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| A Ray Of Hope; Wills | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jan 11 2012, 04:58 AM (541 Views) | |
| Margaret Spencer | Jan 11 2012, 04:58 AM Post #1 |
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The entire world seemed to be covered with a beautiful pristine blanket of white, and the sun beating down from above caused the melting ice to sparkle with an iridescent glow. Sparkling flakes of snow fell softly upon Margaret's fur-lined cloak, but the young woman paid little attention to her surroundings. Her mind was completely on her husband, and her heart beat anxiously within her as she stood at the entrance to the Tower with the escort who had brought her here, waiting for a guard to arrive and allow her inside. She had often wondered what the Tower of London was like when she had viewed it from afar, but she had never truly wished to visit … and certainly not in such horrifying circumstances. Just standing before the door was frightening; she could not even imagine the terror Guy must have felt when he had been brought here, with no guarantee that he would ever see the light of day again. But he would, for she knew that he was innocent of any crime. Someone had most likely framed him, and eventually whatever evidence they gathered against him had would turn out to be false. It must, because she knew that she could not live without him. God would not be so cruel as to give her the happiness she had always longed for only to callously rip it away from her. Not now. Especially not now. The door opened. Margaret did not even hear the words her escort and the guard exchanged. All she could think of was her Guy. Was he being treated well? Did he have enough to eat? Were they providing him with what he needed to properly care for his injured shoulder? And when would this farce end so that he could come home to her? The guard beckoned her inside and she followed him up a staircase and down a corridor, the steady cadence of his footsteps echoing through the empty hall, sounding somehow sinister to her ears. Her heart hammered in her chest and panic rose in her throat, threatening to choke her as she drew closer and closer to where her husband was being held. He had to be okay. He had to be. She remembered the words he had said to her when he had been arrested. They had played over and over in her head during the past three days … days that she should not have been without him. And she had held to the promise that he insisted she make. Yet apparently her declaration meant little, for he was still here, and the longer he remained, the more she feared for him. It seemed like a lifetime before the guard stopped before a nondescript door. Without a word, he opened it and nodded to her. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside, determined to be strong ... to not let him see how terrified she was for him and how much his absence distressed her. Margaret knew that if she broke down, it would cause him anguish that he definitely did not need. She wished to bring him hope, not sorrow ... to lift his spirits rather than to worry him more. As soon as she saw him, she ran into his arms, relief flooding through her that at first glance he seemed to be fine. Burying her head against his chest, her arms slid around him and she hugged him tightly, clinging to him as if he would be torn away from her at any moment. “My love,” she whispered, trying her best to keep her voice steady and to hold back the tears that were threatening to pour down her cheeks. “My husband. Are you well? I have been so concerned for you.” |
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| William Spencer | Jan 11 2012, 11:07 AM Post #2 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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William had no idea yet what their evidence was against him. It had only been three days since he had been arrested and taken to the Tower by way of the dreaded Traitor's Gate. That had never been anything he would have thought to have seen or experienced. Had he not proven his loyalty? From the questions they had asked him, he gathered that it had something to do with his correspondence. He had no idea what proof they might have, but he had never uttered a thing which would be treason. Thus, he knew there could be no good proof, but that had not exactly saved others in the past. If the king wished him gone, he would be gone. There was nothing he could do other than read, talk to Thomas, or walk circles around the rooms where he was being held. His shoulder was aggravated, and he feared that all the squeezing and jostling they'd done to it had re-injured the inside of it. It was swollen and red and weeping fluids now, and there was little he could do to care for it here. It was perhaps as much the slightly rough treatment for his questioning as it was the conditions in this place. He spent most of his time with his thoughts and at prayer. Not the 'God save me' sort of prayer one did when one suddenly realized that they had not been a good Catholic and were faced with death, but the sort of prayer he did everyday, simply longer. As soon as the creak of the door turned his eyes and William saw his wife, he rose as she ran to him. What he had done to her by doing nothing at all! He felt that guilt as he wrapped his left arm around her tightly, his right moving to caress the back of her head as she buried her face in his chest. The swell of emotion could have made his cool resolve explode out of his very chest and burn hotly up through his throat. "Oh my dear wife," he said, his hand squeezing around her tightly, "I am sorry..." A sigh skittered between his teeth before he kissed the top of her head and then laid his cheek on it. "I am well enough, and you? Have they questioned you? Have you told them the truth as I asked?" He did not wish to let her go. He wished to hold her against the soft velvet of his blue doublet, against him...and to forget that he was where he was for just one moment. |
