The Golden Harrow Tavern

James walked ahead but noticed she lingered back - staying in the tavern’s yard. He paused, looked ahead and after seeing that the path ahead stretched before them uninterrupted, looked back to her.

“What is it?” he asked with a rather amused smile upon his lips, shrugging his shoulders curiously as he took a few paces back to her. Perhaps his letters had been written too hastily, indeed, he could barely remember what he had written. He knew the ink had fallen like girlish tears upon the crisp parchment and the red wax to seal the note had caught a flame from the candle which he had to stamp it out with his seal. He remembered - more than anything - the peculiar sense of guilt when he handed it to his squire, he didn’t hide the letter from Mary…yet, nor did he tell her of it. He called himself a fool, a mad fool, for pursuing whatever this was with Isabel - but he was hooked and he had stopped trying to resist. He allowed himself to be reeled closer…

"You told me I was your equal your match too. Yet you still adore you're wife as if you did not confess such things." I felt somehow used like I was a little play thing for him something he brought out when bored. He didn't remember you could tell by his baffled expression that filled his face.

“You are right. You are my equal,” he replied simply, “But you are not my wife,” he added tentatively, his voice quiet and deep, “Nor shall you be.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, wiping away the sweat from the sun which throbbed down upon them - unusually hot for August. He was drawn to her, that was for certain. It had grown since their first meeting, gradually enveloping him - like a storm on a summer’s day. It came quite out of the blue and had now left no part of him untouched.

As much as he was beguiled by her wit and her dark looks, he was an honourable man. He had never loved another while one woman shared his bed, least of all Mary. He was truly convinced that Mary was the only woman who could make him happy. Indeed, they were different, but they fit well together. Her delicate frame slipped neatly by his side. Isabel would not. As much as they could pull onto each other and tumble in the effort, as much as the embrace would be fraught with passion - it would burn out or end bitterly. He was bewitched by Mary, it might have been her eyes or her voice that had done it - but he was as mad for her as the day they met. He might look at Isabel’s lips with a lusty eye but never could he love her as he loved Mary.

“I…plainly, I am…vulnerable to you, Isabel, your dark looks and crooked smile…they…but I can’t. You know I can’t."

Did I look like a wanton lady to him same crappy talk different day month even. "I gather you are being rather straight to the point screw her feelings point." I didn't want to be someone he looked upon in a way you do when your eye wanders. I simply just wanted to be his friend but it was growing increasingly hard. Whenever we saw each other it was a feeling of dancing on thin ice he not wanting to trip up and fail at his marriage. "I wish not to be your friend anymore; James. It's too much for me to see you and to have you swan around knowing I can't have you."

“You have known, Isabel, you have known all along that this could never become anything,” he retorted with a sigh, “As much as we might both wish for it. God knows there have been times when I…”

He trailed off. Often had he reflected upon her padding about the cottage, smiling and tired from her travels while she embraced him in nought but that shirt. He had allowed his imagination to remove that shirt from her shoulders and see it land on the floor, he had tasted her in his imagination, he had not left the cottage. Yet it was merely a figment of his imagination and he prayed for restraint. He had never needed to stop himself from following his passions, he had tumbled simply from the arms of one into the bed of another. However, he had never loved as he loved Mary and that was the only thing keeping him from succumbing.

“I am sorry - truly - for…for allowing this to go on for so long."

No word of lie to like somebody as much as I did was torture. My mind was preoccupied with him and no matter how far I went I could not erase the remaining pigments of him. It was bittersweet to walk away from him and her homeland, but it would all end up badly beyond the point of no return."I ask that you do not write to me let me be happy just as you are happy." Love was never enough for human beings anyway. Whilst people would be happy in their relationships and marriages they would always search for something.

James sighed in resignation. He would have pressed her further if he was that type of man and insisted they continued to struggle between friendship and something more. Quietly he told himself that one day they would greet each other as old friends, she would be married or the feelings would have passed and all would be well. Yet, a dark part of him, skulking in the shadows of his mind, imagined her coming to him at night - finally succumbing to whatever this was.

“Then I’ll leave you,” he said, “I’ll leave you be."

Their were no words that I could think of to say no goodbye just the silence of the wind and the beating of our hearts. Such a bizarre friendship we had formed yet I knew that I would miss him. Until perhaps another would come and distract my mind which was flooded with thoughts of only him. For now here is where our story ends I couldn't think of anything productive to say other than "Stay with me I need you more" I kept that thought to myself.

It was late morning when James left the castle. The frost had gone and the fog was lifting. Yet, aside from the cold, it was the tavern's patrons he sought to avoid. The inn was always busier in the winter, packed full of cold men with empty bellies. James knew from his own memories that the chambers high up in the gallery would be opened for men too drunk to go out into the cold night and he knew they would leave as late as possible. It was the same men with whom James had celebrated the birth of his son. He would avoid the awkward explanation of his presence when possible...

