Title: The Lamentable Truth of Planning

Chapter: 12

~~~~~~~~~~

Had her well-timed, well-placed blow successfully addled his brain? Her intention had been to hopefully kill him, though Jocelyn had known his men would only be unaware of her plan for minutes. One blow was all she’d time for. It was disappointing to not see any blood dripping from his brow. She had to settle for a large bump and perhaps an addled husband. There was a chance it could be an improvement.

Now, she sat on the bedside, watching the surgeon -- Carys -- once more look him over. Adhemar hadn’t been himself since he’d woken only minutes after falling to the ground unconscious. He kept calling her all manner of endearments and that warm look in his eyes was unsettling. Definitely not the sort of improvement she’d been hoping for.

She reached for a piece of bread thickly smeared with honey and took a big bite, chewing slowly. It was delicious. Since Adhemar had woken, she’d strangely discovered her appetite, hunger growling loud in her belly. It made no sense, but she didn’t question it too much, setting herself to satisfying that hunger. “What’s wrong with him,” she asked for what had to be the hundredth time.

Carys glanced her way. He was younger than the last surgeon who’d traveled with Adhemar. The previous one had declined to remain in their employ. Jocelyn supposed being employed by Adhemar in such a capacity could be more than a little dangerous, especially when Adhemar decided to return to battle. “Nothing I can treat at present. If a fever develops in the night, then I’d say bad humors got into his brain while he was unconscious.”

Jocelyn nodded. “Is it possible that this complete change in behavior is from bad humors finally leaving him? Perhaps some were trapped inside?”

He appeared to consider the idea, nodding his head slowly. “Perhaps, my lady. He did have a few hard hits during battle over the years.”

“So it’s possible? His behavior was the product of bad humors and this is the real Adhemar?” She jumped on the explanation with enthusiasm.

“I’m right here, you realize,” Adhemar interjected in a cheery tone, snagging her hand and raising it to his lips. That bump she’d caused on his head was blossoming into lovely purple and black tones. He kissed her hand, tongue flicking out to swirl across her skin. The touch tickled.

It took two jerks to free her hand.

Carys shrugged. “I’ve never personally had a case that lasted very long, but I don’t think it an impossibility. If bad humors did become trapped, I could certainly see his behavior being influenced for the worse.”

“It’d explain much.” Jocelyn reached for the large platter Germaine had brought in, selecting a chunk of cheese to nibble. His tempers, his overall attitude could be explained by that one little thing. If it was true. That was a big if, she decided.

“I’m perfectly well,” Adhemar stated, smiling, one hand raising to touch the bump.

Jocelyn grabbed his hand from it, putting it firmly on the covers and holding it there. He took the opportunity to grasp her hand, thumb now sweeping across where his tongue had touched. It was disturbing, but if she didn’t let him have this, he’d do something worse, like kiss her hand again. Or her arm. For an injured man he was being awfully amorous. She and Carys studied him.

“It was just a tap,” Adhemar maintained. “I’ve survived far worse.”

“Will he stay like this?”

Carys began packing up the bag he’d brought with him. “Hard to know. Watch him. Alert me of any changes.”

“Oh, I will. Believe me, I will.” She had to know if this was real.

~~~~~~~~~~

Christiana was a treasure. Will knew it to be fully true. She was, as had once been pointed out to him, a resource he needed, especially now. He found her in their tent, measuring Wat with bits of string.

“If you don’t stand still, your tunic won’t fit right and I won’t have anyone saying this lady doesn’t provide decent clothing to her household.”

“Roland never had to measure us,” he protested.

“Roland knew both of you for years,” Christiana countered. “He probably had your measurements memorized. I certainly did Jocelyn’s, but I don’t have yours. Now stand still.”

Will crossed his arms and waited until she was finished before asking, “Christiana, what do you remember of a scandal years ago with Adhemar, his uncle, and a lady?”

Wat looked up. “Sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I heard earlier that his uncle stole a bride from him. Is it true?” If it was the truth, it could explain a lot about their rivalry last season.

Shrugging, she pinned the string to a piece of fabric, securing a needle in one end. Will had once seen Roland do the same. “There’s always some sort of scandal in his family. Most people don’t pay too much attention anymore unless it’s something on the scale of London.”

“He was younger then. Maybe a decade ago?”

Her nose scrunched, glance turning upward as she thought. “Well, I recall there was something that happened with a Lady Anne, but I don’t remember if it was in conjunction with Adhemar.”

“Could you find out?”

She smiled. “I could try.”

“Please do.”

Their meal was a pleasant one, spent on a sunny patch of land near a large tree. Adam had spread a blanket out for them. They all ate together, sharing the food spread out. Will eyed the other parties dotting the meadow, noting the definite lack of servants eating with the nobles. The servants waited until the nobles were finished. He couldn’t do that, not like it was expected. These were his friends and he was determined to treat them as such.

