AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Ugh. Hideous amounts of coursework needing to be completed before Easter holidays which start on Wednesday. Nevertheless, I’m glad I’ve completed this chapter ) yes … this is where spice can be added into the plot, good idea is it? Please review and I shall proceed to chapter seventeen – where things are not what they seem. Bless – E.S

-- as an extra note, Meghan’s attitude to homosexuality is what was reckoned back then – 1300’s Britain Enough said ; )

Chapter Sixteen

“A Folly Idea?”

The atmosphere in the dining hall was claustrophobic. Between Latham and an old, thin-faced lawyer, Meghan sat stiffly on the rim of her seat, before a plate of meagrely sliced chicken and bread. It was hard to eat and raise a fork, lest she be stabbed in the eyeball from one of Latham’s beefy elbows. The man was happily immersing himself in eating his much larger portion of chicken, freshly off the bone (with sound effects that would want to make a pig turn off its swill).

The old lawyer was no exception. Despite his eating habits being the opposite, he was hunched over his plate and carefully slicing his chicken into small, identical sections as if he was operating on a wound. And when he swallowed, his Adams apple would rise to the surface like a mutated ankle, as his throat muscles constricted, forcing the food down .This rather gruesome process was refined with a pursed sip of ale. Well these manners were certainly new to expect in the King’s dining hall!

The long dining table was garlanded with lord, ladies, lawyers and ladies in waiting, dressed in their rich attire. And sticking out like a livid sore thumb was the King, sitting next to a weedy-looking young man. Megan presumed this could only be Longshank’s son, the second Edward. Both men had the same shifty eyes; Longshank’s were steely focused on Edward however the young prince’s were scanning the table anxiously, as if he was searching for somebody …perhaps a man… Meghan had heard the rumours and if truth be told, it did not surprise her. The man was … well … this whisper of a human appeared almost androgynous. the thought of his being with another man made Meghan feel quite unsettled.

Nevertheless, she was not concerned about these aristocratic affairs. Yet, as soon as the young prince’s eyes coolly regarded her as he looked around the hall, it was hard to forget his presence. Meghan quickly studied her untouched chicken; the prince certainly had a way of making others feel lowlier than him … probably a trait he’s got off his father … and too right, she was as royal as the muck in the stables. Yet he didn’t know, the young prince … how innocent he looked next to his scrutinizing father. Edward looked as if he was about to faint as his father’s steely orbs burned into him.

He was the very picture of a lost child. What with his pristine golden hair haloing his head, making him appear like an elongated cherub and uncertain smile faltering on his face. This was England’s future … even to Meghan’s own standards she felt like snorting into her dinner at the thought. The lad did not have a clue, especially about the real world, save the fancy clothes on his back. With that nervous, breathless look on his face, it said it all. Grudgingly, she felt herself agreeing with Longshanks … no wonder he despised his son.

‘Eat,’ mumbled a voice in her ear. Meghan jumped, nearly knocking her drink over the wizened lawyer. Latham’s narrowed eyes loomed down at her.

‘Eat something,’ he repeated, reaching out to spear her chicken with his own fork. Meghan pushed his arm firmly away.

‘Off of my food,’ she said reproachfully, ‘I will eat it …’

‘Mind that accent of yours …’ growled Latham under his breath, ‘eat your chicken, you’re embarrassing me … Two hours you’ve just sat there, only supping your soup. Is that how my wife behaves?’

‘No,’ Meghan whispered coldly, ‘I’m not your wife, remember?’

Latham nearly choked on his goblet and his eyes bulged with warning.

‘Shut up will you?’

Meghan sighed and sank back into her chair. Her eyes snapped onto Longshanks who was duelling with a stubborn vegetable.

‘How long has it been now?’ she said, ‘Four months since we learned about York and nothing has happened. What is to happen? What am I to do?’

Latham shrugged, leaning back as his empty plate was taken by a maid. They flashed Meghan’s untouched plate a reproachful look as they collected it, bumping deliberately into her head as they swept past.

‘Cease whining like an ungrateful child,’ hissed Latham leaning forwards so no-one could hear them. Meghan could smell the whiff of ale strongly in his breath. ‘You must learn to be patient, I have been enquiring about opportunities that might lead us to Wallace but nothing so far of the sort, save the next time the King decides to go to war,’ Meghan opened her mouth to speak, ‘- but until that time you are here.’

Meghan shut her mouth and shrank away, glaring at Latham. Their discussion shrouded by the curtain of Meghan’s auburn hair draping in front of them. ‘I have been patient,’ she hissed back through gritted teeth, ‘so patient but you have not been around to see it. I don’t think you’re making an effort enough to find out how to let me go.’

Latham cackled softly. ‘I would not say no more,’ he said to her, his eyes flashing, ‘don’t you remember the reason as to why you are in London? A certain killing …of a defenceless man … ’

The blood drained from Meghan’s face and a leap of guilt and fear prickled inside her. ‘Don’t speak of that,’ she remarked quietly, though she was in half the mind to pour her goblet over Latham’s head for his cruel daring, ‘you covered for me and nevertheless my actions had not been intentional – ’

‘– save me the sob story,’ Latham cut in sharply. They both leant back as elaborate platters of succulent food were placed carefully on the table, by an army of maids and servants.