He entered the tavern with some hesitation. He saw it was empty and indeed surprisingly clean. He took a seat near the door and reclined into the chair. He'd not left the palace since the birth of James and it was strange for him to be outside of court again.

Her heart and his neck would be safe so long as they kept their distance. But; of course; that was never going to happen. In the darkness of my deepest heart; I came to the realisation of just how much a single person can mean to somebody. It had hit me like a thief in the night awakening me from a peaceful slumber to a shirt of sweat sticking to my back. I know I stood and let him walk away letting him down not knowing what to say. Left only with a beauty of a dream how I still long for his arms that held me there. It still felt strange that James was now a father! Had I been living with my head in the clouds these past few months. It was bound to happen at some point it just felt that life had been spinning around twirling me around with different emotions flickering here there and everywhere. One thing was for certain his friendship had kept me grounded even if "inappropriate" feelings did arise from beneath the surface. Taking a bottle of mead I sat with my back to the tavern. In truth; I felt somewhat aged and washed out. "We're closed" I called out to the gentle; soft footsteps that fell lightly against the floor.

He almost shut his eyes as he stretched out with a deep grumble beneath his breath, reclining into the chair and lolling his long legs over a stool. The scar above his heart had started to ache with the winter, as it so very often did, yet it was soothed if he was still and held his hand over his chest…the other on his dagger, a force of habit. He noticed things were entirely as they normally were and it occurred to him to wonder if it had always been so - the candle wax everywhere, the place dark and warm even during the day, the homely smell of ale…

Before he drifted too entirely into his thoughts he heard the voice of Isabel. He didn’t quite know what he felt when he heard her. If he were a boy he might have jumped up and flushed red, if he were older he may have been honest about how he felt around her. Yet, he was as he was and so he smirked - the charming kind he wasn’t entirely aware of and retorted, “Closed even to me?"

I paused my hand; which held my cup of mead just inches away from my mouth. I was surprised to see that he had come back. Guessing that his life was in a state of bliss; I thought he would never want to leave it. I didn't look at him immediately encase he had changed since becoming a father. I quietly sighed; putting all my weight on the chair that supported my weight. "I suppose I can make an allowance just this once." For some reason I couldn't move my body not willing it to look at him as if he would turn me into stone. "How is fatherhood treating you." My voice was as still as a running river friendly yet somewhat cautious. A lot had changed for me since I last saw him. Things had taken place events that James would never know about because the people involved aren't loyal to James as I seemed to be. I quickly slid off the gold band that had been around my finger for the better part of a month. Had I deceived James by marrying an Outlander? The very same Outlander I had told him of the first time we met.

He wondered how it would have been if he was just a normal man and there were no servants and maids. Would he and Mary have found each other again so quickly or would they bicker like he assumed most married couples eventually would. Indeed, James only saw his son a few times a day but he couldn’t say if he wailed through the night. Of course he asked but he only ever saw his smiles or heard his gurgles, "Very well,” he eventually replied warmly.

It was strange how he and spoke. It seemed eerily like how he had thought of her in the months of their separation. Her voice echoing about him while she remained invisible. He glanced around the tavern to locate exactly where she was speaking from. He rose up, having to immediately duck again so his head would not hit the low wooden beams. Finally he saw her and grinned. In a few steps he moved closer to her and leaning against a beam peered down to her.

“You’re different,” he said playfully, furrowing his eyebrows theatrically.

"You seem dissatisfied with the fact that I might've changed during our absence from one another. I am still the same Isabel James." It was secrets that were new in myself in truth, I felt like a wall had gone up between our friendship. So much had clearly happened in both of our lives I was not in a position to discuss such changes. With my foot I pushed out a stool from under the table. When James was inquisitive as was the look on his face now as he had a certain sexual appeal that came across him. From our past experiences we had both danced so close to fire the only thing that stopped us... Was the love he had for his wife.

“Am I so fickle?” he asked playfully and eventually moved to sit down opposite her.

There was a difference about her yet couldn’t quite place what. She seemed calm, unaffected by having him near her - just as she had first been when they met. Her dress was one he had not seen on her before and before he had a chance to realise where his mind was going, he was picturing her in that house in Auchlyne when she had come home...to him. Her hair wasn’t as wild as it had been then, in fact it seemed darker and as if she had tried to tame it.

“You are the same,” he mused, “Yet you are keeping something from me, I think. Come now, you know all my secrets and I know none of yours."

I frowned at the last words that he spoke I had told him a few secrets. Even in my most desperate of times I went to his court and told him about my life which was facing predicaments. I couldn't be angry that he didn't remember what I had told him James saw a great amount of people who all told them their tales. I was battling with my mind whether to tell him or not would we still be friends? No; it was silly to think that our friendship would end. After all; he too was a married man. I am now a married woman. I married the outlander.

