Title: The Lamentable Truth of Planning

Chapter: 6

~~~~~~~~~~

Daily life as a lord took some doing to get used to. Will had a tendency to do things for himself, which served to shock the men recently hired. George almost always stared at him with a perplexed gaze, as though the ways of this particular noble were far beyond his comprehension. Piers, John, and Adam generally followed George’s lead.

Duties weren’t ignored and in gradual degrees, a routine was established, enabling Will to spend more time with Christiana. Kate and Wat encouraged it, Wat being very blunt in his advice. Christiana was Will’s wife and he’d have to know her sometime. Wat had put much emphasis on the ‘know’. Kate was a bit more tactful.

“Surely you’re curious about her? I know she is about you.”

“She is?” He followed her into her work area and watched while she took up her tools of trade. While it had occurred to him Christiana might want to know more about him, he hadn’t thought she’d speak to Kate about it. “Do you mean that?”

Her stare was amused. “Of course. You are her husband. Why wouldn’t she be curious? Most women do think about their husbands, Will. It’s a natural part of married life.” Kate watched him and when he didn’t answer, she set down her tools, placed her hands on her worktable and leaned on them. “What?”

“How do I talk to her?”

“Like you do any other woman. I don’t understand the problem.”

“The problem is that she’s not any other woman. She’s my wife. I don’t know how to talk to a wife, Kate. I’ve never had one. What if I say the wrong thing to her?”

Her lips twitched a second before laughter spilled from her. “No man knows how until he has one, but it’s no different than how you talk to me.”

Will leaned against the table as well. “I can’t talk to her like I talk to you.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know her. You, I do know.”

“Exactly. Talk to her and you’ll know her, too. Why are you having such a time with this, Will? Of course it’ll be awkward at first. If you recall, our first discussions weren’t easy.”

“They were easier than talking to her,” he muttered under his breath, but Kate’s sharp hearing caught it.

“Why? Because she’s your wife and lady? Before you wed she was really no higher than I. Peasants all of us.”

Will left her then, taking time to pace about the immediate grounds and consider her words. In a way, she was right. Christiana had been born to a peasant merchant, albeit one who’d grown in wealth. He’d been born to a thatcher. So why couldn’t he talk to her with ease? It didn’t feel like it was going to get any easier. It had to though. There was no way it could get harder. Was there?

The change occurred before he even realized it had happened. It just did. One evening, while watching her comb out her hair on their bed, he realized he was sharing things with her that he’d not considered sharing before.

“I can’t help but feeling lost sometimes, like I’m still pretending. This doesn’t seem real.”

She paused in her combing, shift low on one shoulder. “I think it’ll take time to be comfortable with it. I’m not…completely at ease either.”

He laid back, hands under his head. “You make it look easy the way you handle things.”

Christiana laughed, then set her comb down and began braiding her hair. “I’ve a slight advantage. Because of Jocelyn I spent more time in the direct noble environment than you. I attended banquets, weddings, daily gatherings of the immediate household.”

The act of raising her arms pushed her breasts forward. Will couldn’t help but glance down. She was fuller in bosom than Jocelyn had been. He had the sudden urge to reach out and skim his fingers along those curves. “Yes.” Licking his lips, he tore his gaze from her. “Did I tell you Mark finally explained about the stored goods?”

“What did he say?”

“They were a wedding present from the Black Prince. He took Mark aside personally before Mark left London and swore him to secrecy. Apparently he didn’t want to appear overly generous. His father wasn’t happy he’d bestowed a title on me and he wanted to help us further. Mark swore George and Agnes to secrecy as well.” Sitting, he found himself very close to her. Strange. It hadn’t seemed close when he’d first sat there.

Finished with her braiding, Christiana flipped the braid back over her shoulder and raised her chin. Her lips parted. “Oh. It was kind of him to remember us, but…I should warn you that he’ll want a favor from us sometime in the future. It’s the way it works. A generous royal expects suitably grateful subjects.”

Her tongue slipped out, wet her lips. He leaned a fraction closer, head tilting to the left a little. She did as well, swallowing so hard he heard it. What would it be like, he wondered, to kiss her, and not those quick pecks they gave each other in front of others?

Christiana’s glance drifted down to his mouth and back up.

