Title: The Lamentable Truth of Planning

Chapter: 16

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn spent her days plotting accidents designed to smack Adhemar upon the head and bring those humors back. Most didn’t succeed. Indeed, he seemed to have a knack for avoiding each planned accident. The last had sent Germaine to his bed for two days with blurred vision and headaches. Though Jocelyn had tried to explain to him the reason for it as she’d nursed him, Germaine now refused to come close to her without Bess or other servants present.

She fretted and fumed over the subject of those humors, finally deciding she’d just have to take matters into her own two hands. Literally. No more leaving things to chance.

Their bedchamber was filled with wonderful things to use as weapons, from candlesticks to Adhemar’s favorite weapons, but in the end she chose the tray on which their wine usually waited. Today, the pitcher was empty. Carefully, she removed the cups and pitcher, took the tray into her hands and waited. It didn’t have quite the heft his armor had, but it’d have to do.

Jocelyn lay in wait, listening for his voice in the hallway and when it came, the door opening, she raised the tray, said a quick prayer and smacked him over the head as soon as the door had closed.

Unfortunately, her aim was off, the blow not quite high enough, glancing off his shoulder. Adhemar stumbled against the door, eyes narrowing, hands catching his weight on the panel. He coughed, and for a second, the sound was suspiciously reminiscent of laughter.

“Woman, did you just strike me?”

Eyes widening, she nodded. “Yes.” He looked the same, so she raised the tray again for a second whack.

He was too quick. Adhemar grabbed her, twisted her in his arms so that her back was to his chest, the tray dropped to the floor, metal striking stone with a ringing clang. His cheek pressed against hers. She could feel the roughness of the stubble there and his warm breath as he said, “Strike me all you like, goddess, for it feeds --”

“Stop it!” Jocelyn wrenched herself free of him and stomped a foot in frustration, hands raising as though to fend him off. “Just stop it! I’d hear something from you save insipid poetry. A word of anger, something. For God’s sake Adhemar, I hit you with a tray! Does that not raise some temper in you? Your wife, a mere woman, hit you! Please! You’re Adhemar. Women don’t hit you. Women and most men aren’t supposed to even dare try!”

He took one slow step towards her. “What are you telling me?”

Her frustration made her sob. “I don’t want another William Thatcher. I don’t want constant even temper and poetry.” Dimly, she was aware that he’d gone very still, the look in his eyes inscrutable.

“Then what do you want?” His voice held the slightest hint of a caress to it and a touch of emotion backing it.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose, making her shiver a little. He hadn’t moved or changed expression, yet Jocelyn had the sensation that he’d suddenly become the predator and she the prey. Later, she would try to claim to herself that weariness made her give voice to her newest, deepest want, but for now it was simply there, splayed out between them.

She shrugged. “I want the man I married before I whacked him with a piece of armor at tournament.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She had enough time to register his cocky grin and whispered words before she was in his arms, his lips upon hers. It was not that Jocelyn had never been attracted to him, for she was. It was only that she’d always been far more attracted to Will. Until now.

Getting what she wanted in the end was always heady, even if it was something she’d not thought she wanted in the beginning. Desire slid through her in a hot rush, her heartbeat quickening. One passionate interlude led to another and so on until, entwined upon their bed, they fell into an exhausted slumber.

Jocelyn woke hours later, cold, hungry, and thirsty. Taking up Adhemar’s fur-lined robe, she slipped it on before ordering refreshment from a passing servant. The garment was warm, smelling of him, a not unpleasant scent. Wrapping it close about her, she returned to the bed. As she waited for her food and drink, she watched Adhemar sleep and thought about him and their life here. There’d never been a moment when Adhemar had changed, had there? His words and manner hours earlier made horrid sense now. Another attempt to manipulate her.

Lord, she was weary of this fighting between them! Would it never end? Were they doomed to spend the rest of their lives plotting against each other with never peace between them?

She touched her stomach. Could she forgive him this deception and let the cycle between them end? Did she want to?

Jocelyn pondered all of this as she waited for him to wake.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn was awake when he woke, wrapped in his robe, her hair still loose down her back. Adhemar was pleased by this turn. She’d always shunned any clothing or even blanket he tried to give her. To see her wrapped in his robe was heartening. Pushing to a sitting position, he watched her sip from a cup, then nibble on a slice of bread. She sighed, the robe slipping down, revealing one bare shoulder.

