed was an enormous ornate piece of furniture that was separated from the rest of the room by a gilded wooden balustrade. It was covered by a sumptuous piece of red velvet trimmed with golden thread. The headboard and footboard were made of solid gold and each post was formed into the shape of a small haloed cherub. The canopy of the bed was over fifteen feet high and made of the same velvet as the duvet. The matching blood red curtains that the king used to block out the light in the morning were pulled back behind the headboard posts and tied with golden braids of rope.
The rest of the furniture in the room was just as luxurious as the bed. Each piece was crafted to be excessive and showy, for the owner wanted others to feel jealous of what he possessed. There was no doubt that it was a room that was made to impress and not to comfort. Charles was definitely more concerned with flaunting his wealth than spending it wisely.
"Move your arse, boy. We don't have all day. The king could arrive at any minute and he'll expect you to be ready," the groomsman bellowed, jerking the golden chain. Once he got him into the middle of the room the man forced Spencer down to the ground. The groom then took his end of the chain and coiled it in a circle next to the slave. "Sit up on your knees, keep your head bowed and don't say a word."
Spencer knew that disobeying the man's orders would be useless; so he did as he was told and knelt down to the ground.
"Now when the king comes in here be sure to do everything he says when he says it. Don't anger him. Show him complete submission and you'll be fine. It's the ones that don't listen that find themselves without a head in a matter of days," the man explained as he backed away from the boy and sat down in a chair by the window.
The two of them sat there for what felt like hours. Before he knew it, Spencer's legs had lost all feeling and his neck was beginning to ache. The boy tried shifting his body weight around but that only made his situation worse. For when the circulation in his legs started to come back to life it brought with it a pain that felt like a thousand needles were being stabbed into his skin all at once.
Though he tried as hard as he could, he wasn't able to keep a small whimper of discomfort from escaping his throat.
"Oh shut it. You're life's about to get a whole lot worse than it is now. If you can't handle a few aches and pains than you're not going to last very long," the groomsman grumbled from his cushy window-seat.
"Good," he whispered to himself. If death was the only way he was going to get out of this situation than he'd welcome it with open arms.
"What was that?" he man behind him probed. "Didn't I tell you to keep your mouth shut?"
The slave could sense that the groomsman was getting up out of his seat. He didn't turn around but he could hear the other's footfalls as he came up to him. Spencer felt his body tense in anticipation but whatever the man was going to do was thwarted by the sound of raucous laughter coming from the king's receiving chambers.
Spencer looked up at the doorway and watched as they opened wide, revealing the king and his brother.
"Bow your head, you dolt," hissed the man next to him.
The genius quickly tilted his head down and waited anxiously for Charles to approach.
The laughter that had preceded the king's arrival died as he entered the room. "Ahh…my toy is ready," Charles commented upon seeing Spencer.
Raphael snorted but didn't say anything in response.
"Your Highness," the groomsman said reverently as the king approached him and the slave. He held out the key to Spencer's restraints before he bowed low out of respect. "I have prepared him to your liking."
"I'll be the judge of that," growled Charles. "Stand up, slave."
A shiver of fear ran down the boy's spine as he struggled to stand up. Unfortunately, his legs were still void of feeling and difficult to maneuver. He tried his hardest to pull them out from under himself and steady them on the ground but they refused to follow his orders. As a result, he ended up landing on his butt with them strewn out in front of him.
"Stand up!"
The co-king tried again to plant his feet and push himself up but it was to no avail. "I can't," he breathed out in a voice so low Charles barely heard him.
The menacing monarch growled in displeasure. "Raphael, pick him up," he barked.
The stoic man immediately did as his brother ordered. He positioned himself behind the slave and grabbed him underneath his arms, hoisting him up off the floor. He steadied the boy's feet on the ground and backed away from him.
Spencer's legs screamed in protest as the stabbing sensation from earlier spread across the whole lower half of his body. It took all his mental reserves to force himself to maintain his balance while he legs came back to life.
"Now was that so hard?" Charles mocked as he gripped the boy's chin and tilted his head up.
Spencer averted his eyes towards the wall and remained silent, knowing that it was a rhetorical question meant to humiliate him further.
The monarch dropped his hand from away from the boy and took a step back to admire the groomsman's handiwork.