‘Bon appetite!’ one ruddy faced servant said, bowing himself out of the room. Longshanks laughed nastily, and he glanced at a beautiful woman sitting two sets away. Her pale face was set in stone and she was staring mournfully at the table, not even flickering at the King’s disparagement. This had to be Isabelle, the wife of Prince Edward.

Meghan chose not speak. It was very hard to, for a shower of eager hands were reaching past her to collect food and dump it on their plates. She watched Latham stack his copiously with pork and vegetables, feeling slightly sick.

‘Load your plate,’ he muttered.

‘Stop speaking to me like I’m a child,’ said Meghan quietly. Unthinkingly she reached for a section of pork … so much meat. She did not feel in the mood for eating. Not now that Latham had brought up the fragile subject of Aldrich’s death. She had refused to contemplate on what was occurring in that other universe … back in Ireland. Maybe they had had Aldrich’s funeral and Alden, who must be nearing six, had watched his own father being buried into the ground.

And what had they told him of his mother? Meghan dreaded to think. She felt cold at the thought of what lies and stories the maidservants might have concocted into that little boy’s head. Indeed she had sinned, the blade had been driven straight through a deluded and defenceless man … and what was this? Remorse? Or just self pity and guilt? Shame even … but either way, she would remain a murderer.

Please don’t hate me Lord …

- - - - - - - - -

‘You’re wife certainly entertained us this evening. How did she know all those remarkable stories? It is a wonder.’

Longshanks smiled blandly at Meghan, as she and Latham reached the door. It was the end of the evening meal and Meghan had become considerably tipsy. Though it had not been reckless, she had counted various stories of what she had been told many years ago to the interest other diners. Most had seemed amused, even captivated and Meghan had to admit: she had loved the attention fired her way. Yet now as her brain became as sober as sand, her brief spell of elation evaporated at the very sound of Longshank’s voice.

‘Thank you sire,’ she replied, curtseying. She saw Latham give her an appreciative nod. Swine.

‘Good night your highness,’ nodded Latham politely. He clamped his hand onto Meghan’s, forcing her to turn with him and leave the dining hall. It was well up in the dark corridors before he spoke to her.

‘Now …’ he growled, ‘my little sausage, you nearly risked everything tonight because of your own desires. Most reckless. Not good. No more mentioning about the deal or else, I am getting sick to the back teeth. Understood?’

Dumbly, Meghan nodded her head. Latham let go of her hand and stalked off down the corridors at a careful pace before he was swallowed up by the darkness. She watched the spot where he had dissolved and felt disgusted as she realized her eyes were burning.

‘No, don’t cry,’ she moaned to herself, slumping against the wall, ‘don’t cry. I am not helpless …’

Clank clank clank. The sound of quick footsteps echoed resoundingly off the walls and Meghan hastily wiped her eyes, her cheeks burning with the humility of being threatened. The footsteps were just around the corner, heading her way. Before she could move, gleam of metal armour became illuminated by the orangey light of the brackets. It was Spencer.

Meghan gasped but threw a frown at his direction.

‘What are you doing?’

‘About to ask you the same question,’ said Spencer, coming forth.

‘What?’ snapped Meghan, becoming increasingly annoyed at his candid interrogation ‘keep out of things which don’t concern you.’

Spencer shrugged. ‘I would find that difficult, I’ve heard enough. Yet I still feel worried about you.’

Meghan rolled her eyes and leaned one hand against the wall, observing him scornfully. ‘You don't have to feel worried about me?"

‘Yes I do. You’ve been crying, have you not?’

‘No I haven’t!’ exclaimed Meghan, laughing loudly in disbelief but she knew she was not fooling anyone. Spencer raised an eyebrow.

‘What is this I hear about your “own desires”… ’ he said silkily, relishing in the shocked look on Meghan’s face.

‘You little swine, you’ve been eavesdropping!’

‘Oh yes,’ grinned Spencer, ‘and spying. A hushed voice at the King’s dining table is most suspicious. We are vaguely friends yet noblewomen do not garden – ’

‘– For my own pleasure– ’

Spencer ignored her and continued.

‘ - nor associate with the guards, especially on friendly terms. You are uneasy in the presence of others of an upper class and you seem to despise it… I am not correct - you are not Latham’s - ’

‘SHHHHH!’ Meghan scurried to Spencer and put her hand over his mouth. She felt him laugh smugly into her palm. She withdrew, her eyes searching his face for any sign of ridicule. Why the little … yet Could she trust him? Had he told anyone? No … he wouldn’t …

‘Come with me,’ she muttered. 'And stay quiet, help me God.'

Gladly, Spencer took her hand and allowed himself to be lead. Meghan knew where she was going … her own quarters. There she might get some privacy at least; save if someone placed a goblet on the door to eavesdrop. They entered the room, the fire welcomed them with the waves of dancing flames and Bathilda had already laid out another tray of tea.