Adhemar moved to her, careful not to jostle the bed too much and cause the liquid in the cup to spill. Dropping a kiss onto her shoulder, he took the cup, intending to drink. It held milk. He grimaced. Why on earth was she drinking milk? It was vile stuff and he’d never seen her drink it before. Still, he was thirsty. With a shrug of his brows, Adhemar took a gulp and handed it back to her, swallowing as quickly as he could.

Jocelyn was silent.

Moving even closer, he stroked a hand along her arm and peered at her averted face. A pensive expression awaited there. “Good morning, my love.”

Her reply was slow in coming. “I’ve been the most foolish of women.”

“Somehow I doubt that. I know many women far more given to folly than you. Anne comes to mind.”

“No, I have been,” she insisted. “My folly is so astounding as to be ridiculous. I wonder that no one has laughed at it.”

“How are you foolish,” he inquired, reclining to look up at her face while they talked. Thatcher had been right in that Jocelyn could be a very entertaining, engaging conversationalist when it pleased her. As a whole, he was finding her far more than he’d initially perceived, and beautifully so.

Her gaze flicked to him. “My foolishness…is that I actually thought you’d been changed by that blow from the armor.”

He didn’t move, silently acknowledging the truth of the matter. No, he’d not changed the way she’d thought. “Men do change.”

“How so have you been changed, Adhemar?” Stretching her arm out, she placed cup and bread on the small table placed by her side. “You manipulated me, let me believe I’d helped you. You pretended to be what you were not.”

He didn’t bother refuting that entirely true charge. “And how is that different from what your gallant Sir William did? He too pretended to be what he was not and on a much grander scale. He too manipulated you. All of us, for that matter.”

“It is different,” she insisted, getting to her knees to rise up over him.

“How? I merely tried to make you happy by being what you claimed to want. If I’ve heard correctly, he did that as well. Do you blame me for trying?”

“Yes! I blame you!” Angry color darkened her cheeks, fire blazing in those eyes.

At long last, he thought. She lives fully.

“Why?” He watched her, waited for the answer that didn’t come. “Why,” he repeated. “Why blame me? I want you happy. A happy wife means that my household prospers. I’ve done everything I can do within the rigid confines of your definition of love to make you so.”

“What really have you done, Adhemar,” she spat, “besides constantly deceive me in one way or another?”

“I’ve denied who I am, wallowing in a castrated state where my own family thinks I’m going mad. I’ve jumped as high as you’ve ever asked me, crawled on my belly before you. I’ve spouted meaningless drivel that has nothing to do with our reality. I’ve tried to give you whatever I could, but I can’t give you back Sir William. Our beds, yours and mine, his and Christiana’s, have been well made. Go look in his eyes and see what love is left there for you now. You’re his past and he knows it and has moved on to his present and future with his wife.” He took a breath, his next words bit out through clenched teeth. “Why can’t you?”

Flinching, she sank back down onto her heels, the anger slowly leaving her features. The truth of his words was reflected in her eyes. She knew Thatcher had moved on, knew there was no going back.

“Why can’t you accept me? How am I lacking for you now? You admitted only hours ago that you wanted me as I truly am, yet you rage at my deception which clearly showed you which me you preferred of the two. Perhaps I’m touched in the head after all, for I thought you’d warmed to me.” Adhemar sighed. “This here is your life. Yes, it hurts to lose that first real passionate love. Even I’ve been there. But it’s not an unrecoverable blow. Hearts mend eventually and time dulls what had seemed the shiniest, brightest glow of passion.” Getting up from the bed, he reached for his clothes.

Jocelyn smoothed the blanket with one hand.

“You’ve two choices as I see it. Either decide to live with me, accepting all that we are together or…decide to remain in the past, regretting what never could have been.” Half dressed, he paused. “You let yourself experience what we could have together if you’d let go of your girlish ideals. Can you truly claim to me that life is not now more pleasing to contemplate than a dead and withered past long behind you?”

She’d become very pale and he pressed on for the last bit.

“Enough. I’m done coddling you and trying to please you. That task isn’t one for a mortal man. We will all fall short on your eyes, even your precious William in the end. Make your decision, Jocelyn. I want an answer by twilight. If it’s the latter, then so be it. You’ll give me heirs and I’ll have nothing to do with you otherwise. But if it’s the former….”