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| Margaret Spencer | Jan 13 2012, 11:19 AM Post #3 |
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To be back in Guy's arms again was heaven, and Margaret tried to simply concentrate on the pleasure of his embrace, of how good his body felt against hers, to pretend that they would not have to parted again, even though she knew that her time with him was limited. It was a certainty that she would have to leave him in this horrible place and go back to their sumptuous apartments alone. It seemed wrong that she should continue to live in luxury while he was imprisoned, with limited amenities at his disposal. Now that she was here with him, the reality of his situation seemed much more real to her, and she was afraid to even contemplate his fate. The longer he was held, the more dire his peril. It meant that the evidence against him … although assuredly fabricated … was not going to be so easily dismissed. Who was in charge of the investigation, she wondered? Was it someone who held some sort of a grudge against him? There were certainly those, as not everyone would be pleased at the quick rise of a man who was more French than English and who had not only found favor with His Majesty but was now even related to him through his marriage with her. She would have thought that there would be more sympathy toward the French now that the alliance was a certainty and the beloved Princess of England would be the future Queen of France, but apparently there were still those against it. And maybe it was one of those men who wished Guy enough harm to frame him for something he did not do. Perhaps her husband was only a means to an end and was being used as a scapegoat to get the French to reconsider their decision. There were so many possibilities, and Margaret had turned each of them over and over in her mind during the past three days. What she knew beyond all else was that Guy was incapable of treason and would do nothing to harm England or its sovereign. And the King should know that. Surely he would realize that his cousin-in-law would do nothing to hurt the family that he had married into or the country that was now his own. It bothered her that he had even ordered Guy's arrest, although she supposed that he must thoroughly investigate any threats against him, even if they were quite obviously concocted. Margaret sighed softly against the plush velvet of his doublet. If only she could freeze this moment and they could stay like this forever. The future could not touch them if they were frozen in time, and she would no longer have to worry that her most dreadful fear would come true … that he would be convicted and sent to the … no, she could not even think of it. She would not think of it. Taking a few deep breaths to hold back the tears that were burning in the back of her throat, she pulled away from Guy and took both of his hands in hers. “Please, my love, do not apologize for something that is not your fault. You will be out of here soon. They cannot hold you forever for something that you have not done.” Her light blue eyes studied him critically. He looked tired and slightly haggard, and she thought she could see a bit of pain in his eyes. Probably due to his shoulder, which she knew needed special care. It did not look as if he had been treated cruelly, and while austere, his rooms seemed comfortable enough ... not at all the dirty prison cell that she had expected. He was in better condition than she had believed he would be and that at least gave her a bit of relief. Not much, though. At any moment, things could change. “I am well,” she replied. “And yes, I was questioned … by your uncle … on the same night you were arrested. He was very kind to me. I only spoke the truth, as you asked of me. I believe he wished to speak to me before anyone else got to me first and tried to coerce me into lies. It would not have worked … you know I am too strong-willed for that … but it is something that I am glad I was spared. Especially now.” Margaret took another deep breath and blue met blue as her eyes locked on his. She had never given him his belated birthday gift. It was with her now. It was always with her. “Guy, I have something to tell you. I meant to give you this gift the night that you were arrested, but the opportunity was taken from me. Yet I can give it to you now, and I hope that it will give you joy.” Squeezing his hands lightly, she smiled serenely up at him. “Mon cher mari, je porte à votre enfant en moi.” *My beloved husband, I carry your child within me. |
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| William Spencer | Jan 14 2012, 03:34 PM Post #4 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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As he held her, there was a thought stabbing right through his head that these could be his last moments with her. If there was every anything that could pain him twice, it was this exact feeling. It was this exact feeling when he had sat in that room in Dover, before war, with her in his arms. He had thought he was going to die, then, that it was the last time he would ever see her. He could leave her after this and could leave his grandfather without an heir. It would be such a failure. If he didn't have enough vanity to be ashamed, which he did, he had enough honour to be ashamed. For no reason. Being martyred for nothing. He assuredly had enough vanity to be broken to think of that as his end, as sinful as that was. He wanted a better death. War would have been better, and again he could only think that perhaps God was still punishing him and that all this was because of things that he had done. William could not leave himself to think like that. Not when he was with her. He forced himself to think that his own grandfather had twice survived being charged with treason in France. He had done nothing wrong, and he had many friends who he thought would not abandon