September 16th, 1614

The next day dawned bright and cold for the arrival of Aidan, Laird of Darroch, and his small party. He was met by the Duke, along with Bryce, and the men stayed closeted in the Duke's reception rooms for the entire morning, abandoning the ladies to their own company, during which time Alys got every last detail out of Justine as to the quiet request for permission that had been made the evening before. When, at last, the men emerged, it was with a settlement in place to build a garrison fort at Darroch and station soldiers there, and to keep Bryce in Arindale until the safe return of Joslin de Lonnare. Though Bryce then left to eat with his father and spend some time with the old man, Justine was not left alone or out of the loop, kept by the duchess' side for as long as was necessary.

As the afternoon wound on into the gathering dusk, a pyre was lit for the bodies of the men of Dunfayre who had not survived the Battle of Berynsford and its aftermath, the funeral rites held over the flames by the priest before the eyes of Aidan, Bryce, and their bordermen. Solemn silence fell as the words trailed away, leaving only the sound of the crackling flames, until a lone voice took up a tune from the ranks who stood with their laird. "There was a soldier, a fine old soldier; who wandered far and soldiered far away; There was none bolder, no stronger shoulder; He fought in many a fray, and fought and won ..."

As the haunting lament went on, other voices joined the first in a slow swell of sound that rose to its peak as finally the laird and his son raised their own voices to lament the passing of their friends. "....but now he's sighing, his heart is crying to leave these green hills for home ....Because these green hills are not my border hills, and these green hills are not my land; As fair as these green foreign hills may be, they are not the hills of home ..."

The duke and duchess stood nearby, quietly solemn as the men from the borderlands laid their fallen to rest. There was not a dry eye present as the men raised their voices to offer a lament in honor of their fallen brothers in arms. Even Charles' eyes were shining with tears, having lost a few of his own comrades in battle, his thoughts drifting to William, missing his oldest and dearest friend and hoping he was well. Justine stood beside Alys, whose arm was tucked into Charles' to offer her husband what comfort she could. Justine envied them that, her heart aching for Bryce and wishing she could give him some comfort. She, too, knew what it was to lose those you loved and to worry for a brother whose life was devoted to duty and honor. She could not help but weep, unashamed of the tears that stained her face, crying not only for those who had fallen but for those who had to weather their loss.

Though they stood tall, their voices never faltering, the men of Darroch and Dunfayre sang with a haunted passion that can only be felt by those who have lost friends or family to war. Beside his father, Bryce held his head high, his eyes fixed on the flames as they slowly consumed what was left of his elder brother's body, and sang with the men he had marched with, feeling keenly how wrong it was to be laying the lost to rest in a land so far from their own. "....Soon on a hillside, a border hillside, you'll see a piper play this soldier's song; That song may cease, for he's at peace now upon these green hills that are not home ..."

His hand twitched with a wish to hold Justine's in his grasp as he sang with his comrades, his vision blurring as tears grew in his eyes, falling unheeded on his cheeks. There was no shame in shedding tears for the dead, no dishonor in grieving for the brother who would now never go home again. "....as fair as these green foreign hills may be, they are not the hills of home ..." To a man, the bordermen bowed their heads, the last note of their lament lingering on the wind that fed the flames before them.

Justine could feel the grief in the voices of the men and the longing for home, and she couldn't help but wonder what it was about their lands that made them feel such passion. She had never felt such passion about a place, going wherever her father and brother bid her to go, but it seemed now that she had accepted Bryce's proposal, she would be off on a new adventure soon and find out for herself what it was about the borderlands that tugged at these men's hearts so strongly. She could not help but watch him as he stood there, tall and proud and handsome, openly grieving with his comrades, longing to hold him in her arms and soothe his aching heart.

For what felt like an eternity, all that could be heard was the crackle of the flames as each man there said his last goodbyes in the silence of his heart. Then, seemingly at some sign unseen by the Franks who stood with them, the men of Darroch and Dunfayre turned away from the pyre, moving toward the barracks with their guards, to give their comrades a more fitting send off with happier memories of their lives. Aidan, their laird, turned to the duke and duchess, his stern face solemn but at peace, leaving Bryce to stand alone a while longer in the heat of the flames.

She watched as the men dispersed to say their farewells to their comrades in private, while Bryce's father conversed with the duke and duchess. Justine's eyes remained on Bryce, standing alone with his pain and his grief. She did not bother to ask permission from her companions or excuse herself, but strode purposefully toward the grieving man - the man who was tugging at her heartstrings - and quietly slid her fingers through his to silently tell him he was not alone.