He left her contemplating his words.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn spent the day closeted in their chambers and when it was time to give him her answer, she dressed with care in a dress a bit brighter than what she’d been wearing of late and with the added touch of a bit of jewelry. Bess did her hair up in an elaborate style and Jocelyn was pleased with her appearance. She rather thought Adhemar would be as well.

All the way to the great hall, she imagined the servants watching her, their eyes searching for some clue as to what was going to happen. Jocelyn ignored them all, searching, and finding Adhemar in the hall. He was waiting at the table, watching for her approach, and so she did with a measured regal tread, as though she was a queen coming in to the meal. In his eyes was a hint of pain, as though he anticipated more battles between them and wasn’t looking forward to them. Strange to think of Adhemar not spoiling for a fight, yet many times he really wasn’t. Like now.

A man couldn’t be in constant anger, though sometimes it can seem like it. Even Adhemar was more than anger, jealousy, and petty hatreds. He, like most men, enjoyed laughter, good food, and the company of others. He wanted more in a wife than a pretty, silent piece on his mantel. Perhaps he’d once convinced himself he wanted that sort of woman.

She went around the table and took the chair beside his, the one she was supposed to sit in for meals. She’d thought about how best to state her stance and felt she’d found the best possible wording. After settling her skirts to her satisfaction and placing her hands in her lap, she looked at him, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“I concede the battle, Adhemar. Don’t make me say it again.” Odd, too, how she felt freed and much lighter in spirit without the anticipation of this old argument rising between them. She saw him, not as the man who’d stolen her from her one, true love, but rather as the man who’d caught her when she’d fallen low in grief and fought the past to give them a future together. He was by no stretch of the imagination a noble hero, yet for a moment, Jocelyn could see something of that sort of man in him. She saw the man Anne said he’d once been before time and trials had shaped him in another way.

His shoulders lowered, tension draining from his face. “And?”

“The past is gone, as you said. There’s only the future.”

“What made you make this decision?”

Jocelyn watched the platters of food being brought into the hall. Would he even understand all of the trails of her thoughts over the long hours of the day? Would he understand how she’d forced herself to put those last pieces of herself into place, fully discarding the past? “Must there be a reason aside from your argument of earlier?”

Adhemar leaned close. “Tell me.”

While she’d not wanted to tell him tonight, not while he was angry with her -- this news was best left for a lighter moment -- Jocelyn turned her head, face close to his. Would he understand? “I’m pregnant.” Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she pressed a kiss to his lips, in effect sealing her promise to him of the future, then sat straight to smile at the servants setting the trays onto the table in front of them.

He cleared his throat. “If you jest….” he began, hand clasping hers on her lap.

“It’d be intentionally cruel to jest on such a thing and I’m hardly intentionally so. I like children, Adhemar. Perhaps we can have several. Boys for you, a girl or two for me. Whatever God grants.”