Will raised a hand, smoothed his fingers across her brow.

No. He couldn’t. He still expected Jocelyn to walk through the door and cry betrayal.

Pulling back, he stood from the bed. “It’s late. You should rest.”

He didn’t miss the disappointment in her eyes, but chose to ignore it, leaving her alone in the chamber.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week after Christiana and Will took residence, the first invitation arrived. Soon after more came in. Men who despised Adhemar were lining up to befriend the man who’d beaten him at tournament. They didn’t appear to care what class he’d started out in, as long as the defeat was there. So, where had they been when Will had been stuck in the stocks? Not supporting him that was sure. Still, they were contacts desperately needed to add a sheen of respectability. For entertainment, these men offered small tournaments, amateur things really, but enough winnings to supplement their coffers. Christiana was able to purchase some cloth to make new clothing for their household and a flimsy piece of fabric to embroider for herself -- a completely frivolous buy.

She found herself watching Will during the hours they spent together, becoming familiar with the timbre of his voice and the tone that told her he was teasing. She could tell when he was hiding his feelings and putting on a face for them all and when he was genuinely pleased. As the days passed, she began to wonder if he really would look her way on some day in the future. Why just the other night he’d looked like he was going to kiss her! Would he take her to their bed and when he did, how soon would she have a child within her? Christiana sought to please him, to show him she was every bit the woman Jocelyn had been. She was just as gracious, as kind, as mysterious, as vivacious….

She competed with a woman not there for her husband’s affections.

Each morning she woke before him. She was used to rising early in order to get started on her tasks for the day. There’d always been sewing to do for Jocelyn and other things to keep her occupied until her lady woke at her usual late hour.

Christiana had come to revel in these moments in the arms of her husband before he woke and Jocelyn once more slipped between them. In sleep, he held her, his chest at her back, legs tangled with hers, and his arm anchoring her against him. It’d be a lie to say she didn’t enjoy the unconscious embrace. She felt protected and safe with his strength beside her, imagining that he was hers in full, that those warm glances he’d given Jocelyn had instead been to her. She dreamed up the life she wished they could have together with no Jocelyn in the way.

In these moments, she fell in love with William Thatcher. In these moments, she hated Jocelyn for being foremost in his thoughts.

He also rose early, but those moments were there. They were hers alone and no one, not even Jocelyn, could take them from her. Jocelyn may occupy his waking thoughts, yet it was Christiana he held in his sleep. She took some measure of satisfaction in that.

By the time he stirred, guilt would have risen inside her over her changing feelings towards her dearest friend and lady. Jocelyn had never been anything but good and kind to her and look what was coming about? She should be grateful to her instead of hating her, because without Jocelyn there’d be no William Thatcher to now call her husband.

Will would turn his face into her hair, draw in a breath, and slide his hand up her stomach to her hip, slowly disentangling himself from her. Through it all, she pretended to sleep, waiting until he’d left the bed before pretending to stir. He’d say he hadn’t meant to wake her and she’d reply that it was fine as she had a busy day planned anyway. He’d dress and leave her to herself, after which she’d say a quick prayer that she’d be a good wife. The next day it’d happen all over again.

After much consideration over several long days, Christiana decided she didn’t really hate Jocelyn, only that Jocelyn would always be between them. Jocelyn would forever be in his heart and Christiana the second. What love could possibly be left for the second best?

She was enjoying the morning ritual of waiting for him to wake, when his voice came loud in the dim light.

“Why do you pretend to be sleeping every morning?” The bed shook as he sat up.

Her heart stopped for a beat. “How did you know,” she blurted out, turning her head to look at him.

His shoulders lifted in a slow shrug. “The second I move, you tense. It’s telling.”

“I don’t want to disturb you.”

“What’s a minute or two?”

“You work hard. A minute or two could help.”

One hand tugged the blanket up a little higher on her shoulder. It was a kind, thoughtful gesture. “I think you’re hiding something.”

“No! I wouldn’t!”

“Then there’s no harm in telling me is there?”