He knew without needing to look that it was Justine by his side, even before her hand crept into his. His fingers wrapped tightly about hers, holding on to the one good thing to have come from his unwilling march into Francia. Tears glistened wetly on his cheeks, but he was calm, gazing into the flames. "He was always the strong one," he said finally, his voice hoarse with the effort of keeping himself composed now the time for open grief was done. "First to speak up, last to walk away from a fight no matter who started it. All my life, I've looked up to Lachlan. How can I face my sister, knowing he died for us?"

"You tell her just what you have told me," she offered, unsure if her advice was very sound. She turned him to face her, not wanting to intrude on his grieving but needing him to remember there were those who still lived who needed him, too. She touched her handkerchief to his cheek, blotting the tears from his face, her own face streaked with tears. "You honor him by making his sacrifice count and keeping his memory in your heart for the rest of your days, and you share those memories with those you love, so they can understand the grief you are feeling and know what he meant to you. If you wish, I will honor that memory with you. We will build a memorial to all the men who died at Berynsford, so that no one will forget what happened there and it will never be repeated again."

He looked down at her, the wealth of pain in his eyes only for her to see, offering his trust to her without needing to say a word. As she wiped the wetness from his cheeks, he felt himself trying to smile, and gave up trying to behave himself. He reached out to draw her close, pressing his cheek against her hair as his arms wrapped about her. "There's no need for memorial," he murmured to her. "When you see the border hills, you'll understand, my wee darling." Drawing in a slow breath that shuddered through him, he kissed her hair softly. "I'm glad you're with me, Justine."

She frowned as he drew her close, not because she was afraid anyone might see, but because she wished she could take this pain from him somehow and help him to find happiness again. "I'm glad, too, Bryce," she whispered back as he held her close, the steady beat of his heart beneath her gloved hand. "Then you keep his memory safe here, cher coeur," she added. "For as long as you do, he lives on in your memories and your heart." She spoke as if she was someone who knew, having lost loved ones of her own, but she was not yet ready to speak of those losses. This was not the time nor the place - this was his time to grieve and she only wished to give him comfort. Right there and there, she decided that their firstborn son would be named for those they had both loved and lost - for his brother and her father, whether the names mixed well or not. Lachlan Jacques Darroch would be his name, and he would be as brave and as kind as his namesakes - they would make sure of it.

Aidan chuckled, nodding approvingly to Bryce just once before answering the young lady. "Dinnae make the same mistake ma own wee bonny did, is what I'd be saying," he told Justine. "But I can see yer nae flighty spriggit, and ye know yer ain heart and mind. You've nae father tae influence yer decision the wrong way."

Bryce's hand gently covered Justine's on his arm, a silent apology for the less than tactful mention of her own losses. He knew his father didn't mean any harm, but Aidan rarely thought before he spoke.

For once, a confused expression crossed Justine's face as the man hinted as some tragedy of his own, and she tried to focus on that and not the mention of her lack of father. "I am not sure what you mean, my lord, but I can assure you I know my heart well," she told him simply, hoping to put his mind at ease, even if she had only known his son a little over a day.

"Aye, and my lad here has a good heart o'his ain," Aidan nodded, clapping Bryce heavily on the shoulder. Before the younger man could intercede, however, the elder laird had reached out to neatly claim Justine for his own arm, cackling quietly at the defeated amusement on his son's face. "Respect yer elders, boy," he chuckled, looking down at Justine. "Now then, m'lady, what is't ye see in the great lummock" Ye havenae seen him up tae his knees in pig muck yet."

He did not quite answer her question; in point of fact, he hadn't answered it at all, but she let that go for now, not wanting to press him further. All would come clear in good time, she supposed. She looked from one to the other, reluctantly relinquishing Bryce's arm for his father's. It had been a long time since she had been on the arm of an older gentleman, not since Sir Geoffrey had passed on a handful of years ago. Seeing Bryce's annoyance, joined by his father's amusement, Justine could not help but respond in like manner. "To be honest, my lord, it is his tongue that first drew my attention. I thought at first that he was a bit too brash and full of himself. Insufferable, really, but he has a sweet tongue when he wants to use it, and that tempered my original impression of him. What he looks like in pig muck, I do not yet know, but from experience, I can tell you it would be the smell I would find more offensive than the sight."

"Been nibblin', have ye?" the older laird asked, turning his gaze onto Bryce with a wide grin. His son sighed through his own smile.

"Not that it's any of your business, father, but aye," he nodded with a mischievous spark in his eyes. "Careful, she bites."