him, but he knew that they might with the risk of associating with him. A soft snort escaped him as she said that they could not hold him forever for something he had not done. Most assuredly they could, or worse. "Let us hope not, for I believe His Majesty both just and shrewd enough to see through deceptions." That was true. William, perhaps stupidly, could trust in the inherent nobility of certain persons. He expected kings to be above mere men and with the capabilities to match and the desires to outsmart. It had been said that he was too trusting and too good. It was likely true. He swallowed when she said that John had spoken to her and questioned her, and he was glad for that. John would do everything that he could to protect the family and to then protect William. It was, unfortunately, the order that things had to go in, and he could trust John with that. It was no small burden or responsibility. Everything else, he could trust in Edward. "That is well," he replied, "You can trust John." When she pulled back and looked up at him, though, he sense he had missed something. Something small, but that he had missed something in what she had said. "A gift?" he parroted with confusion, his brows knitting as she squeezed his hand. "My beloved husband, I carry your child within me." The breath was sucked right out of him as everything in his body was somehow replaced with this uplifting elation. "Vous êtes enceinte?" He murmurred. "Je vais être un papa?" And somehow, it was that question, uttered in wonderment that was meant to explode into laughter and celebration, that made a sudden doom fall onto him. He was going to be a father without the chance, perhaps, to ever be a father. His face slowly cracked under the weight, making his cheeks fall and then his lips sag. By the time it reached down to his heart, he only felt fear increasing with each beat of his heart moving faster and faster. Despite his always composed bearing, he could not fight the fear off his face, and he could never have been prepared for it. He could not have been prepared for the onslaught of those primal instincts. The instincts one had to protect their young, that a male had. To come upon those raging instincts when one could kill anyone or anything when one was locked up helplessly, perhaps awaiting nothing but death? It was unconscionable. "Mon cœur, mon pouls, you have not told anyone? You must never tell anyone," he said to her, in a whisper. "You will promise, you must hide the truth." There was a fearful sort of desperation in his barely audible voice as he tried to think. He had no idea what this would mean to his imprisonment, because he had little idea what the evidence was or what intent he supposedly had. He just knew what it might mean for the situation he would leave behind if he was found guilty. If he was going to lose his head, he would be damned if he would go to his death thinking he would leave his son to grow up where he was not wanted. Not after his life. He was not sure whether or not Margaret could handle speaking about that, but she would have to learn to handle it, because her life could become very perilous and difficult very fast. |
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| Margaret Spencer | Jan 16 2012, 11:44 AM Post #5 |
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Margaret refused to believe that this was the last time she would see him, the last time they would speak together, the last time she would be held in his arms. She had faced this fear before, during the war, and had always held onto her belief that he would come back to her, despite his own reservations that he would not return. It had seemed to her then that he had given up, and it had been up to her to give him hope. As it was now … but at least this time he was not resigned to an unfavorable outcome. And it seemed that he had faith … as she did … that the king would see through the false charges brought against him. For they were most definitely fallacious … unlike the charges brought against her own father that had led to his execution for the very crime that Guy was now accused of. She did not recall much of that time, for she had been very young, but she did remember her mother's ashen face and the tears she tried her best to hide. It was odd that she should now go through the same horrors that her own mother had faced, and while she wanted to send for her, she did not dare. Any missive she sent now would most likely be confiscated and she could not risk the possibility that her innocent plea for her mother's presence would be twisted around as an admission of her husband's guilt. And she did not wish for her mother to relive the terror she had gone through so long ago, even though Margaret desperately needed her now. “I am certain His Majesty will realize that you would never act against him. And Princess Mary said she will speak to him. She told me about how she discovered that you cannot write. Certainly he will believe his own sister, who has no reason to lie to him.” And depending on how that conversation went, Margaret would hopefully know whether the king was predisposed against him. For Mary would most likely find her at once and recount his words verbatim. Margaret could draw her conclusions from that. She only hoped Mary would be able to obtain an audience with him soon. Each moment that Guy spent in captivity brought him closer to a fate he did not deserve. Each second that passed was like a condemnation. Yet each moment was also a precious gift … a ray of hope that he would be found innocent and released. It was that expectation that they must both hold onto. He had cheated death twice; he would most assuredly do it again. He seemed pleased that it had been his uncle who had questioned her, even though there would have been no need for him to fear if it had been someone else. Margaret was a strong and intelligent woman; even in a mental state weakened by fear, it would take a lot to break her. And mere words … no matter how cruel or how harshly delivered … would never be able to coerce her into falsehood. Yet she was glad that her will had not been tested, for she knew how important it was that she not become unduly upset in her new and delicate condition. The happiness that lit up Guy's face when she told him sent a swell of sheer joy through her heart. “Yes, my love, you're going to be a daddy. Our child will ...” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as the elation slowly fell from his face, replaced by a devastation … an utter fear ... that for a moment she could not understand. In her distressed state of mind. Margaret had latched onto the joy of carrying his child and had not even considered the implications of becoming pregnant at such a dangerous time … or what such knowledge might do to her husband. The blood drained from her face and her heart fell into the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she should not have told him, for she had now given him one more thing to worry about. What was meant to bring him happiness had only brought him sorrow. And that was nearly impossible for her to bear. She could guess what he was thinking … that he might not live to see his son grow up, that he might leave him in a hostile world that would seek his destruction. In truth, she had not thought about what she would do if Guy was found guilty; she could barely think straight for the fear that constantly coursed through her veins. She had tried … and still tried … to think only of the positive, for focusing on the negative was an invitation to despair. With God's help, he would overcome the obstacles set in his path. He would live to see this child … and the others she would bear him … grow to adulthood. He would bounce his grandchildren upon his knee. She had to believe that. If not, she would certainly fall into madness. Again she felt as if she might cry, and she swallowed hard to push the compulsion away. She had to be strong for him. Mere words might not be able to break her, but the terror and anxiety that contorted his beloved countenance could melt even her stiffest resolve. Yet she would not give in; she would not let him see that she shared his fears. She still held his hands and again she gave them a very gentle squeeze. Margaret attempted to smile for him, but it would not come, and when she answered his question, her voice was barely above a whisper. “I have told no one. I wanted you to be the first to know. Your uncle said I could trust nobody, not even family, so I know I must hide my pregnancy until you return to me. And you will be released, my love, you will be. I have the utmost faith in that, as I had faith that you would return from the war. I have done little but pray since you were taken, and I will continue to do so. God will protect all three of us; I know He will.” |
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| William Spencer | Jan 19 2012, 11:30 AM Post #6 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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He was certain now that everything inside of him had spun into a slurry. It could knock him to his knees and it would, later. Now, though, he needed to be composed for his wife, to think and to plan. He needed to re-evaluate what was best for her and if anything, this news actually made that far simpler. Her hands in his were so small and yet he felt such comfort when she squeezed them. She knew. She knew him very well underneath his playful banter and spirited wit. God would protect all three of them. How he wished for that now, the pain fresh like a gaping wound you knew was fatal while every drop of blood ripped it's way through your veins and meat like an angry chip of metal off a sword. He could not breathe for a moment, because if he did so, he was certain he was going to choke. It was not until Margaret's face began to look hazy that he finally inhaled through his nose, steeling his jaw and looking away for a moment. He could wish for that, but he had to plan for the worst. Squeezing her hands in return, he sighed out that breath and wrapped his arms around her, speaking very softly. "*Je t'aime, Margaret, plus que la vie elle-même. Je n'ai pas peur de mourir, mais je crains ce monde je partirai pour vous et mon fils ... Si je dois mourir, écoutez, vous devez aller à la France. Vous aurez toujours au moins être comtesse de Guise et quand mon grand-père meurt va exécuter tous ses droits seigneuriaux que l'enfant est d'âge. Les femmes sont plus considérés en France, et vous serez considéré comme une princesse là à cause de votre grand-père, et aussi le mari de Sa Majesté martyrisé filleul, et après celle du cousin de M. de Valois favorisées », ainsi que celle de sa femme. L'enfant n'aura pas d'avenir ici, si je suis exécuté ... notre sang sera garantie qu'il saura l'intérieur de cet endroit ... vous aurez à sacrifier tout ce que vous connaissez et aimez pour l'avenir de cet enfant comme duc de Nemours, un chevalier Grand qui seront un jour s'asseoir sur le Pairee. Il sera aimé et puissant en France et rien ici." He squeezed her tightly in his arms and then let go of her to put his hands to her face gently. "We knew that this could happen, but I never thought of it so quickly. I liked to imagine us elsewhere and older, having been fortunate and happy for all the past ills we had to endure...For having survived the war, if this goes badly, I am very happy God allowed me the chance to marry you and leave something worthwhile of myself behind that can be a better man than I." William was not giving up hope, but he wished to be prepared for that end, because this would be the only time he would have with her to say what he would wish and need to say. *I love you, Margaret, more than life itself. I am not afraid to die, but I fear what world I will leave to you and my son...If I must die, listen, you must go to France. You will always at least be Countess of Guise and when my grandfather dies will execute all of his seigneurial rights until the child is of age. Women are more regarded in France, and you will be regarded as a princess there because of your grandfather, and also the husband of His Majesty's martyred godson, and after that of Monsieur de Valois' favoured cousin as well as that of his wife. The child will have no future here if I am executed...our blood will guarantee that he will know the inside of this place...you will have to sacrifice all that you know and love for that child's future as Duke of Nemours, a grand chevalier who will one day sit on the Pairee. He will be loved and powerful in France and nothing here. |