Logic. He had to use logic. Turning her face back to the pillow, she decided to tell him. What was the worst thing that could happen? It couldn’t be a bad thing for a wife to admit to mooning over her husband, could it? “I like waking up to you holding me,” she confessed. “It makes me feel safe.”

He was silent a moment and she didn’t dare turn back to see his face. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

The bed shook again as he left it. Christiana heard the sounds of cloth rustling and then his voice once more.

“A wife should feel safe with her husband. It…” he cleared his throat, “it pleases me you feel that way.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Wat was frustrated. Their efforts to cultivate a romance between Will and Christiana weren’t working. The two continued to behave in a stilted manner together. “It’s not working,” he hissed at Kate, taking her arm and leading her towards the fireplace before she could begin up the stairs to help Christiana. “It’s been three months and he’s still not uncrossed her legs!”

“You don’t have to tell me, Wat. I’m well aware it’s not working.”

Kate was shivering from the cold and he moved closer. Her insistence on sleeping in the stables was stupid, but she wouldn’t change her mind, insisting she preferred being near her work and that manor living wasn’t for her. She wasn’t comfortable inside the fancy house. “We have to step it up,” he said. “Push them.”

“I’m doing all I can,” she protested. “You’ve yet to actually get him in there during her bath and he practically runs before she can start undressing. Talk to him.”

“You talk to her. She’s got to know how important it is.”

“Every woman knows how important it is.” Kate rolled her eyes.

Wat snorted. “It’s not going to happen. That’s all there is to it. It’s never going to happen --”

“It’ll happen,” she insisted.

“Not at the rate things are going. Geoff said --”

It was Kate’s turn to snort. “He’s not here, Wat! He doesn’t see what….” She stopped talking, fingers digging painfully into his arm as Will’s voice greeted them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Will hadn’t lied to her. He was pleased by her confession, far more than he’d anticipated.

Wat and Kate were in the great hall and Will could smell bread baking already. Mark was in his usual spot at the table reading a letter. They had a seemingly endless list of chores that needed completing just between them. If they’d not had the other men to take care of the rest, they’d be drowning in work.

As he approached Kate and Wat, he heard a puzzling portion of their argument before they broke off into quiet. Kate was insisting something was going to happen, Wat didn’t think so, started to cite something Geoff had said and then Kate started to reply. She didn’t finish, her face oddly flushed.

“Morning Wat. Kate. We’ve work to do, yes?”

Kate and Wat exchanged a long glance. With a murmured ‘good morning’ she hurried past him and up the stairs.

For over a week, he and Wat had been attempting to build a screen for Christiana to put about the bathing tub so she’d not get as much of a draft during her baths. The tub wasn’t big, but she’d been so pleased with the purchase that Will wanted to see her face light up again with delight. He wanted to please her as much as her confession had pleased him.

Wat struggled with the screen, cursing as he tried righting it without the entire thing crashing to the ground taking him with it. Will tried not to get in his way. He’d rather not be flattened by that chunk of wood. Once was enough.

George joined them, looking at the screen with his arms crossed over his chest and a critical expression upon his face. “You’re doing it wrong,” he announced in that superior tone he tended to take when around Wat. The two didn’t get along on the best of days.

“Did I ask,” Wat snapped.

“No,” was George’s genial reply, “but you’re still doing it wrong.”

“Well, the next time I ask, you can give your opinion, but until then keep it to yourself.”

“Just sayin’. Measurements are wrong.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“Obviously not, ‘cause they’re still wrong.”

Will raised a hand to interrupt the argument. “How can we fix it then?”

George eyed him, then Wat and the screen. “Burn it and start over would be easiest.”

Wat’s lip curled. As he’d worked tirelessly on it, he was obviously taking exception to George’s assessment of his handiwork. Mayhem would be fast approaching if Will didn’t diffuse him fast.

Will looked at the screen. It was lop-sided and horribly heavy, yet so off-balance that the slightest breeze might topple it over. He really didn’t need it to fall on Christiana and brain her. It had to be fixed and if George knew how then perhaps George was the best man for the task. “That’s not an option.”

George pursed his lips. “Well then, my lord, if I’m left with it by myself I can work something out.”

“Then do so. Wat, leave it.”

Will couldn’t wait to give the finished screen to Christiana.