Spencer wandered in and surveyed the cosy room admiringly, whilst setting himself snugly on a stuffed, burgundy armchair beside the fire. He watched patiently as Meghan restlessly paced the room, wringing her hands and murmuring unremittingly under her breath.

‘A nice room you have here. A room for one?’ he pressed her.

Meghan abruptly stalled and gawked over at Spencer. His sandy head shining like a beacon next to the firelight. He waited for her to speak.

‘There’s no use denying it,’ Meghan said dolefully, ‘you’re an annoyingly sharp person.’

‘Shrewd is my middle name, yet I play at no cost or game. Straight to the point is what I intend, finding an answer in the end,’ said Spencer, smiling aloofly at his own rhyme.

‘Shut up with the riddles, you’re no Wiseman,’ answered Meghan, waving a hand distractedly through the air, ‘I will go to the point,’ she paused and gazed into the fire, mulling over her thoughts, ‘I will answer your question, and you must not interrupt me’ she released a protracted, fretful sigh and sank back into the chair, ‘the answer to your question is that I am not the wife of Latham… ’

And so for the past hour, Meghan recounted the long, infamous story to Spencer, perhaps the only soul in a long line of many a dark years to actually sit down and listen. It was not as hard as Meghan had deliberated; yes it was tearful as the memories came back to light but inside she felt as if a great block had been shifted off her chest.

Suppression had not always been a wise move, and the more it built up, the greater the block had become. Spencer had been a good listener, he had not patted her on the back at fragile moments nor continuously murmured vague, patronizing replies such as: ‘oh dear,’, ‘goodness me.’ By the end of the explanation, Meghan was on the edge of her seat and gazing into the fire with a sad wistful smile plastered to her face.

‘And so now I feel incredibly restless that I must stay here, trapped and confined to wait for the day for my departure to be “rational,” Latham’s services to Longshanks have been extended now that Wallace has come out in the open. I don't know what to do!’

She narrowed her eyes at a large log in the fire which was being engulfed by flames.

Spencer gave a weak smile.

‘Of course you don't' said Spencer.'So you’re Irish. Brilliant, I love your folk, bizarre accent yet very hearty and certainly love their drink. I have known them but not of the Scot's' he added musingly. ‘I am only young but what General Latham has concocted on your part is very selfish. He has kept you with him like a prisoner. Why don't he just let you go and look for your husband yourself?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine' said Meghan soberly. 'And - I don't know if Stephen is alive or not after the battle. But I can never stop hoping now after all these years.' She bowed her head and Spencer observed her with concern.

'Not many souls have chosen to walk in the garden of your yearning and sorrows. The King himself is fuelled on his hatred and greed, disregarding the ways of Aquinas and throwing it to the dogs. Nothing is ever a just war anymore, both on the battle and between peers. No wonder Scotland is in chaos.’

'Your'e a clever lad' she said. 'Nobody I've met can speak like you.' They shared a small smile.

'I'm a fool' said Spencer heavily.

'We're both fools' said Meghan meaningfully. 'A fool for love. If only I could just speak to Stephen - a rumour that would just reach his ears about me - ' she broke off as Spencer put up a hand, his face shining with inspiration.

‘Then write him a letter,’ he said, ‘and explain about everything which has happened.’

Meghan deflated, ‘I can’t read ... or write.’

‘No matter, I could write it and you tell me what to put.’

‘I don’t know. It would seem suspicious that is your hand and not mine,’ she said slowly.

‘He would know it was your voice, being spoken in the letter,’ said Spencer.

‘Well who would deliver it? It’s a folly idea – ’

‘Oh my goodness! That’s it!’ cried Spencer leaping up from the chair as a thought struck him. Meghan stared at him, taken aback.

‘What? How’s the incapability to deliver the letter going to solve –’ grumbled Meghan but Spencer cut across her. He paced the room, breathless with glee at the thought.

It all fitted so perfectly … it would be just like the tales of old concerning kismet of two lover’s feat…

‘General Latham, the bastard has not told you this but in a few weeks the princess Isabelle is being sent to Scotland, York to talk with William Wallace and I am to go with her and a handful of other guards. No wonder she looked so glum. If I was to ask for a Stephen McKenna, in some way … I would have to endeavour it but he would receive the letter.’

‘Oh ... but there are thousands of Scots with him - ’

'Clans are very well connected' said Spencer. 'I expect very few Irish are among the Scots at the moment.'

Meghan sober face changed into a wide smile.

'Genuis boy!' she said, standing up. 'You would send this letter for me?'

'Yes,' said Spencer. 'But it will be risky.'

She flung her arms around him and murmured incoherent "thankyou's" into his shoulder. Spencer felt very relieved when she finally let go.

'Now' he said. 'We need to write this letter somewhere ... private. Away from prying eyes.'

'The stables' answered Meghan straightaway, wiping her eyes. 'Left side on the courtyard.' Spencer's face was crumpled in thought. 'We could ... ' he said, stroking his chin. 'Very well.'

'Meet me at twelve tomorow' said Meghan carefully. 'And make sure you go unnoticed. I will be hidden.'

He gave a firm nod assent. 'Very well. I will be there.'