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| Margaret Spencer | Jan 21 2012, 07:30 AM Post #7 |
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Again, Margaret doubted whether telling him about her pregnancy had been wise. She should have known that such news would tear him apart rather than cheer him. What was going through his mind now that he knew that if he was sent to the block, he would leave not only her but his unborn child behind? Even her conviction that God would be with them did not appear to pierce the darkness that seemed to have hold of his soul. She watched his face carefully and it broke her heart to see the myriad emotions that played across his face, affirming that his contemplations were far from pleasant. Perhaps it would have been better to wait until his release to let him know he was going to be a father, but deep within her own distraught mind, she knew that there was a possibility that this was the last time she would ever look upon him, even though she tried to deny it with every fiber of her being. He had to know about the baby … whether he was destined to live or to die. He did not breathe for so long that she was afraid she might have to shake him to bring him back to the present. But eventually he drew in a long breath, his countenance resolute as he pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her so gently, as if he believed she was so fragile she might break. Her own arms snaked around his waist and she rested her blonde head against the rich brocade of his doublet, her ear directly over his rapidly beating heart … a heart that must keep beating for many years to come. Yet his words … which reverberated in his chest beneath her ear … contradicted that belief. He was as grounded in reality as she was in fantasy, and Margaret knew that she must accept the possibility that he might never leave the Tower with his head intact. The very notion caused her so much agony that she felt as if a knife were twisting methodically through her gut and it was all she could do not to double over with the pain of it. She clung to him tightly as he spoke of what she must do should the King believe the allegations against him and condemn him to a traitor's demise. He was right, of course. If he … if … if anything happened to him, she must flee to France as soon as possible, before her pregnancy advanced to the point that it was noticeable. Depending on the power of the man or men who had forged the evidence against him, she might not get the chance if her condition were discovered. Guy's son would be a powerful and respected man in France, and would be more of a threat if he grew up there than if he were raised in England. The best way to stop him from trying to avenge his martyred father … which Margaret would certainly urge him to do … was to stop his birth altogether. Yes, moving to France would mean leaving everything she had ever known. It would mean she would have chosen her own exile and would probably never see her mother or brother again. But did she really want to remain in the kingdom whose sovereign had murdered her husband? France was indeed the best place for both herself and the baby she carried within her. And as no one could know she was leaving, she would probably have to get there and to the French court without any outside help. Not that that would be a problem. Margaret was clever and resourceful and already she had developed a mother's fierce instinct to protect her child at all costs. But it would not come to that. It wouldn't. Everything was going to be okay. The King would dismiss the evidence with a bark of laughter, knowing that Guy was loyal and would never act against him. Her husband would be able to come home to her, and the culprits … whoever they were … would be caught and executed themselves. So why did she feel tendrils of despair wrapping around her mind ... entwining themselves tenaciously through her heart and soul and squeezing the breath from her lungs? Despite her best intentions, a single soft sob tore from her throat and a few errant tears meandered slowly down her cheeks. She did not want to lose him. She could not lose him. He was her life. When he released her and softly cupped her damp cheeks, Margaret attempted to sniff back her tears. Even facing his own demise, he was eloquent and his admission of his love for her and how happy he was to have married her both lifted her heart with joy and tore it asunder. Her legs felt as if they were about to collapse underneath her, but she managed to keep herself upright somehow. For a moment, she said nothing, simply gazing up at his beloved face, as if trying to memorize his every feature. “I … I know you aren't afraid to die,” she said finally, “but I am afraid for you to die. I don't want to live without you. But … but if things do not work out in our favor, then I will do as you wish and go to France. I would not wish to remain in a country that is hostile to my family, and I know that our son will have a better life there than he would ever have here.” Placing her hands over his, she removed them from her cheeks, lifting one and then the other to her lips, raining little kisses along his knuckles. “I … I love you, my Guillaume . You are every beat of my heart. You are every breath that whispers through my lips. You are the very reason for my existence. If ... if you do not return to me, I will always