Their meal was spent in companionable silence and when it was done, he left his men in the hall to entertain themselves and joined her to retire early.

~~~~~~~~~~

Several things interrupted their homecoming, all matters lords routinely attend to.

A friend offered them first look at a parcel of land that he needed to sell that was a little over an hour north of them. Christiana urged Will to accept the offer and he was glad they’d begun making friends at tournament and away from it. It was these kind of offers that would, in the end, build their wealth if handled the right way. Will was finding that with a little guidance here and there, he’d a talent for some areas of business.

Their number of sheep had increased, or so it seemed to his eyes. His counting got a little sketchy upwards of twenty and George gave a nervous whistle whenever he tried to broach the subject, so he decided to let that matter rest awhile before digging into it.

A cloth merchant came calling with his wares. Will ended up issuing an invitation to return after the tournament season was over, for Christiana’s urge to buy had dried up as soon as they had funds to spend. She was unable to make up her mind on anything, frustrating all. Women were odd creatures at times. Will couldn’t understand her attitude and when he asked, neither Wat or Mark could make heads or tails of it either, while Kate sat and laughed but wouldn’t explain.

Will also had his first real experience with hearing the ills and disputes of the peasants living on his lands. Christiana helped when she could, but her time was taken up by visiting the peasant houses. She took Agnes and Poul with her, giving food and tending sickness where she’d the medicinal skill to do so. Nevertheless, two adults died and one child was born dead.

What marked the days most, was the arrival of their nearest neighbor -- Sir Walter -- dressed in armor and ready for battle with several of his men accompanying him. Riding into the courtyard, he announced to the few outside that Will had stolen his sheep.

“I knew it,” Will muttered, still in the hall, turning to George with arms wide open. “Explain.”

George scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. “He stole our sheep first. Can I help it if a few of his followed when I retrieved ours?”

Sighing, Will left the hall to speak with Sir Walter. Just what he needed, a war with his neighbor. How on earth could he diffuse this?

“What say you to the charge,” Walter asked, swinging down from his mount and striding forward to meet him with the strutting walk of a rooster. He was bravado and bluster and while not tall, his manner aided in giving him the appearance of greater height.

Will rested his hands on his hips. “I say I’ve no knowledge of thievery.” George had likely stolen the sheep, but…there was a chance the sheep had followed. A slight chance. Miniscule.

“I’m missing five sheep and your herd appears to have gained five.” Walter pointed a finger at him, jabbing it forward several times as he spoke.

“I was told that several of ours went missing while I was at tournament, but were recovered. Are yours branded in some way? We could check for your brand…”

Walter scowled, shaking his head in a negative. “They’d not been branded yet,” he admitted in a gruff voice.

Raising his brows, Will nodded, “Ahh. Convenient excuse. I mean, why should I believe you? You could be trying to steal some of my sheep by claiming they’re yours when in fact, they’re really mine. I say you’re trying to steal from me.”

Walter stared at him a moment, then laughed, features slipping into an easy grin that entirely changed his demeanor. Now, he resembled nothing more than jovial friend. “Well, well. You’re sharp. Tell you what, William. I hear you’re looking for a maid for your wife.”

Will gave a cautious nod. “We are. Have you a suggestion?”

“Possibly. My mother recently died, leaving her maid in my household. I promised to find a place for her, but my wife already has one maid and certainly doesn’t need another.”

“How recent is recent?”

“This morning. I make it a rule not to house servants I don’t need any longer than necessary. Cuts down on leaking funds.”

He stared at Walter, blinked twice and crossed his arms. “What is it you want?” He wouldn’t be proposing the maid without something in mind. Most likely the sheep.

Walter took a deep breath. “A sack of grain if you can spare it, a chicken and two of those sheep.” His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps I was mistaken in the number.”

Glancing towards the house, he motioned to George and Mark. After explaining what Walter had in mind for a deal, he waited for the two to confer. After long minutes of snorting, muttering, whispering and groaning, Mark announced that the terms were quite acceptable if the maid was worth it. Walter would need to bring the woman for Will to look over.

By late afternoon, the transaction was completed and Will could cross a maid off his list of things he needed to take care of. He spent the evening with Mark, planning for the day trip north to review the property that had been proposed to them. It was decided that in four days, they’d make that journey. Will and Christiana would be joined by Wat and Mark and upon their return, they’d begin packing for the journey to the next tournament.

~~~~~~~~~~

Robert returned to Adhemar’s household to the sight of a celebration in progress. He saw jugglers, troubadours, dancers, and all sorts of things as he rode into the courtyard. Lively music came from the hall and he followed his ears into the room. At the opposite end, Jocelyn and Adhemar were sitting in their chairs laughing together at the man performing before them. Robert searched and found Anne on the stairs. She was sitting where she could watch everything. He slipped up to her.

“What’s going on,” he asked, joining her and putting his arm around her.

Leaning close, she kissed him. “We’re celebrating.”

“Whyever are we doing that?”

“Because Jocelyn is pregnant.”

He laughed. “Seriously?” At her nod, he grinned. It was about time. Many a bride was pregnant long before now and for it to have happened meant that there was more to Adhemar and Jocelyn’s interactions than had been witnessed in the public venue. “Well, I’m pleased for them. Jocelyn will be a wonderful mother if her interactions with our brood are any indication.”

“You’ve missed quite a bit while you were gone this time.”

“Tell me later.” They enjoyed the merriment below, but gradually, Robert’s thoughts turned to business and he decided to speak with Jocelyn sometime in the next day. If he could have the benefit of her expertise, he’d be greatly pleased and could begin growing his wealth even further.