When the food was gone, he lay back with his head on Christiana’s lap, her fingers stroking his brow. He’d come to enjoy moments like this, seeking them out. Christiana seemed more than willing to enjoy the moments as well. Will closed his eyes. Maybe tonight after banquet he’d see if their usual goodnight kiss could lead to more. He was betting it could, that she’d let herself be seduced. After all, she was his wife, right? Seduction should be a normal part of their relationship.

“Well, well, isn’t this a lovely scene?”

A shadow fell over him, blocking the warmth of the sun. Will opened his eyes. Henry of Burgundy loomed over them. Christiana’s fingers stilled.

Will resigned himself to being polite. While they’d gone to Henry’s camp on invitation, he’d never felt welcome there. Henry had been too focused on Wat, Adam, and Kate’s absence from the event. Henry’s initial invitation hadn’t indicated the three were invited as well, so they’d remained back at the tent, telling tall tales and trying to best one another at it. Will, Kate and Mark had ended up being the only guests after all. He’d hated it. Silly posturing and false expressions of friendship had abounded the long hours until Christiana had whispered it was acceptable to leave.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Will had learned that Henry of Burgundy’s company was social suicide. Did he care about social suicide? In a way, yes. He was trying to be accepted as a noble, not be ostracized. Being known as one of Henry’s friends wouldn’t help their situation. Still, he was determined to be polite.

“Good afternoon, Henry. Are you enjoying the matches?”

Henry nodded, glance turning to Christiana and lingering. “Tournament has changed since I last attended. The rules are stricter in some areas, looser in others.” He smiled an ingratiating grin, now looking at Kate.

Will noted an ugly light in his eyes and sat up, pretending to realize the time. “It has. Regretfully, we must pack up. I need to prepare for my next match.”

Christiana entered in to that deception with enthusiasm, claiming a million things they needed to attend to and wasn’t it a shame they couldn’t chat longer?

Henry, though, wasn’t as dense as he seemed, flushing, his eyes narrowing. “A definite shame. Kate the farris, I believe I’ll have some business to bring your way very soon. Would that be to your liking?”

“As long as you pay first, my lord.”

With a curt nod, he moved away.

Christiana snorted. “I don’t like that man. He’s boorish, sleazy, and rude.”

“And he cheats his men,” Mark added. “Any man who does that is scum.”

“How do you know that?” Will helped Christiana to her feet. It might be prudent to learn what he could of the man.

“I met a man who works for him -- not one of the ones there that night we went to his camp. He admits he dislikes Henry, but can’t leave. He’s bound to the family, bound to do his bidding even when he’s cheated.”

“What’s his name,” Wat asked, standing. He, Kate, and Adam began to pack away the picnic things.

“I don’t recall that he said it, but he was adamant that his lord wasn’t to be trusted.”

Will considered the advice of that unnamed servant the whole of the afternoon until something came along that destroyed his concentration on the subject.

Adhemar forfeited his afternoon matches. Adhemar. Neither he nor Jocelyn reappeared and Will wondered what had happened. It wasn’t like Adhemar to forfeit. Maybe he’d been called to battle? Maybe Jocelyn had become ill? Or more likely she was simply upset. Christiana had explained what had happened between them, how Adhemar hadn’t told Jocelyn of their marriage then asked her to do the telling.

Kate entered the tent, a curious expression on her face. “I’ve news.” She sank to the ground, copying Wat’s pose and accepting the drink he offered.

Christiana set down her embroidery. “And?”

Will’s attention perked.

“Jocelyn hit Adhemar with a piece of his own armor. A surgeon has seen him and it’s being said that he’s not himself. Apparently, he spouted poetry to her right after she hit him and has been behaving that way ever since.”

Hell. Will gritted his teeth and turned his face away. Adhemar hadn’t wasted any time, had he? Glancing up, he saw Mark watching him, with raised brows. He shrugged, as if to claim he had no idea what Adhemar was up to.

“It’s rumored they’re going to leave first thing in the morning.” She held out the cup for more, Wat obliging.

“That’d be good for us,” Wat said. “Get him away and it’s a guaranteed win. We could use that right now. Establish ourselves early.”

“Do you think Jocelyn really hurt him,” Christiana asked, taking his hand in hers.

“I hope so,” was Wat’s pleased murmur. He shared a long glance with Kate.

“Do you?” Will returned the question to Christiana. She’d known Jocelyn the longest, therefore she’d know if Jocelyn was really capable of it.