treasure the months we spent together as husband and wife. I ...” The tears behind her eyes would not obey her and now they flowed freely. Dropping one of his hands, she tried to wipe them away with little success. “I will make certain our son knows you as well as if you were with him. He will know you as well as I do, as well as you know yourself, and I will assure that he is raised as you would wish him to be, and he will become a fine man who would make you proud.” Her words were brave, but she was not, and she flung herself in his arms again, pressing her body close against his. She did not want to let him go. She never wanted to let him go. She would not let him go. “You will live, my love,” she whispered, raising her eyes to his and attempting to smile through her tears. “You will watch my belly swell with your son. You will feel him quicken within me. You will hold him after he is born. You will see to his upbringing yourself and you will one day hold his son in your arms as well. You must believe that.” Even if he were found innocent, she knew that this might happen again … in a few months or a few years or a few decades. As long as he held any power at all, his life would be continually in danger. There would always be those who would seek his downfall. It was the way of court, the way of politics, the way of ambition ... the way of men. To gain advantage for yourself, you must destroy those who stand in your way. Her Guy did not buy into that philosophy, and perhaps that was part of what made others believe he was dangerous. “Yet even when this is over,” she asked, putting a tremulous voice to her fears, “we will not be truly safe, will we?” |
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| William Spencer | Jan 21 2012, 11:07 AM Post #8 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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His Margaret was so very brave; his heart had led him to the proper wife, a woman who could be strong enough to share his path, even without him. "You are the most perfect and strongest woman I have ever known, and you will be an excellent mother. You are very capable." William smiled softly as she kissed his hands, relishing in the feel of her alive with him, against him. To feel her skin and soft breath was perhaps his last pleasure left. He would wipe all her tears away for he may not be able to do so forever, but more would replace them as much as she tried to wipe the away and rid herself of them. "Do not cry, my pulse; if we are separated, it will not be forever. I have done all I have been asked in my life as best I can and repented of my sins." He squeezed her and then ran a hand soothingly over the back of her head. "I have not failed God in any of the duties of my life, and if you carry my son, I have indeed completed everything which a man can ask for in blessings in his life. And I have lived the sacrament of marriage better than any of the others." What could he now ask for? Certainly with all of this, it changed things for him spiritually. He would gladly go with dignity to this horrible and (beneath him) death if it would mean that his child would be safe, that Margaret would be safe. He caught her in his arms tightly. If that was his son, he was not even essential anymore, and he wondered if that feeling of final sacrifice was what his Uncle Louis felt as his life bled out in his own heir's arms, out the wound begot by William's own dagger. Was he happy for that final breath if it meant William would survive? The man had never had a healthy son that he had spent any time with in the last fifteen years of his life, and William had not had a father during that time either. It was all he had to draw on. Now there would be another, perhaps, who would take on that mantle at the moment of birth, of a displaced sovereign of a stolen land, a child of multiple countries. For all William's sins perhaps he was unworthy of such temporal fortunes and the blood on his hands too tainted for any of God's missions of peace. Perhaps his child would prove more worthy? "We are one flesh, I cannot be robbed from you or from our child. I will be the very breath of your stories and the blood of that child's heart," he added, quietly. She looked up at him and her eyes were drowned in a sea of tears magnifying them and making them pop with the redness of her face and swollen lids. Why was it that the tests on him were so difficult? How far could every fiber of him be hurt? How could he endure his internal pains? How long could he hold himself with the dignity of Christ before he just crumpled beneath the weight of what he could no longer support? He could not be the martyr of anything, he did not have the strength and necessary humility. How could he hold to what he was perhaps being asked to do when the two lives he was responsible for stared up at him like that, seeking his comfort and strength and the unwavering font of God's love he was supposed to mirror. He felt that pain and pressure behind his cheeks and nose and struggled to breath, but a tear won it's way out the battlements of his lower lashes, and he lowered his forehead against hers, his nose perfectly nestled against hers as his words fell softly toward her lips. "Je suis assez vain d'espérer ainsi, même maintenant ... pour le péché dans ce qui pourrait être mes derniers jours. Ma foi n'est même pas assez fort pour tenir contre mon amour pour vous. Je ne veux pas vous quitter." He choked on a breath, and he knew that if he lived past this very moment, nothing they could do to him would hurt him worse. "Après aujourd'hui, vous ne devez pas revenir ici. Je ne suis pas assez fort pour se préparer à quitter volontairement et avec dignité, si je dois le faire tout en vous voyant. Vous inspire-moi de mendier pour une miséricorde dont je doute ne méritent pas, en montrant la vanité et l'auto-préoccupation que je doit essayer de vaincre pour la sécurité de mon âme. Et vous ne devez pas le risque de l'enfant." He let out a shaky