September 14th, 1614

The ducal seat of Lonnare was Arindale, and no lovelier castle existed in all of Francia. Though the duchy was set against the border with Coimbra, the castle stood well back from those front lines, set high on a cliff overlooking the rush of the river below. It was a truly beautiful place, and it belonged, now, to the Beauforte family and their future issue. Issue that was already growing in the new Duchess' womb when Charles brought his wife - finally and irrevocably officially married before the Goddess, the King, and as many of the court as they could cram into the Temple that day - to the castle that would be their home for many years to come.

Alys had settled into the court there with enviable ease; after all, a ducal court was nothing when compared with the royal courts she had been maneuvering all her life. She was the undisputed queen bee, and she took full advantage of that fact, even down to dismissing the majority of the court when the mood took her. Today was one of those days, and instead of gossiping and wittering, she was curled up in the window-seat of Charles' study, reading a book as her husband went over the business of the duchy at his desk.

There were those who had doubted Charles' ability to perform the duties and tasks set before him as the Duke of Lonnare. Perhaps they had forgotten that, though he had been born a commoner, he had been raised among royalty and had been given the same education and training as the king and his retinue. Though he had not expected to be rewarded for his loyalty and service with a duchy of his own, this was what he had been raised to do, and he was determined to prove himself worthy of the title, not only to those he served but to those who had doubted him.

Despite the fact that autumn was barreling headlong into winter, Alys had found herself a warm spot in the blaze of sunshine through the window, quite content to read in silence while her husband worked. It was a scene no one at the court could have imagined - no one but her brother, perhaps, who knew them both very well indeed. They were a passionate pairing, but there was a friendship underlying the love they felt that allowed them to share a silence without needing to fill it. After a good hour or so, however, Alys sighed softly, looking up from her book. "What are you reading?" she asked him curiously.

From the look on Charles' face, it seemed the parchment he held in his hand bore a message of grave importance. "One moment," he told her as his eyes finished scanning the missive. "It's from one of my knights - a man named Joslin from the village of La Roche. It seems he and his fellows were ambushed by Coimbrans near the town of Dunfayre in the borderlands, and he was the only survivor. He has taken refuge at Darroch Keep, where the lady of the keep has been tending his wounds," he explained without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the parchment. He trusted his wife's judgment in all things, and there were no secrets between them. She ruled here as duchess on equal ground with her husband.

Alys considered this for a moment. "Joslin, from La Roche," she mused thoughtfully for a moment, before the connection hit her. "Oh! That's Justine's brother, isn't it' I thought he was patrolling inland of the border. How in Goddess' name did he end up being ambushed?"

"Yes, I believe so," he replied in answer to her first question, though the answer to the second question was less clear. "Coimbran deserters lurking behind the border with no place to go," he explained further. "He goes on to say that this lady's father is on his way to Arindale to plead for the life of his son, who was captured as a Coimbran leader and is awaiting trial." Charles laid the parchment on the table, a look of thoughtful concentration on his face.

"Well, a little forewarning never did any harm," his wife said unhelpfully. She watched her husband for a long moment. Being a Duke suited him far better than he might have guessed. After many long years as nothing more than a friend of the King, suddenly he had been rewarded for that loyalty and steadfast spirit with this important Duchy, and with the gift of the King's niece for a Duchess. He knew what he was doing, and how to do it, and despite the lukewarm reception from the ducal courtiers here at Arindale - some of whom had been deep in the former Duke's pockets - he had taken to it easily. "What do you plan to do about the father and son?"

"He claims that the Coimbrans have been kidnapping men from the borderlands and forcing them into military service," Charles went on to explain, but the answer to her question was far more difficult than it seemed. He could not very well excuse the man without some sort of recompense, or he'd be at risk of looking weak and allowing those who joined the Coimbrans - by force or by choice - to go free without worry of punishment. Then again, if Joslin's story was true and he was not under some sort of duress in writing, the man didn't deserve to be executed for being forced into service. It was a difficult problem with no easy or obvious solution.