James paused for a moment - a wide eyed, strange and punctuated silence. Finally he shut his eyes and let out a sigh, “Oh for Christ sake, Isabel,” he said mournfully, “Why?”

It was the last thing he had expected. Indeed, he assumed she would confess that she would be travelling away somewhere or that she had new means of employment…but not marriage, never marriage. He hated him - whoever he was - he hated him. He swore under his breath in Gaelic, a habit he had developed around Mary - he didn’t imagine she would be fond of his usual crass language, “One of the people who hurt your wrist?” he asked, trying to contain his anger. He was not angry at her - but himself. He had entirely failed her by not dragging her back to palace and ensuring she was safe. Perhaps it could be annulled, he could still find a place for her in court.

I knew that his reaction would not be easy I was not accustomed to his anger or seeing him like this either. I outstretched my hand; placing with caution on his like trying to soothe a wild horse. Come now James I don't wish to argue about this with you! Your friendship means a lot to me. The world is very different for us ladies even you know that. I guess I am a different side of your life away from the court. That's why it would be so awkward if I did come to court.

James shook his head mournfully, his brow furrowed and swore again. He fell silent when he looked at her hand on his. For a moment it hushed him, but then he could see the white flesh of her wrist and he grew angered again to think she was married to someone who thought it right to hurt her.

“This is my fault,” he said and shrugged his shoulders in exasperation, his fingers combing through her’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I can have it annulled. Who was the priest? Clerics can be bribed,” he said abandoning his faith and belief in a transparent church of Rome. He scarcely realised that he abandoned what he held true so easily for her.

You are speaking like a mad man and it scares me. He is slightly older than both of us a very powerful Outlander I won't have you tear Scotland apart like a man crazed for his lust for a fight. Maybe I would regret telling him my words seemed to only cause him more anger than I actually intended. Nothing was ever easy with our friendship I constantly pushed James away only to eventually see him again. We have been toxic to one another; yet somehow we couldn't be parted from our friendship for long.

James swallowed his anger and with a sigh, sat back, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled deeply, not looking at her.

Had she been in the palace, as he had always intended, then she would not have been married off to some knave. Had he kept his word she would not have been bound in the way she was. He didn't fear her husband - not his age or position. If he was older then James could fight better and if he was powerful then James could construct his fall to be greater. Yet he couldn't now - any harm to her husband would harm Isabel.

There was a part of him, the same that she had stirred, which mourned her in a way. Now that she was married she could not be with him so easily. Perhaps it was more than that but he daren’t admit it to himself.

“Do you love him?” he asked, his dark gaze flickering up to her.

I had never experienced love with a man before and I was certain that it would not change. Perhaps James wanted to me to be in love so to make the boundaries more clear between us. I simply nodded my head as a yes; it wasn't to hurt him or out of pure spite I was just saying what I thought he wanted to hear from me. Tell me about your son James.

He glanced down as she gave her reply. He wasn't sure why it pained him, that little nod. It was so plain and yet it felt as if she had denied him in some way. There was no attempt to explain any great affection and ardent love nor any words of hatred for the man. It occurred to James that Isabel spoke of love the way he did - simply without any great poetic talent.

“He’s very little,” James began, his voice breaking slightly. He cleared his throat and stood up. He needed ale. James made over to a bench and collected a pitcher of ale.

“I’ve never seen anyone so small,” he continued as he brought the ale over to the table, already drinking straight from the jug, “I think he is strong. I hope he is. When he cries it is like a lion,” he said and laughed proudly to himself. He didn’t think a child could scream the way his boy did.

James sighed ran his hand through his dark hair and flashed his gaze to Isabel, "Why  do it, Isa?" he asked, unable to fully let it go.

I couldn't comprehend why he was acting so hurt by my choice. We're friends who at times like to flirt that was it nothing more nothing less. It was his current behavior that had made me hold back from ever telling him just exactly what was going. In a time when I needed his support as my friend I felt even more lonely a surge of sadness welling up inside me. I closed my eyes as his words hung in the air like a toxic plague. I myself had no reason as to why I thought it best to marry a man I did not love. I could never have James selfishly; I had tried to tempt him for my own needs but he was loyal throughout. We did not part on the best of words last time. So forgive me if I decided to not tell you about my life events I thought you would understand my situation it appears not.

James sighed, “I do understand,” he replied, yet he scarcely did. Of course, as she was a woman then she would have certain expectations thrust upon her. However he had offered her his protection, long before their bitter parting. Under no circumstances would he have given away his promise to look after her. If she had asked him to come to her, he would. Perhaps he was bruised by her not asking for him to come to her or that she would no longer be able to be with him as often.

“Forgive me, Isabel,” he said and leaned over the table to her, “Do you still live in the tavern…is he here?"