breath, trying to rein in the feelings ripping through his body. Everything he hoped for and everything he faced at odds with the other, and only God would see him through it one way or the other. "Either way, my dearest, I will take pleasure in knowing that either I shall hold my son or my grandfather shall be the most blessed man on earth to hold his great-grandson. If my life has done nothing, I took his only living son, my penance would be giving him mine." And all he could do was shake his head to her final question, once he could even manage to move. No, it was all too clear now just how safe he would never be, nor his precious family. Now, as he held his wife close to him, he wanted more than anything to truly go home. He wanted out of this horrid country. He wanted to watch the grandfather that had loved him age to his final days and attend him when he was dying, as William had done for a man who had never cared for him one day of his life. What had he done for his life to be such an ironic cruelty? *I am vain enough to hope so, even now...to sin in what could be my final days. My faith is not even strong enough to hold up against my love for you. I do not want to leave you. *After today, you must not come back here. I am not strong enough to prepare to leave you willingly and with dignity if I must do so while seeing you. You will inspire me to beg for a mercy which I perhaps do not deserve, showing a vanity and self-concern I must try to vanquish for the safety of my soul. And you must not risk the child. |
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| Margaret Spencer | Jan 24 2012, 11:40 AM Post #9 |
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No matter how much faith Guy had in her, Margaret knew that she wasn't perfect or strong or capable. She was young and terrified and broken, and was not certain if she would be a good mother at all. And yet … with him in her heart ... his memory and his love for her guiding her path … she might become everything he seemed to think she was, and she would be able to raise her son to be the man his father would wish him to be. That is what she hoped for. If he were destined to die, she did not want to fail him in this one thing. She would not fail him. Just considering the possibility of his death was enough to send her spiraling into utter torment. She knew she must face it, but she also must continue to believe that all would be well, and he would be home with her soon. It was a mantra that turned over and over within her troubled mind, and she knew that she must never let it go. Even though he continued to speak as if his fate were already sealed. She knew why he was doing it, and she understood, but listening to him speak of his demise and observing the agony on his face tore her heart apart and she could no longer hold back her tears. “I know that we will not be parted forever, but even a moment is too much for me.” His hand gently stroking the back of her head was comforting, but neither his touch nor his words could silence her soft sobs. “Our separation will longer for me than it will be for you. You will be waiting for me when my time comes, but I refuse to believe that you have already fulfilled God's plan for your life. He would not take one of His most loyal servants from a world that could benefit so much from his presence.” He held her tightly against him and Margaret clung to him as he promised to be with her and their child no matter what happened to him. She knew that he would live on through their son, but that was not enough for her, would never be enough for her. They were indeed one flesh, so much so that the best part of her would die with him the moment that his head left his shoulders. And she would know, whether she was there or not. How could she not know when the connection between them was stronger than life itself? And if it came to that, she was afraid that she would lose the baby he was heaping all his hopes upon, the only thing that she would have left of him. But he would live. He would. Soon this nightmare would be over and they could put it behind them forever. When she pulled away from him and voiced her hopes, she could see him struggling with his own emotions, and as he lowered his forehead to hers, she could feel a slight wetness against the smoothness of her skin. Was he crying too? Without moving, she lifted her hand and softly touched one long fingertip to the corner of his eye, wiping the dampness away. She loved him so much and it was killing her slowly to see him in so much pain. If she could take his place she would. She would gladly give her life for his, even with his son growing in her belly. He could marry again, have other sons. His life was worth a thousand of hers. “I do not believe it is vanity to wish to be cleared of a crime you did not commit. It is more sinful to give up and accept a fate that you do not deserve. And I know you are not giving up, and you never will, but don't feel as if you cannot ask God to spare you. Perhaps that is what He is waiting for.” Her religious views were quite different from his and had been the source of many rousing debates during the few short months of their marriage. Margaret was much more relaxed on the subject and did not believe that half the things he considered sinful were in the least bit wrong. “I have asked Him for it and I will continue to do so. If that is a sin, then He should take my life instead of yours. And you will not leave me. Hold onto both our love for each other and your faith and they will see you through.” She was not certain whether she believed her own words or not, but she did not even get the chance to contemplate them, for what he said next ripped through her like a raging storm, destroying her mind, her heart, and even her very soul. The blood drained from her face, and it was all she could do not to plead with him to reconsider. For how could she stay away from him while he was imprisoned in this cold forsaken fortress? It was far too much to ask