She frowned with him, absentmindedly scratching her neck as she considered the problem. "Darroch Keep, you said, yes?" she asked, before continuing on without needing the answer. "That means this man coming to see you is a lord. He obviously has a certain amount of power in the borders, but we all know that they get a certain amount of leeway because the border is so fluid anyway. So rather than making your mind up now, why not talk to the man's son' Find out what he says happened, and what he thinks his father would concede to in ransom for him."

"Yes, of course I will talk to him, but how can I let him go without making some sort of example of him?" he mused aloud. Of course, he was going to have to talk to the man and see if his story conflicted with the one in the letter or not. He sighed. "I know Joslin. He's a good man. He would not lie about such a thing, but how do I know he is not writing under duress" How do I know he is speaking the truth?"

"You don't, dear heart," Alys pointed out with a rueful cast to her expression. "But why not make certain of it' When this man's father arrives, tell him that you won't release his son until your knight is home safely again. Obviously he will have to pay some compensation toward the fact that we have widows and orphans to support because of the war, but I daresay he is expecting that. It could be that he is unaware of Joslin's presence at his keep at all, if the ambush happened after he left."

"Yes, of course," Charles replied, thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against his desk a moment as he considered her advice and his choices. After a moment, he got up from his desk and moved to the door to speak with one of the men who stood guard outside their quarters. Whatever it was he was saying was too quiet for her to hear, but he wasn't long before he returned.

Left to her own devices again, Alys skimmed her eyes down the page once more, but didn't absorb anything written there. She looked up as Charles returned. "A decision has been reached, O granite faced one?"

He smirked a little at her teasing, proving her wrong. At least, he took his duties seriously, which the doubters had thought him incapable of. "I have sent for the man, O wise wife of mine. You are free to stay, if you wish, but I must warn you ....You may find this unpleasant." No, he didn't plan on torturing the man, but if he was a prisoner of Lonnare, he was likely to be in rough shape.

The door opened to admit the captain of the guard and one of his men, escorting the prisoner between them. He was a tall man, dark hair unkempt, face unshaven, but he had made an effort to straighten up his appearance when he was summoned. He wore a simple shirt and breeches, the material sturdy and warm, and no chains - a mark of courtesy for the noble ranks. "The prisoner, your grace," the captain announced, stepping smartly back three paces with his companion once the prisoner was delivered. And to Alys' surprise, the proud borderman met Charles' eyes boldly and bowed.

"My name is Bryce Darroch, of Dunfayre, your grace," he introduced himself, his eyes flickering toward the duchess with no little confusion. Women were generally not present when men talked of war.

"Yes, I know who you are," Charles replied simply for the time being. He turned first to the captain of the guard - a man who had held that title for years, before Charles had arrived in Arindale. "I assume you have been treating the prisoner with dignity and respect?" he asked of his own men first.

"Yes, sir," the captain answered for them both. "All rights as is due to man of his rank, your grace. And if I may say, sir, he has been a model prisoner, as have the men of Dunfayre among the others, sir."

Bryce stood a little taller, and Alys was not surprised this time to note the pride in his expression as his men were well spoken of. His men, not the Coimbrans.

"Very well, Captain," Charles replied, not bothering to add that if he found out differently, there would be hell to pay. "You are dismissed. The guard may wait outside," he said, taking a bit of a risk in dismissing both the captain and his man in hopes of speaking to Bryce in private, as well as gaining his trust.

To his credit, the captain only hesitated for a moment, his glance flicking toward Alys very briefly before he nodded and snapped to attention with something of a clang. "Yes, your grace." With another nod to his guard companion, the captain marched smartly from the room to stand guard outside while the interview was in progress.

As the door closed, Alys swallowed, turning her face away to hide her smile. Ever since the people of Arindale had found out that they not only had a princess for a duchess, but a pregnant one, too, they had become all manner of protective, and it was getting a little ridiculous.

Charles sighed, at the man's obvious reluctance to leave the man alone with the duke and duchess, as if he would suddenly attack them with his hands alone, which would obviously be nothing short of suicide. "Please, sit down," Charles said, gesturing to a chair across the table from himself. "Forgive the guards. They are not yet accustomed to my way of doing things and probably think me a fool." But Charles had not won the duchy by being either a fool or a weakling, but through hard word and bravery.