~~~~~~~~~~

At present, Jocelyn’s thoughts were not something she wanted to dwell on. Each day brought a more morbid bent until she craved company and sought it. Even Adhemar’s would do. She didn’t particularly care who she spoke with as long as she didn’t have to think about her life.

It was a blessing to come upon Anne and Robert’s children. They were set loose upon the manor daily with only a single maid to look after them while Anne played companion to Katherine and Robert…. Well, Jocelyn wasn’t quite clear what Robert did with his time, for he didn’t spend it with Adhemar, nor did he train with Adhemar’s men. She’d often seen him conferring with a man outside, but wasn’t sure who the man was.

She adored the children, discovering that she enjoyed playing in the dirt with them, giving not a thought to the state of her clothes until she stood and inevitably found Adhemar watching them with the strangest look upon his face. He always watched her and though she waited at night with dread in her heart, he didn’t touch her again. He appeared content that their marriage had been consummated and while she was glad for the respite, it left her wondering? Why? It wasn’t like him to show sensitivity to anyone’s needs and emotions. What was he planning, for she was aware he was always plotting something.

He still wanted her, she knew that, and yet he held himself back from her. It was puzzling and to her dismay, Jocelyn would catch herself watching him as well when he wasn’t looking.

How long could they go on?

Her spirits plummeted further with the returned answer to her letter. It wasn’t her father who’d written, but rather her stepmother. Sarah was the tactful one between them, answering each charge affirmative, yet trying to do so in a way that wouldn’t hurt Jocelyn. Yes, Avery had re-opened negotiations with Count Adhemar. The Count had been reluctant to take the original agreement, so Avery had added to it to tempt him. Yes, Avery was concerned with bloodlines and as Jocelyn was his well-loved daughter he wanted her to have the best blood to mingle with.

Sarah tried to make it seem like a loving parent concerned only for his daughter’s welfare, but she was unsuccessful. Jocelyn wondered if she’d known it as she’d sat writing the lines. How long had it taken Sarah to make Avery’s manipulations sound decent? Had she agonized over each word? Sarah would grieve for Jocelyn, for that was the sort of woman she was.

Setting the letter aside, she went to her trunk and found the letters Anne had given her to read. Kneeling there on the floor, she read them again and again. How was it possible that Adhemar was more than the selfish, arrogant, sarcastic man she knew? Was it truly a possibility? The more she thought about it, the more she decided that Anne had to be right. There was more to Adhemar than Jocelyn knew. It couldn’t be that Anne lied, for there was no love lost between the two that she could see. They behaved as though they hated each other.

But still. He’d taken the offer when he could have -- should have -- refused. On that he was guilty.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lady Jocelyn should have been an excellent choice for a wife and yet she was lacking in that regard.

Adhemar’s hands gripped the railing. She was below with the children, her manner making it obvious she’d be an excellent mother when that occurred. If it occurred. She continued to dress in somber colors, with little jewelry. Nor did she raise her voice often save to call the children to her. She avoided conversation and still had the annoying tendency to cry into her pillow at night.

“Let Anne tell her.” Robert joined him at the railing.

“It’s in the past, Uncle.”

“She needs to see you as human, Adhemar, and right now you’re still the bastard who took her from her love.”

“No. Keep Anne silent.”

Robert laughed. “Like I can control her tongue? I’d as sooner wave my hand and change the tides. But you’re more than aware of what she’s like.”

Adhemar ignored the words. “Have you a reason for engaging me in conversation?”

“I need funds to start growing them.”

The sum he named was far less than Adhemar had assumed he’d ask for. “Very well. Get it, grow it, and take your family away.”

“I’ll pay you back and then some, Adhemar.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you will, Uncle, and when you’ve lost that sum, we’ll talk again.” A glance showed Robert irritatingly unoffended by the implied slur, grinning before he walked away -- as though Adhemar was an amusing child. Once, Robert hadn’t annoyed him this much. In fact, when Adhemar was a child, he’d adored his Uncle and wanted to be just like him.

But then Robert had betrayed him and Adhemar didn’t forget betrayal easily. He let himself think back to that day Robert had turned his life upside down.

Adhemar and Anne were to have been married. Adhemar thought he’d even loved her. He’d not noticed Robert appraising Anne in the week before the ceremony was to take place, though thinking back, he must have been. Robert must have been looking at Anne with jealousy in his heart, for he’d taken her. He’d kidnapped her, ridden out with her just before dawn on the day that was supposed to have been a happy one. When he’d brought her back months later, she was Robert’s wife and pregnant.

Adhemar’s gaze moved from Jocelyn, found Anne seated at the table, still eating slowly.

She’d tried to apologize for what had happened, but how could she have let it? How could she have let herself be taken aside, then abducted? When had she screamed? Had she even tried?

The more he thought on it, the more things festered. His questions went unanswered and now they were here in his home with no end in sight for this ‘visit’. He had to look at both of them every day, sitting at his table, eating his food, living in his house.