Christiana looked at all of them, then nodded. “If you’d seen how she handled her brother after he wronged her years ago, you’d not have to ask it. I’d not want Jocelyn for an enemy. At least not in the same household.”

“What did she do?” Kate handed the cup back to Wat and raised her knees, wrapping her arms about them and resting her chin on her knees. She looked like she was anticipating a grand tale of the sort Geoff had often told in the evenings.

For a moment, Will thought Christiana might actually tell them, but then she shook her head. “I can’t. I promised I’d never speak on it ever again. Suffice it to say, he’s still sorry for what he did.”

“Well, I say it doesn’t matter what happened way back when.” Mark stepped forward. “What matters is if it’ll affect us. I don’t know, so it doesn’t matter. My lord and lady, you must prepare for banquet now. If you wait any longer you’ll be late.”

Christiana hated to be late. She’d made that abundantly clear the previous night when he’d dawdled chatting right outside the hall. Will stood, helped her to stand, and they began to dress for banquet. Sometime during the evening, he was going to slip off to visit Adhemar.

~~~~~~~~~~

While it pained Adhemar to miss his matches, he was pained far more by his physical ills. Jocelyn had set quite a wound onto his brow. He found he could feel his own pulse throbbing right there. When he wasn’t sick from that pounding sensation, he was just plain sick, his stomach rolling about in queasy flip-flops. Not to mention those disturbing moments of feeling lightheaded.

He spent the afternoon resting, pleased when the nausea disappeared because then Jocelyn’s sudden interest in food wasn’t torturous. She spent the day in the tent with him, watching him while she ate, refusing conversation. Germaine brought her pastries, bits of meat, cheese and other foods, always giving Adhemar a cautious glance, as though he wasn’t sure what to make of his lord remaining in bed. It was a valid wondering, as Adhemar had always been up and about as soon as possible the other times he’d been injured. Occasionally, Germaine brought things to be signed, but for the most part, the tent was free of anyone other than himself and Jocelyn.

“Why did you hit me,” he asked her, stretching a hand out to trail it along her arm. He liked the reaction he was getting from her. She looked at him as though she’d no idea how to handle him at all.

She shifted slightly away so that he couldn’t reach her. “I was angry.”

“Why were you angry?”

“Were? I’m still angry.”

“So why then is my goddess still angry?” That word seemed to bother her, for she squirmed in her seat. He made a mental note to use it often. Adhemar rolled onto his side, propping his head up.

“You kept Will and Christiana’s marriage from me.”

“Ahh.”

Jocelyn stared. “Ahh? Is that all you have to say?” She set her tray of food aside and crossed her arms.

“What would you have me say, my love? That I did it to hurt you? I can’t say that, for it’s not true. I knew the truth would hurt and tried to save you from that pain.”

Her eyes widened.

Adhemar wondered what she might say to that. She opened her mouth twice, each time no word falling from her lips. Finally, she shook her head and stood.

“I’m going to the market for awhile. I’ll send Germaine in.”

He almost chuckled with amusement at how fast she fled his presence. Germaine entered the tent a few moments later, several rolls of parchment in his hands.

“Would my lord Adhemar be agreeable to hearing correspondence?” A glance showed Germaine obviously hoping the answer would be ‘no’. He remained by the tent opening, body half turned to the outside.

“Of course.” Pushing himself to sitting, he tried to ignore the pounding in his brow.

Bringing a camp stool close, Germaine perched and opened the first scroll. “You’ve a letter from your mother --”

“Not that one.” He wasn’t in the mood for his mother’s dramatics.

“Oh.” He fumbled for the next one. “You’ve a letter from Lady Anne --”

“Not that one.” Nor was he in the mood for Anne’s dramatics. That she’d written indicated something brewing between the two at home. Probably some power struggle over a daily menu or something. “Are there any letters from someone not at my home?”

Germaine’s gaze dropped. “Not today, my lord. However, there is a message from Sir William.”

“Have you read it?”

He shook his head. “No, my lord. It just arrived a few minutes ago. I’d not a chance to --”

He held out a hand. Now here was something interesting. “Give it here.” Taking the paper, he opened it. Interesting indeed. Thatcher wanted to meet with him. He smiled. “My clothes, Germaine. I’ve decided to take a stroll by the stables.”

Germaine paused, setting the scrolls on the top of the Jocelyn’s trunk. “My lord…the surgeon wishes you to remain in bed until morning.” The reminder was soft and held the slightest tone of fear to it. He swallowed hard, wincing slightly.

Adhemar ignored it. If he was going to fool Jocelyn, he’d need to behave differently to everyone. At least for awhile. So he didn’t punch Germaine for his impertinence in reiterating the surgeon’s words to his lord. The resulting confusion was nearly as satisfactory as punching. Maybe he really could work with this. The idea pleased him. “Carys is cautious. Too much so. I’m feeling a world better since my lovely lady watched over me these hours. The balm of her hand healed far more than the surgeon’s cautions.”