Aidan laughed aloud, patting Justine's hand. Perhaps it seemed strange, for the men to have shaken off their grief so easily, but the ways of the borderlands were not the ways of Francia at large. "Good fer ye, lassie," he complimented Justine with a grin. "And yer brother wouldnae object tae ye comin' tae Darroch?"

"I have duly warned him that my bark is worse than my bite," she replied with a grin, but that grin quickly faded at the mention of her brother and she glanced over at Bryce nervously. His father, of course, knew that Joslin was recuperating at Darroch - the exchange between the two men was part of the duke's arrangement - but Justine had no way of knowing yet what her brother had planned. Still, she knew Joslin better than anyone - he was her twin, after all. "I know that my brother would never deny me my heart's desire, my lord," she told him, as close to the truth as she could fathom.

Aidan nodded, still patting her hand gently as they walked, Bryce just a step behind them. "The best men ne'er do," he agreed with her thoughtfully. "I've news more recent than ye, lass. Yer Joslin is healing well, and there's nae Coimbran interest in the keep. As of four days ago, he was up and walking aboot, growin' stronger each day that passes."

Tears of relief filled her eyes at the mention of her brother and the news that he was safe and growing stronger every day. "Oh, that is a great comfort to me. Thank you for telling me, and I must one day thank your daughter for helping him. He means a great deal to me, my lord. He is all I have left in this world." That was not quite so true now that she had Bryce, but Joslin was the only family she had left.

"Aye, 'tis hard tae be away from yer kinfolk," Aidan agreed with her gently. "Fair sick wi' worry fer my ain daughter, yet I know she'll be well enough. She's yer brother tae protect her; aye, and she'll protect him." He looked down at Justine curiously. "What sort o' man is he, yer Joslin?" he asked her. "Nae meaning tae attack his honor, lassie, but curious. Juliana has ne'er been alone wi' a man before now."

Alone with a man" The question took her by surprise for some reason, and she wondered if Joslin would be wondering the same about her, though he couldn't yet know that she and Bryce were practically betrothed. She found some irony in their situations, and yet, she knew Joslin best and knew the laird's daughter was safe with him. She lifted her chin a little higher, fondness apparent in her eyes, as well as pride. She was proud of her brother, proud of the man he'd become, and proud to say she was his sister. "He is a Knight of Francia, my lord. He has the heart of a lion and the soul of a saint. Your daughter will be safe with him, of that I can assure you."

"Nae vices, then?" Aidan asked searchingly. "Nae ladyfolk waitin' tae have his particulars or name him father?" He had his reasons for asking; the letter he had received from his bailiff had been all sorts of intriguing. "Yer a good lass, tae speak sae highly o'yer brother, but ev'ry man has his weakness."

"If my brother has any weakness, it is his sense of honor and duty, my lord." She lowered her lashes a moment to hide the sheen of tears that were clouding her vision. "He is stupidly brave and stubbornly noble. I fear for his life each time he rides to battle. I received a letter from him just recently. His entire party was killed by the Coimbrans. Ambushed. An act of cowardice on their part. I thank the Goddess he was spared, but my brother would likely have rather died saving his friends than survived them."

"I think ye may find, lassie, that his opinion o' such a thing may be changin'," Aidan told her a little cryptically, smiling as he patted her hand.

Behind them, Bryce frowned. "What mean you, father?" he asked in a pointed tone of voice. "What other news do you have?"

Aidan glanced back at his son, and down to the young lady beside him. "Meaning tae say, lad, that McCallum is o' the opinion that there'll be a weddin' in the glen when I return," he informed them, his smile deepening. "P'raps I'll be exchangin' one daughter for another."

"Quoi"" Justine whispered, lifting her to head to Aidan, that sheen of tears clear to see as she glanced between the two men, obviously distraught at her brother's absence and surprised at this bit of unexpected news. "A wedding?" she echoed in confusion. Was he saying what she thought he was saying" Had Joslin finally found a lady worthy of his heart?

Bryce came to her rescue, scowling at his father as he took Justine back onto his own arm. "Explain, old man," he told the laird sternly, and for once, Aidan did not tease his son any further.

"McCallum is ma bailiff, lassie," he made this part plain for Justine, first. "He minds ma lands while I'm awa'. T'would seem that there's an attachment growing 'twixt yer brother and ma daughter. McCallum says he's no seen her smile or laugh sae much since yer mother died."

This last was aimed at Bryce, who took the news calmly, despite the thump in his chest. It wasn't that he didn't trust Justine's brother, but he had not met the man, and Juliana was his little sister. He glanced down at Justine, wondering what she made of this.