-We do not accept those like you in our cause, do you understand?- powerful hands grabbed with force the cloak of precious green fabric that covered the shoulders and hid the young man's face.
-Aristocrats like you, always with the stench under their noses, who believe they are who knows who...- those hands had started lifting his body, who by now began to be afraid of what could happen .
Fresh drops of sweat began to descend from the pale forehead of the young noble, until they slipped on his face.
He had presented himself there, in that place, at the abandoned armory, it was evening but he did not expect to be able to find anyone else on his way who could question his innocence.
The rebels were fighting for peace, for equality, but apparently some of them were against the nobility.
The man who held him like this was much bigger, massive than him yet whether he was noble or not it didn't matter, as he was now in difficulty.
Another voice, calm, masculine, broke into the conversation, almost as a sign of destiny in his favour, as if to want to save him.
He knew that voice.
-What's going on here? What is all this chaos?- asked the voice echoing inside the armoury.
He sensed that the person who had spoken was approaching, coming outside between the fields full of fresh green grass and the dark sky covered with a thousand silver stars.
-One of the monarchists tried to crash into the encounter- repeated the big man, turning his gaze to the other and lifting the young man's body again and with more force
-but soon I will annihilate him...-.
The noble heard a knife being extracted from the leather case, he was afraid, he was sweating, the only thing he wanted was to be able to access the meeting, but not die, not like this.
He closed his eyes tightly as the hood of his cloak that once covered his face slid over his shoulders to show the young man's true identity.
His red hair, his pale and freckled face, those eyes, the color of wood, and his nose, slightly upturned.
There was no doubt, at least for Francis that was presiding there at that moment and communicating with the strong and aggressive man.
The marquis noticed the brooch that tied the green and precious cloak, the golden harp that tied his cloak to his chest.
The symbol, the coat of arms of the lands of southern Ireland, there was no doubt that it was a Dustin.
-You are seriously getting into trouble- Francis said turning his brown eyes towards the man who still held the Earl's body lifted from the ground -don't you know that is a Dustin? One of the Earls of Southern Ireland...-.
At those words the man loosened his grip on the shirt and cloak, the young man was under the illusion that he would soon be released.
-Say...- his saviour continued to speak this time addressing the prisoner -which of the twins are you?-.
-Dickon- came out as a faint stammer from the young man's lips, his words came into his throat choked with fear -Dickon Dustin-.
At those words it was also clear for the man it was convenient to let him go, if he didn't really want to go against one of the strongest and richest houses.
He let go of the body and as the soles of his prized shoes touched the ground again, the Earl could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Fear and anxiety were sweeping Dickon's body at that moment, when he was lifted off the ground, now he could finally breathe again.
That man had almost pointed a knife at him only because he came from a noble family.
This didn't make sense, he couldn't have it.
-A noble is still a noble- muttered that huge man so -this was my father always said and my father was a wise man...-.
Francis firmly grabbed Dickon's forearm and pushed him inside so much so that he almost lost his balance.
He would have preferred to lose his balance than to die at the hands of that man.
On the other hand, the young Earl was only eighteen, he couldn't die in such a way.
As the other dragged him inside the abandoned armoury, a mixture of smells mixed in his nostrils.
A smell of old, of antiquity, that the darkness brought with it, the damp smell of moss that grew on the walls, the stench of mold.
The place had been abandoned for decades now, if not more.
He imagined no one had been there since at least the House of Hanover came to power.
The family Hannover had come to power in the mid-1600s with the grandfather, George I.
And still after generations, they reigned undisturbed over every territory of Great Britain.
But that dominion had to end very quickly, due to the absurd and unfair behaviour of the princess regent Isabelle.
She was giving too much priority to the noble houses that interested her and at the same time she was letting her people suffer hunger and fatigue.
Isabelle had to be stopped, because despite being fifteen she did not seem to develop the wisdom or emotions necessary to lead and represent a nation.
The princess killed without remorse any person who stood in her way, she played with human lives like puppets in her hands and she didn't let anyone else take power at her side.
No one was in the cold, dark and smelly armoury, not even one person but Dickon, Francis and someone else, who now sat on the flat, woody surface of a large table in the distance.
-What the hell are you doing here?! Don't you know it's dangerous?!- Francis reproached his friend further by grabbing his shoulders and letting him softly blush - if Isabelle found out not only would we end up in trouble but also you and your brother, together with your cousin...-.
Dickon turned his gaze away from him, his pale and freckled face soon took a grimace of fear and bewilderment. He had only made the right choice, at least so he thought.
The Earl turned his gaze into the distance, towards the rest of the huge structure, he had perceived the noise of the old wood, someone moving there, approaching them.
