Wil’s hopeful expression melted before her eyes. He glanced away for a moment before hanging his head. His brown locks lolled forward as he looked down, obscuring the growing sense of frustration forming behind his eyes.<br/><br/>“Ye ur too kind tae say it, but Ah know yer meaning. Yer father wooldn’t approve coz… coz Ah was born a bastard.” He sighed heavily. “An' again th' iniquity ay th' father is visited on th' son,” he said, paraphrasing scripture.<br/><br/>In that moment the young man became incredibly, overwhelmingly frustrated. He stood and began pacing, waiving away any attempt on her part to interject. The venom that spilled out of him had been building up for quite some time. Wylyam had something to say and had to get it off his chest, and his agitated state ramped up his accent and use of native words.<br/><br/>“Ah was ready tae dedicate mah life tae servin' God in the Knights Templar – But to everywon Ah meet my morals ur questionable. Ah came here tae serve mah father as an unwelcome foreigner in a strange land – An' yet mah sense ay duty is suspect. A stoatin mony nobles cheat oan their wi'es at every turn an' yet the children ay these unions ur treated loch criminals – as if we ur to blame! Ah work, barnie, train, pray, polish armor – everythin’ – twice as stoaner as my peers; yet Ah am below them aww.”<br/><br/>He was shouting now, his frustration reaching a crescendo in Elizabeth’s presence even though it was not directed at her. “Ah stand tae inherit a county. A County! But yer father cooldn’t imagine ye wi’ me; ‘at is mah lot. Ah value honor an’ trust above aww things an’ yit I am granted nane.”<br/><br/>Suddenly Wil found himself without anything else to say as he fell into an emotionally exhausted silence. The ups and downs of the past few minutes had worn away any sense of decorum. His legs gave out and he sat down on the ground exactly where he had been standing, his head lolled forward once again. His voice faded to almost a whisper as his spirit collapsed under the weight of his burden.<br/><br/>“Perhaps… perhaps it’s fur th’ best. Mebbe yer father is right. If we were tae wed… ye woods bear this shame as well. As woods our children. Tae th’ third and foorth generation,” he added, again quoting the Old Testament. He raised a palm to his right eye as he continued, his long hair obscuring the mist that was forming there. “Ah wooldn’t wish thes on ye,” he said, still unable to look up. “Ah cooldn’t burden ye wi' aww this. E'en still, trust meh on this: Ah will ne'er, ever truly be happy… as lang as we ur apart.”