James finds himself in the middle of a group of Lords, Ladies and assorted sycophants. And is apparently quite ill at ease. He seems to look past people, and not at them. Out and beyond the walls that surround him. Perhaps hoping his vision of a quieter, more solitary place will become manifest before him if he ignores the real world that is mere inches away.

Duncan, finely tuned from years of combat and close human quarters notices the attitude immediately. And is even more perturbed by the lack of even an illusion of regality and nobility. After all, what was a Monarch for, if not the perceived notion of who and what he was. Condescendingly he says, "I've never met a real king before. What are we supposed to do, just stand and stare at him?"

"Till he gets bored," says Sutherland. "Which should be any moment now, seeing as he's talking to Lord Drummond, who is no doubt talking about his gout."

The corpulent Drummond is indeed speaking of his gout. "...yes, your Grace, it is an over abundance of rich food my physician says. Can you believe that?"

"Would never have crossed my mind." James responds to the bloated peer even as his vision searches the room, finally coming to rest on Sutherland. "Oh there, Sutherland."

Sutherland sighs, having been discovered. "Ahh. You know, there is a lot to be learned from Drummond." Duncan and Elspeth smirk very slightly. Without a beat Sutherland turns and walks to the King. His face a mask of grinning good fortune.

"Your Majesty! You do honor us and make all Scotland proud by giving us the rare privilege of such close attentions," says Sutherland in a completely convincing manner.

But James, well used to the blunt manner of his Scots, even when speaking in loving tones, is not so subtle. Though the conventions seem so as he speaks, imperiously in a lowland Scots accent, only slightly touched by 14 years south of the border.

"Not so rare my Lord, if you would but pay us the pleasure of your company in London. It would suit you I'd think. Rich surroundings, the finest of food, women and culture. Something worthwhile to spend your money on, eh?"

Sutherland gets the un-subtle hint about funds. As he is meant to. "Perhaps," he responds after a short pause.

"You cannot know what you are missing if you stay put in your rainy glen," the King says. But Sutherland gingerly takes up the sparring.

"Very Gracious your Majesty, but what made do with your Highness before his ascension to the English throne suits my needs fully -- minus of course, your presence." It is a calculated tone of arrogance, tempered by the knowledge that the King knows the lay of his native land. Or hopes at least that he has not forgotten.

The King's aide, an English man speaks up, snidely. "You speak sir, with a tongue as if bewitched with your homeland."

Sutherland will not suffer a foreigner to play the less than subtle Scots game. He spits out thinly veiled insults. "Ah, bewitched and witches -- I know it is a favorite subject of His Majesty, and I have read his most informed book on the subject. But for my homeland, well, it is as with yourself I am gathering, and longing for your London you must be than to keep with our meaner comforts."

James puts an end to this. More out of boredom as his slithering tongue says, "Soon enough for all I am thinking, to be in our places."

Sutherland knows when to shut up. But the nameless Englishman does not. "Do you not believe then in witches?" he asks, with seeming, genuine amazement. Though whether this is a well rehearsed face for his sovereign one cannot tell. "Not believe in those satanic sisters and their wizard-lord Bothwell who made an attempt on the life of his majesty? Indeed more than once." The King winces at the recollection of his b�e noire, Francis Stewart, the Earl of Bothwell. Notorious hellion, border thug, and reputed warlock – now safely exiled to a continental grave.

Sutherland can not but help himself in responding. Whether or not it is the King's puppet spouting for his majesty he neither knows, nor cares. "I believe that there are those who live only in the dark and know no God but themselves, but whether they possess powers supernatural..."

The King interrupts with great – and final – authority. "If we believe that God exists, and who does not, and that some are his appointed ones in this earthly life, then it must stand to reason that the devil exists, and that his appointed ones walk the earth to oppose him."

The very mild threat is obvious to Sutherland – and to Duncan who stands nearby. Greatly annoyed at James for his own rude tone directed so curtly towards his friend. He steps up and says quite loudly and very direct, "Your 'divine' logic prevails as it must your Majesty."

They all turn, somewhat startled. A common man, not introduced or given his leave. And commenting on an eavesdropped conversation. His slightly veiled commentary on James' severe notion of the divine right of kings quite obvious to all. Sutherland sputters quickly to protect his friend when he says, "Your Grace, may I present my good friend and your loyal subject, Duncan Hamilton. Just back from Gustavus Adolphus' war against the Russians."