How tempting to just give Uncle a large sum and send them away! It was far more satisfying however, to think of Uncle scrambling to find wealth, open and vulnerable. The knowledge that he, Adhemar, could decide to turn them all out at any time pleased him very much. Stepping from the rail, he turned on his heel. It was a good afternoon for sword training.

~~~~~~~~~~

How much simpler it would be if there was no prior history between them!

Anne dropped the last bite of bread down onto her plate and watched Adhemar in the upstairs hall. He was watching Jocelyn with the children again. To her secret shame, she still found him attractive. It wasn’t surprising however. He and Robert were similar in looks.

Sometimes, Anne wondered what would have happened if she’d not had to flee their wedding day; if she’d not climbed into bed with a drunken Robert the previous night, believing in her own drunken state that she’d gone to Adhemar. With no fire lit and no candles burning, it had only been in the light of morning that they’d been found out. She could still hear Katherine’s shocked exclamations and those threats made to the servant who’d come with her to wake Robert.

‘What have you done, the both of you? You’ve ruined it all!’

It had been Katherine who’d planned their escape from the manor; Katherine who’d told them what to do. Katherine who held the power of her knowledge over them. Since that day, she’d wielded that power as a sword, an ever-present threat. Anne was tired of it, yet didn’t know how to negate it. Robert had told her to leave it be. The past was gone and unchangeable. Katherine, he maintained, had always been a manipulative bitch and would remain so until the day she died. Where did she think Adhemar had gotten his tendency towards manipulation?

Anne slid her plate away. Robert had cheerfully accepted the role of family rogue, a role that Adhemar had been intent upon usurping until recently. Her gaze found Jocelyn, now playing some sort of game with Amelie.

Adhemar had developed feelings for Jocelyn. To those who knew him well, it was plain that he was falling in love with her. Anne well remembered his behavior in love. Once, she’d been on the receiving end.

“Quit watching him, girl,” came Katherine’s voice in her left ear. “You gave him up, remember?”

Anne went to rise and leave without comment to those goading words, but Katherine placed both hands on her shoulders, forcing her to stay.

“Jeopardize this marriage and you will regret it.”

“He’s been doing a marvelous job of that himself,” she spat, then gasped as Katherine dug her fingers in.

“Be that as it may, you’ll do all you can to aid him in wooing that silly creature he’s chosen.”

The ‘or else’ was implied and Katherine’s threat the same one she always used: Adhemar would find out that Anne had gone to Robert that night long ago instead of having been carted off by him early the next morning.

“How do you propose I do that…madame?”

“You girls are very alike, I think. Talk him up. Play the part assigned to you by your own actions.”

“If I might remind you, you suggested that action.”

Her shoulders were squeezed again, Katherine’s fingers bruising. Anne knew she’d show the marks later. “You should have been strong enough of mind to make your own decision. I’ve no sympathy for a woman weak-willed enough to do what she’s told without comment.”

Katherine made it clear she despised Anne. Every word, every glance was to that end. Anne was the temptress who’d engineered her brother’s fall from familial grace and broke her son’s heart, yet at the same time was a weak, spineless creature who’d allowed herself to be manipulated.

God only knew what she thought of Robert for following her advice.

For the rest of the day, nothing went right and Anne was glad when it was over so she could huddle under the covers and pretend she wasn’t ready to burst into tears. She rested her head on Robert’s chest. Their children were asleep and the manor quiet. She’d been doing a lot of thinking since Jocelyn had come, about lies and the harm they did. Lies had shaped Adhemar well into the man he was today.

“I want us to go to Adhemar and tell him the truth.”

One of Robert’s hands stroked her hair. “The time to tell him is long passed, my love. We should have done so that very morning instead of taking Katherine’s advice. But then…I’ve never thought clearly after a night of heavy drink.”

Neither of them had ever drunk that much again.

“The truth will out eventually and I’d rather it be on our terms,” she argued.

“Not when he could toss us into the street, Anne. When we’ve some measure of financial security we’ll tell him, but not a second sooner.”

Sitting up, she looked down at him. “So that’s the reason this time? What will it be when we’re secure again? That we’re too busy? Robert I can’t do this anymore! Katherine is insufferable this time!”

“Katherine is always insufferable for one reason or another,” he countered in a soothing tone. “We’ll tell him. We will. Think Anne. It’s winter. You know Adhemar and what he’s like. In a fit of temper, he’d toss us out and only when we’re sick and dying from the cold would he perhaps reconsider. It’s how he is. You and I could bear it, but our babies?” He sat as well, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs sweeping her cheekbones. “Wait for their sake.”

Grudgingly she agreed, resigning herself to weeks more of Katherine’s needling and the guilt that rose when she saw Adhemar. When he wasn’t here it was easy to forget, yet when he was….Anne hated herself.