For a moment, Bryce Darroch looked surprised by the civil gesture, pulling himself together with a grateful nod. "My thanks, your grace," he acknowledged, lowering himself into a chair with every visible sign of relief. "If I may ....when your captain refers to my men, he is speaking of the men who were ....recruited ....with me from Dunfayre when the Coimbran army passed through. Not a man among us wanted to go, I assure you."

"Yes, I presumed as much, but for now, it is you who interests me," Charles replied, picking up the parchment he had received from the knight who was recuperating at Darroch. "I have received a letter from Darroch, which concerns you," he started. "But before I share its contents with you, I would like to hear in your own words how you came to be here and what life is like in the borderlands."

Bryce considered him thoughtfully as he spoke. "You've not spent much time in the lands that border Coimbra, have you, your grace?" he said, though it was more of a statement than a question. "Life everywhere is hard, but for the borders, the hardship comes from both sides. My father is laird of Darroch and Dunfayre, and yes, we bear a Coimbran name, but those lands have been on the Frankish side of the border for five generations now. My mother was a Frank. I'm a borderman, blood from both sides, but I am not a man of violence, sir. I will fight, if I can; if I cannot, I will bend like the willow, the way all bordermen will. We've dealt with deserters on both sides, aye, but 'tis the Coimbrans who pressed us hard when war came. Your grace, if five hundred men were camped on your lands here, and their commander said to you that you must fight for their side and lead those men, or have your home razed to the ground, your father murdered, and your sister ruined beyond all hope, what would you do?"

"I have patrolled there on occasion, but no ....not lately," Charles replied. After all, he'd had other things to concern him of late, which he wasn't going to explain to a prisoner who may or may not yet become an ally. Charles arched a brow as the man came straight to the point. "If five hundred men were camped on my lands here, I would dispatch them with an equal or larger force, but I see your point. I am not unsympathetic to your cause, my lord," he continued, linking his fingers as he folded his hands in front of him. "The borderlands and the people who live there are my concern, and I believe it is my duty to do what I can to protect them."

"With respect, your grace, you've a force to dispatch such an enemy with," Bryce pointed out calmly. "We've no soldiers, and what arms we know, we've been taught by our fathers before us. My brother and I knew what we were doing. Death for us, or death for Darroch and Dunfayre; it isn't a choice, sir."

Charles knew all this already, and had only been trying to make a point. "Perhaps the time for neutrality is over, my lord. There comes a time when you must stand up for what you believe in and to protect those in your care. Let me ask you this ....Were you to have a choice, would you choose to fight and help us defeat the Coimbran threat once and for all, or would you prefer to remain neutral?"

"Had I the choice, sir, I would close the border and let the Coimbrans starve," Bryce told him fiercely, real anger in his voice. "They took my mother from me; they killed my brother when he turned against them on the field; they hold a sword over the lives of everyone I love. I would swear allegiance to you and your king, in return for the means to defend my father's lands and bear him safe to his end days, your grace."

"It is not the Coimbran people who we are fighting, but the Coimbran King and army," Charles reminded him, not wanting to treat the Coimbran people - whether they lived on the border or otherwise - the same way the Coimbrans treated his people. "I will speak plainly ....I would like to build a fortified keep at Dunfayre, but in order to do so, I need men - honest and loyal men - who will be willing to man it and to defend the borderlands from Coimbran incursion."

Bryce frowned as he held Charles' gaze. "Meaning what, your grace?" he asked. "By defend the borderlands, what is it that you mean' One garrison cannot protect every inch of the borderland and keep trouble from slipping through. Sir, my first loyalty is to my own people. If Dunfayre is to have a keep, we'll be a target for the Coimbran skirmishers until it is built and ready for use."

"Of course. I'm sure they will have many questions and will be relieved to find us hospitable. I hope this to be the start of a strong alliance between us and the borderlands, my lord," Charles replied, clasping the man's hand firmly and offering a friendly, but careful smile.

