Post by Rosalind on Jul 21, 2009 14:10:34 GMT -5
Rosalind was born twenty-eight years ago to the Norman baron of Beauquesne, a lonely and grief-stricken man who they say died long ago in the Crusades, though his body lived on to get a child from his only love. She died of a fever not long after the girl came into this life. Having little idea of what to do with a daughter, he found an expedient marriage for her, and went on with the business of haunting the living.
Her life began the moment she set foot in Scotland. It was home as Beauquesne had never been, and the friends she made were the family she had never had. The love that grew between the Norman lady and her Scottish husband was a strong bond despite the years that distanced them; he had been a man grown when he was imprisoned in Beauquesne as part of Balliol's ambassadors, and she barely out of swaddling. Yet love there was, and trust, and a myriad other traits that made their union unique among Scotland. But in the spring of 1324, her marriage was over, and two of her best friends were dead and buried -- her husband, and his Campbell foster brother.
Campbell retaliated, laying waste to Inveryne in a single, decisive battle that saw the end to those fledgling dreams. The Lady Inveryne fled, and in an unforgivable act of cowardice, called upon the rite of hospitality from Lamont's Campbell enemies. And there she remained, the controversial Jezebel of Scotland, a woman at the center of many a ghost story and idle round of gossip. Despite the years that pass, she will always be that creature founded on gossip. She does not fight it, though beneath an exterior of steel, she still dreams like an Avalle.
She fled for the safety of court in Skye, away from Campbell enemies and Lamont opportunists. Yet in the autumn of 1328, Rosalind found herself surrounded by drawn swords and in the company of her late husband's brother and a paid priest. She said her vows to save her life, though her reasons for continuing to live were ever her own.
Though she struggled against the marriage with all the weapons she had available to her, her fight could not last long. She believed Fearghus the agent of her clan's destruction, but had it not been for the son she had birthed in secrecy three years ago, she would have resigned herself to fate, and suffered the union for the sake of her clan. But when Fearghus discovered Aldric and made him his heir, Rosalind could suffer no more. He would one day discover that the boy he made his own had a Campbell father, and though Rosalind could abide a great many injustices, she could not allow for the murder of her son.
The men of Lamont believed their chieftain died defending Skye. That was the lie she was willing to let them believe, even as she took the oaths of Lamont and became their tanist, for the day in which Aldric could decide whether he wished to govern or forfeit to a more able and willing peer. The problems of Lamont were many, but no more was her son a secret. Fearghus stained only her memory, joining with dreams of bodies hanging from trees, hands reaching from the dark with gaping holes through the palms, and the scent of a burning ship on a dawn breeze. Dreams faded with dawn, however; frightening, but insubstantial, and it was unlike Rosalind to ruminate on her past when there was so much to do in the present.
The consummate courtier, the mother, friend, lover, servant, and lady -- Rosalind perhaps lacked the easy mirth of most courtiers, but her laughter was a sign she was blessed with many more virtues than mere innocence. The Lady of Lamont inadvertently set in course events that would change the world, yet lived an inherently private life, one that included few if any beyond her son, his father, and her beloved.
Little did she know her war with her husband would become the least of her concerns, and that all she believed solid and true of her beginnings in Beauquesne were lies and misdirection. In a single act of violence, Rosalind found herself amid the maelstrom of French politics, as the newly found and greatly loved Comtesse d'Auvergne, and for a day, the Queen of Aragon, Valencia, Sardinia, Corsica, and by the Grace of God, Genoa.
Her life began the moment she set foot in Scotland. It was home as Beauquesne had never been, and the friends she made were the family she had never had. The love that grew between the Norman lady and her Scottish husband was a strong bond despite the years that distanced them; he had been a man grown when he was imprisoned in Beauquesne as part of Balliol's ambassadors, and she barely out of swaddling. Yet love there was, and trust, and a myriad other traits that made their union unique among Scotland. But in the spring of 1324, her marriage was over, and two of her best friends were dead and buried -- her husband, and his Campbell foster brother.
Campbell retaliated, laying waste to Inveryne in a single, decisive battle that saw the end to those fledgling dreams. The Lady Inveryne fled, and in an unforgivable act of cowardice, called upon the rite of hospitality from Lamont's Campbell enemies. And there she remained, the controversial Jezebel of Scotland, a woman at the center of many a ghost story and idle round of gossip. Despite the years that pass, she will always be that creature founded on gossip. She does not fight it, though beneath an exterior of steel, she still dreams like an Avalle.
She fled for the safety of court in Skye, away from Campbell enemies and Lamont opportunists. Yet in the autumn of 1328, Rosalind found herself surrounded by drawn swords and in the company of her late husband's brother and a paid priest. She said her vows to save her life, though her reasons for continuing to live were ever her own.
Though she struggled against the marriage with all the weapons she had available to her, her fight could not last long. She believed Fearghus the agent of her clan's destruction, but had it not been for the son she had birthed in secrecy three years ago, she would have resigned herself to fate, and suffered the union for the sake of her clan. But when Fearghus discovered Aldric and made him his heir, Rosalind could suffer no more. He would one day discover that the boy he made his own had a Campbell father, and though Rosalind could abide a great many injustices, she could not allow for the murder of her son.
The men of Lamont believed their chieftain died defending Skye. That was the lie she was willing to let them believe, even as she took the oaths of Lamont and became their tanist, for the day in which Aldric could decide whether he wished to govern or forfeit to a more able and willing peer. The problems of Lamont were many, but no more was her son a secret. Fearghus stained only her memory, joining with dreams of bodies hanging from trees, hands reaching from the dark with gaping holes through the palms, and the scent of a burning ship on a dawn breeze. Dreams faded with dawn, however; frightening, but insubstantial, and it was unlike Rosalind to ruminate on her past when there was so much to do in the present.
The consummate courtier, the mother, friend, lover, servant, and lady -- Rosalind perhaps lacked the easy mirth of most courtiers, but her laughter was a sign she was blessed with many more virtues than mere innocence. The Lady of Lamont inadvertently set in course events that would change the world, yet lived an inherently private life, one that included few if any beyond her son, his father, and her beloved.
Little did she know her war with her husband would become the least of her concerns, and that all she believed solid and true of her beginnings in Beauquesne were lies and misdirection. In a single act of violence, Rosalind found herself amid the maelstrom of French politics, as the newly found and greatly loved Comtesse d'Auvergne, and for a day, the Queen of Aragon, Valencia, Sardinia, Corsica, and by the Grace of God, Genoa.