He sharpened his gaze, but no matter how hard he tried it was impossible for him to understand who it was.
Not a single light, apart from that of the stars, illuminated the old ruin and the fact of not knowing who the other individual was soon made him incredibly nervous.
It was dark, cold and in that moment when the young Dustin huddled in his cloak of precious green fabric, he just wanted to be at home, in Ireland.
He missed that place immensely: his parents, his older brothers and sister apart from his twin, with whom he was happy to spend his days together.
Obviously he hadn't said anything to William, he hadn't revealed his secret to him or anyone, that he had been involved in dangerous business.
It was too risky for him and everyone he cared about if Isabelle found out.
On the other hand, being noble at that moment hadn't helped him at all, on the contrary, it had made him more of a victim and hostage to the princess.
A hand rested lightly on Francis's shoulder.
Dickon opened his eyes and as that mysterious figure came closer to him it was easier for him to understand who she was.
Her mulatto skin, those thick and beautiful black curls, the blue eyes like the sea, it was Brooklyn, he recognised her, particularly from the light scar on her right eye.
Dickon blushed, remembering the fateful night a few months ago, the night he and his brother first saw her breasts realizing that Brooke was a woman.
He could never forget that night, but it made him agitated and incredibly shy in front of her.
-Francis...- the young woman appealed to her companion, urging him to be less hard on him -let him talk, certainly if he has come this far he will have his reasons...-.
The Marquis released the young man, he let him free, let him speak, but strangely he, out of shyness and fear, was unable to utter any words or noise.
Dickon blushed further, looked away at the ground, at the huge ancient stone floor, and finally, words came out of his narrow pale lips.
-I am here...to take part in the revolution...- he admitted embarrassed by the unexpected situation in which he absolutely did not want to find himself.
The young Earl was shy, he could not speak or defend himself.
Francis on his side shook his head, over and over again, he did not agree with what the young man was saying, he absolutely do not wanted him to take part in their initiative.
Brooke noticed how in mentioning him, her companion became more and more red in the face, she knew what it meant.
Most likely Francis had fallen in love with the young Irish Earl and this Brooke could not accept it.
It was she who was in love with Francis and moreover he had also been her brother's clandestine lover, she simply could not accept that he distanced himself from her.
-It's too dangerous for you...- admitted Francis returning to rest his eyes on Dickon and blushing more -a misstep and you and your whole family could disappear from this earth, do you understand me?-.
The young man put a smile on his freckled face, as his red hair, the colour of the almost extinguished fire, moved guided by the cool and pleasant wind of that evening.
Dickon understood that his friend was worried about him, but on the other hand he had already turned eighteen and joining the revolution was not an option for him.
Brooke tried in every way, out of jealousy to let the young Earl express his opinion, his reasons, the story that had pushed him to that choice.
-I have to do it, for my family...- the young man tried to explain himself as best he could, this time turning his gaze to the two with confidence -this morning my brother and I visited Abigail, our cousin, she is not at all well, I'm afraid she might die at any moment...-.
Brooke's sea-coloured eyes widened.
What did he mean? She had not been able to visit Abigail in those days, but she never expected her to be in such a desperate condition.
-Poor Abigail lives in a room without ever being able to see the light, she is pale, she hasn't slept for days now, for a long time the princess has ordered her to be kept under drugs and sedatives, my cousin draws objects, worrying things and I'm afraid she will soon be unable to distinguish the reality...- Dickon concluded leaving a trace of melancholy sadness in everyone's hearts.
Brooke could hear how in Dickon's trembling voice there were regrets, memories and sadness, she knew the feeling of slowly seeing someone die and not being able to help.
They had to save Abigail, as well as the entire English who now hoped and believed in their ideals, in something more.
-Welcome in our group- Brooke admitted looking away from him.
It hurt her to make such a choice, as long as she knew the young man's presence would have greatly distracted and detached Francis from her friendship.
But this was not the time to be selfish, she had to think about the greater good, the common good, fight against tyranny.
Francis Hoover followed her, placed one of his hands firmly on her shoulder, squeezed it, he wanted to talk to her about her decision to admit Dickon to their cause.
-Are you out of your mind?!- the Marquis asked, slowly whispering in his friend's ear -you can't let everyone become part of the revolution, the Dustins have too many aristocratic alliances, we don't even know if we can trust him...-.
Brooklyn shook her head, she wouldn't change her mind, not when it came to people in need.
The motto of the revolution was that of equality, to fight with force and determination a war that would soon turn on their side.
Isabelle had made only one mistake, earning more enmities than alliances, and soon this mistake of hers would cost her very much.