of her. She had to see him as often as she was allowed, had to know how he was doing, had to make certain he had everything he needed until this farce was over. Who would look after him if she could not? Yet she understood the reasoning behind his request. And it wasn't the state of his soul she worried about if he begged for mercy. It was the fact that such an act could be taken as an admission of guilt. She did not want to be the cause of that and she knew that she could not risk the precious little life within her. To deny his request would be selfish, and that would be a sin in both their views. She said nothing but only nodded, her forehead brushing against his and her tears flowing more freely now, especially when he spoke of what he had done during the war, and how giving up his own son would be a fitting reparation for taking his uncle's life. “Your grandfather would not want that,” she whispered, her face still nestled close to his. “And it will not happen. He will hold his great-grandchild in his arms but it will be you who hands our son to him.” Pulling away from him, she once again looked up at his beloved visage, and she was certain he could see her anxiety reflected in the depths of her sapphire eyes. “I … I don't wish this to be the last time we are together, but I will abide by your wishes.” Her legs felt as if they were about to give way beneath her, and she staggered against him, holding onto his arms for support. Even in her distraught state, she managed to remember to put more pressure on the left one. “Yet I must have news of you. How will I know that you are okay?” Despite her best intentions, her legs buckled beneath her, and she dropped to her knees on the hard and unforgiving floor, her hands sliding down his arms as she fell. Burying her face in her hands for a moment, she tried to regain control of herself before she gazed at him again, not even attempting to wipe away her tears anymore. “Please, my love, don't cut me off from you altogether.” |
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| William Spencer | Feb 9 2012, 10:36 AM Post #10 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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William had more been thinking that begging for God's mercy to intercede to let him keep his life would be a horrible vanity, and he smiled softly at her as she declared that if praying to his safety was a sin, she would bear it. "It is not a sin to pray for the life of someone else, although it is vanity to pray for your own in such circumstance," he said softly. "It is of more importance for me to focus on the worst of outcomes, for the safety of my soul if what we fear comes to pass...I can do nothing here to help my situation in life, that is now in others' hands, but I can see to the situation of my soul. Having you near to me, I could not think of such things without dying another death every minute." What other truth was there? It was futile to protest his innocence more. He would be quiet and reverent and obedient while letting his friends and family do their best to save him. It was the only way. There was no dashing escape from The Tower to run back to France tail-tucked or triumphant depend upon the party examining his behaviour; however, he would thus admit his guilt that he was a traitor. There were worse things than sitting here at His Majesty's pleasure and honour was everything to William in many ways. He should not fear. "I hold onto such things every minute of every day regardless of my circumstances," he assured her, lovingly. It was true. The moment they had been married, she had become the commensurate part of that equation, and as his wife she was inextricably attached to his faith as well. It was their purpose of union to see each other through. Such things did not seem to soothe her and the thought of not seeing him again too much for her. Her hot tears seared at his skin, and he felt that swell of emotion rise up in him and nearly pour out his eyes as well. His body felt strangely numb and foreign to him. "I hope so," he replied, imagining that joyous moment that could be him showing his son to his grandfather. Then if he could stay in France and see the man to his last days, he would have felt like a whole, entire man who had a complete life, and he could be free to go from there knowing that he had done his duties to his family. It was strange that being accused of a treason he had not committed led him to multiple treasons in his mind. William could think not of staying here now. This was not a world he was meant for, and he had been rather foolish as a youth for ever coming here. God had led him here to find Margaret, because that was most all he had gotten from it. Her tears over not seeing him even again seemed to drag her to the floor like chains, a much more solid stuff than water, and he tried to hold her up. She had been destined to crumple, and he destined to follow. Taking her up into his arms, he rocked her just slightly, "You will write to me, and I will write to you, everyday." It was not near enough, but they could not risk her health or his eternal life. He could not be given to complete folly at times like these. "And you will never be cut off from me, and I will be thinking about you both always...I will be praying for you as you will be praying for me. And you can stay for some while now, do not despair, my love, it is not good for you." |
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| Isabel Leigh | Mar 9 2014, 09:24 PM Post #11 |
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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This thread has been archived either due to forwarding of board timeline or because of a month of inactivity. If you would like to continue, please PM an Admin! |
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[align=center]Mistress Leigh Isabel is in 8 threads and can has more! App | Plot[/align] | |
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10:58 AM Jul 11