The Spencer had been made over exactly to Charles's liking. He was nearly naked, dressed only in a short gossamer gold loincloth strung on a gilt chain that was wrapped three times around his tiny waist. His chest was bare except for the key to Derek's collar that was hanging from the chain around his neck. His arms were accented with gilded bands studded with rubies that perched close to the top of each of his forearms along with matching ones ringing his milky white thighs.
His wrists and ankles had similar bands encapsulating them except that they each had a loop affixed to them. Currently his wrists were locked together, allowing no room for movement; while his feet were joined by a foot long golden chain – which allowed him to walk but only in tiny steps.
His hair had been shorn down on the sides and there were a few inches of honey-brown left on top. A golden band was positioned in the middle of his forehead and wrapped around to the back. It had a teardrop sized ruby hanging down in the center of it while little chips were embedded throughout the rest.
The king's eyes seemed to devour the boy's image. His face took on a wolfish expression – like a predator that was about to take down its prey. "Leave us," he commanded as his groin started stirring to life.
Both men bowed their way out of the room silently; Raphael was the last to leave, shutting the door soundly behind him.
The king waited until they were completely alone to speak. "Look at me," he ordered.
Spencer hesitantly fixed his gaze on the man's chin.
"Look me in the eye, boy."
Slowly, the captive king raised his honeyed orbs to meet the man's steely gaze.
"I'm going to make you mine tonight. By the end you are going to be begging for more like a goggled-eyed whore," he said lasciviously.
The genius couldn't suppress the shudder that ran through his body at the man's words.
"Does that disgust you?" Charles asked menacingly.
Spencer's mind was screaming at him to placate the king but his sharp tongue overruled his brain. "The mere thought of your touch is repulsive," he spat out insolently.
The king slapped him viciously across the face; the force of which caused the youth's weak legs to collapse underneath him. He crumpled down to the ground and struggled to push himself up with his bound hands.
Charles didn't wait for him to get up; instead he reach down and grasped the golden leash. He yanked it with all his strength, pulling the boy up by his neck.
"You'll be singing a different tune by the time I'm finished with you," the king vowed maliciously as he pulled his toy over to his bed.
Spencer dug in his heels and tried to impede their progress but Charles was stronger. The sovereign paid his struggles no heed as he jerked on the leash, pulling the boy along behind him.
The co-king was coughing uncontrollably due to the pressure the collar had put on his windpipe. He was doubled over, trying to catch his breath, when the monarch's arms wrapped around him and threw him on the bed.
Charles quickly affixed the golden chain attached to Spencer's collar to one of the posts, shortening the lead in order to hamper the boy's movements. He then flipped the young man onto his stomach and climbed up on top of him. He enjoyed feeling the kid's body flailing beneath him as he tried to put off the inevitable.
The king traced his hands over the scars covering the slave's back. He knew they were lash marks just by looking at them. His finger's wandered up to the garish silver collar and tugged at the clasp. He wondered if there was some way the smithy could gild it so it was no longer such a vile color.
Beneath him, Spencer was frantically trying to think of a way to stop what was about to happen. He kept trying to thrust his hips up to dislodge the king but it was no use. He would have tried to use his hands but they were stuck beneath him, glued to his chest due to his body weight pushing down on them.
The dread he was feeling was suddenly heightened when Charles backed off of him and used his gruff hands to take hold of his hips, pulling them into the air.
"No!" Spencer shouted in desperation.
The king let a derisive laugh and leaned down and hissed in his toy's ear, "You will be mine, body and soul."
Knowing that he was about to lose this battle, Spencer said the only thing he could think of, "Use my body as you will but my soul will always belong to another."
"We'll see about that," Charles sneered.
Spencer scrunched his eyelids together tightly and set his jaw. He refused to make a noise as the abhorrent king tarnished him with his seed. When the first thrust penetrated his backside Spencer desperately clutched the key that was hanging around his neck. He held on to it for the rest of the night, never once letting go of it or the memory of Derek's smiling face when he gave it to him. Sadly, that little piece of metal was the only thing on the planet that could give him any solace as he endured Charles's insatiable lust.
Alright...so there will be a time jump in the next chapter.
*As for the painting...a few of you were probably like "Hey, if there was an amazing painting of Derek and Spencer hanging in their bedroom, how did Charles not know who Spencer was?" My answer to that is that Charles didn't waste his time ransacking the castle. He had his men do it for him and he never saw the portrait. But...that plot point might come into play later with a certain Georgian soldier...*
Anyways, till next time.