Duncan and Elspeth embrace. Finally. And both seem about to swoon with the joy of it. "Oh my man -- my lovely man," Elspeth sighs, with a depth of spirit deeper and more heartfelt than any words can have meaning for.

Duncan is almost taken aback. So sensitive from the exhaustion of journey and recent war, affection in any form seems something not quite right. Something perhaps with ulterior motives. "Not so lovely I'm thinking. Tired and old would fit me better now," he says in low thoughtful tones.

"Never my love," she returns, and closes her eyes. Her face dreamy and adrift in memory. "If I close my eyes right here and now and remember back the day you left, and open them again, it's the exact same man I see. And will always."

Her eyes open, sparkling and full of rich warm life. Duncan looks deep into them and sees the truth of her words and her love. "If I ever felt old and used all up," he says with all his heart. "You've given me back my happy days."

The Highlanders smile, and the old Lord notes that it is time to leave the lovers to some privacy. "Come away, gentlemen, and let's talk about your wounds over a dram, eh?"

Ranald takes him as good as his word. "Oh aye. There's this terrible gash this lucky Russian gave me..." And as the words leave his lips, the doughty Highlander starts to raise his kilt. There is an audible gasp from the crowd.

Taking a cue, Duncan and Elspeth move away to a "secluded" corner, hiding away in an alcove by a rich tapestry depicting deerhounds tearing at a trapped wolf. Elspeth still cannot believe her good fortune. Reunited with her handsome fellow. "You're home and safe at last my Duncan. And it's the dream I've had every day of you. Every day. Striding in so bold and beautiful. Ready to take me in your arms. And mine to comfort you. Comfort you," she says as they kiss briefly. Almost fearfully. "And soft enough to keep you from wandering away again. There's no steel as strong."

Duncan reaches deep down, speaking low. "There were times my dear, on the battle field, or on the freezing ground with dead men all about, that I'd have given my life for one sight of you. And now that you're here in front of me...well, the words...I knew them all by heart once."

She puts tender fingers to his lips. "Quiet my love," she says. "We've a life time and more to say our words to each other. But now, I want to kiss my husband, once, so we will both know it is no dream." They kiss deeply. But then, a fanfare interrupts their moment. The King of Scots has arrived. There is a great commotion by the excited crowd as the pair step out into the open. Sutherland motions over to them.

"The man himself, Duncan. After all these years away in London you would think they'd forgotten him," Sutherland says in a manner well resigned. Even as the crowd swells with happy excitement as the King approaches down the hall but still just out of view.

"And he us," Duncan responds. But his tone is much more obvious. And clearly disapproving.

Sutherland grins as he says, "Well, it's an amazing thing, but one's memory can become as sharp as a blade when it needs to cut some purse strings into waiting hands."

This last statement seems incredulous to young Elspeth. "The King? Seeking funds?" It is beyond her reasoning.

"Oh aye," says Sutherland. "Come back to Scotland most like to sell peerages for coin to fill the treasury. Offering them up by the bucket full in England. But I'll wager he'll have a harder bargain here. There's Lords a plenty in Scotland, and the ones who aren't all think they are already."

"Just be careful he doesn't take yours away just to sell it back to you," smirks Duncan, meaning it.

"And at twice the price," Elspeth rejoins.

"Well," says the old Lord. "I'd be glad at least that some one other than myself thought me worth it." They laugh. And just then James walks into the great hall. There is a great flourish all about him – but not from him. He looks old, doe-eyed, and quite bored. He is elegantly and richly dressed in thick red brocaded velvet, ermine, and silver. But it seems, somehow, wasted and inappropriate. It is a common, homely face perched among alien finery. And all the more odd because of it.

With their own opinions about dress, the two Highlanders smirk at his ridiculous appearance. "Does he always dress that way? How does he breathe?" remarks an amazed Ranald in their native tongue.

"I'm sure it's off quick enough if a handsome young boy catches his eye. He'll do some breathing then," Angus casually responds, with some accepted rumors obviously in his possession.

Ranald is mockingly amazed at this effrontery to royalty. "That's the King you're talking about."

"Aye," says Angus. "Who else?"