"Then I shall take my leave, your grace ....m'lady." Bryce stepped back, bowing to them both with only a little stiffness for the time spent inactive in prison. He turned to the captain of the guard, allowing the man to lead him from the room and leave the duke and duchess alone once again.

Alys sighed contentedly, leaning against Charles' arm. "Well done, my darling."

Charles' smile faded as he watched the man leave. "Hmm, I am either the biggest fool in Francia or a brilliant diplomat, though I believe I have you to thank if it's the latter, my wife," he told her turning to face her. Though the king seemed to believe in him, Charles was not as confident in his newfound positions as duke as he'd like to be. He did, however, immensely enjoy referring to Alys as "wife".

"I am not the duke," she pointed out, turning to look up at him. "They have little to lose and much to gain by going along with your proposal, dear heart. They would be the fools if they turned you down, and the borderlands do not breed fools."

"If he is telling the truth - and I believe he is - then it would be in their favor to ally with us against the Coimbrans, but if we are not careful, such an alliance could bring them even more trouble," he countered. It was a risk worth taking, however, so long as the king agreed. "I need to send a message to Christian and a reply to Joslin," he told her, as he slid his arms around her, hoping for a short respite before returning to work.

"Later," she told him, her own arms curling about his waist as she leaned into him. "The courier won't leave until the morning, anyway. You have all day and all night to compose your messages, and I do believe I promised to continue something we began before Lord Bryce entered." Her eyes sparkled with a sweet tease as she looked up at him invitingly.

"Mmm," the former rake replied, the smile widening on his face. A little distraction from his lady love was just what he needed. "Hugh!" he called to the guard outside their door, who dutifully peeked his head in with an obedient,

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"My lady and I are not to be disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon. Is that clear?"

The guard looked between the pair and nodded his head, unable to hide a small smirk from his face. It was no secret among those who lived in the castle that there was no lack of affection between the duke and duchess, as was evidenced by their frequent requests for privacy. "Yes, Your Grace. I will make sure of it."

Of course, it did not help them to save face with Alys dissolving into bright giggles the moment Charles informed the guard that they were going to be busy for the afternoon. She was truly delighted with the way the staff and guards at Arindale had taken to their new duke, but the telling grins and badly disguised snickers whenever Charles ordered privacy were beginning to get silly. Not that she minded silly; after all, she was leaning against her husband's desk, sagging in a fit of giggles because of that exact request.

"Is there a problem?" Charles asked, as the guard grinned over at Alys, amused by the lady's fit of giggles. It was a pleasant change to have a happy and amorous young couple in charge of the duchy, rather than a cranky, doddering old fart.

"No, Your Grace," the guard replied, the grin fading from view, mostly for his sake. "I will see to it, Your Grace," he assured the man before disappearing from view.

Charles grumbled to himself with a small frown, "Your Grace this and Your Grace that. I do not like my men agreeing to my orders and laughing behind my back."

"Oh, love, they are not laughing behind your back," Alys promised him, swallowing her laughter if not her smile as he grumbled. "You would know if they were. They are enjoying having a young duke in the place. Guy de Tempschire was a horrible old man who killed off four wives and three sons. Surely you can see that having a young duke who cares about his people and the borderlands is a wonderful thing for the people here?"

"Mmm," he muttered in reply, his arms tightening about his wife's waist. "I suppose. I would rather have their loyalty than their fear," he remarked, honestly enough. "But for now, dear wife, I would like to forget about war and politics for a while. What say you?"

"Mmm ....do I need to say anything?" she asked sweetly, rising up onto her toes to curl her arms about his neck. "Kiss me, you impetuous monster!" Of course, she did make herself laugh yet again with her declaration, but laughter was better than tears. Charles had known all along what he was getting into, after all.

"I'll give you impetuous monster, you teasing wench!" he said, a wide grin that was very reminiscent of the old rakish Charles on his face as he took her in his arms and kissed her like she'd never been kissed - by anyone besides him, anyway. And when that was done, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her away to their bedroom where he intended to keep her giggling for the remainder of the afternoon, no matter what his guards thought.