“My lord?” Germaine blinked several times, shook his head, then shrugged. “I’ll get your clothes.”

Confusion, Adhemar decided, was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~

With Christiana occupied entertaining their hostess, the Lady Alyse, Will stole from the hall. There were enough people there that no one would hopefully notice his absence. Mark met him on the path to the stables.

“What if he brings lots of men with him?”

“He won’t,” Will said, with the emphasis on the second word. He was certain Adhemar wouldn’t because he knew what Adhemar was up to. Adhemar had disdained the idea of poetry because his friends, family and men would consider him daft. Adhemar’s words, not Will’s. Now, he’d the perfect excuse and if Jocelyn was to believe it, he’d have to sell it to everyone. He wouldn’t want to ruin it by attacking Will. The opposite should hold true in public, Will decided. Adhemar would behave in public as though all was well between them, the past rivalry forgotten.

He found Adhemar waiting like last time. It seemed days had gone by since their prior meeting when in fact it was only a few hours. He motioned for Mark to wait outside and strode into the structure.

“What are you playing at, Adhemar?”

Adhemar spread his arms. “Haven’t you heard? Apparently, it’s all over the camp. My wife has inadvertently cured me of the bad humors plaguing me for years. She is an angel of mercy…” He lowered his arms. “…and has given me a way to use those suggestions without suspicion.”

The genial manner bled from him and Will crossed his arms. “You don’t get it, do you? She’s not stupid. How long do you think you can keep up this pleasant act to everyone?”

He shrugged, spectacularly unconcerned by what Will saw as a major problem to his plan. Adhemar was not a kind man. How on earth was he going to pull this off in any way that would benefit him in the end? “I’ll keep it up as long as necessary.”

“Your life then? Because it’s an ongoing process. An angel she may be, but let up once and she’ll crucify you. Believe me. The favor of a goddess is nothing compared to what she’ll do in her wrath.” Why was he bothering warning him anyway? Will knew very well Adhemar wasn’t going to take this advice, not when he’d set himself on this path.

Adhemar was smug in his certainty that he was pulling the wool over Jocelyn’s eyes. “I thank both you and your wife for aiding me this day, William. I owe your household a debt and I do honor my debts. If you call upon me for aid someday, I’ll aid you in order to make it even between us.”

“It’s not over, Adhemar. This is a deception and I never suggested --”

“It is over.”

When the man had gone, Will shook his head, wondering at the stupidity Adhemar was showing in this dealing with Jocelyn. “I’d hate to be him when she finds out,” he remarked to no one in particular, then turned on his heel and left the stable.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the first time, Jocelyn couldn’t fully ignore Adhemar in bed beside her. Her mind wouldn’t disengage, though she’d spent all evening trying. First, she’d wandered the market with Bess, buying whatever had caught her eye. Then, she’d peered in at the banquet to watch the dancing. The sight of Christiana and Will together had sent her fleeing back to the tent -- and Adhemar. Her current problem.

“Adhemar,” she ventured, removing his hand from her breast, “Carys says physical activity isn’t good for your injury. You’re supposed to rest.”

“What better rest than the succor of my wife’s sweet, nurturing embrace?”

While she couldn’t argue that on principle, there’d never been a time in their acquaintance where she’d held him in sweet embrace. Jocelyn sighed. His hand slipped down her to the hem of her shift, caressing along her legs.

Here she’d had a particularly tiring day, what with Christiana’s news and dealing with him, and he wanted to fulfill his husbandly rights!

He took the opportunity of her quiet to raise his head a fraction and kiss her, lips feathering along hers, coaxing and gentle, before trailing kisses back down to her breast where he rested his head.

Lord, this was wearing her out!

He wanted to rest his head on her breast, insisting that her perfection was giving him rest. He wanted her to stroke his hair and that horrible bump on his brow. He wanted…. Jocelyn knew what he wanted in the end, yet he kept insisting that her nearness caused ecstasy to grow inside him, that he was content to lay beside her.

Jocelyn wondered again if she’d addled his brains. She sighed again, louder. “Oh, fine. Just get it over with.”

Adhemar raised his head at her cross tone. “Get what over with, my love? My goddess? My --”

“Enough. Please. I’m tired. Do it already and let me sleep.”

His hand raised, fingers caressing her face. “I would bask in your nearness and sleep safe in your arms.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. The anticipated seduction she’d thought he was building up to didn’t come. Instead, he rested his head once more on her breast and bid her goodnight. Confusion was a rising tide inside her.

Had Adhemar been changed?