Title: The Lamentable Truth of Planning

Chapter: 8

~~~~~~~~~~

“My wife thinks me an unfeeling, uncaring monster.”

Jocelyn ignored the musician strumming one of her favorite tunes on a lute nearby and tried to overhear Adhemar’s mumblings. He was working himself up to being rip-roaring drunk, consuming drink as fast as it could be poured into his cup. The servants were staying far away from him as much as possible and Katherine had already taken herself off to bed for the night.

It was Anne pouring for him, nodding in a wise manner at most anything he said. It was the first time in weeks they’d been semi-courteous to each other. “Actually, it’s your men who think you are unfeeling, Adhemar. You must admit you’re an inhuman bastard at times.”

He shrugged. “The better example I am, the higher they have to reach as soldiers. Edward’s worse with his men. They should be grateful I don’t send them all to him. Then they’d see what a lenient master I am.”

Jocelyn’s brows rose. Adhemar lenient? In what warped world did he imagine that to be true?

“As for the uncaring part, I don’t think that’s true, either,” Anne went on with a half smile. “I think your wife full realizes that you’re simply an insensitive ass with no idea how much mourning is required to get over the shining warm love of another.” Her pleasant tone belied the bite of the words.

Turning his head, he stared at her with a quizzical tilt of his head. Jocelyn could almost see him trying to work out what Anne meant. He frowned, blinked, then downed the last of his drink and held out his cup for more. Anne obliged almost too quickly. Jocelyn wondered if getting Adhemar drunk was her aim to begin with. Adhemar must be quite drunk already as he didn’t react to Anne’s barbs -- any of them and she’d been free with her comments.

“Uncle,” Adhemar called. “How long did it take Anne to get over me? I mean, get over her love?” His words slurred a little.

Jocelyn gasped. “You really did it,” she hissed at Robert. “You stole your own nephew’s bride?” Until now, she’d entertained the notion that Anne was not telling the truth.

Robert’s grin was slow and unrepentant, though the expression in his eyes was guarded. “It was an excellent idea at the time. I needed a bride far more than he did.” His voice raised. “Months and months, nephew. Until our first son was born a year after the day.”

“Did she lie still in bed those months,” Adhemar asked, draining his cup once more and slamming it down onto the table. “I mean, did her lost love keep her from performing her wifely duties at all?”

Robert pursed his lips, all levity leaving him as he shifted in his seat. “It’s in the past, Adhemar. Let it go.”

That particular mantra appeared to be that for his entire family. ‘Let the past go.’ No, Jocelyn thought, we certainly wouldn’t want to recall it and actually learn something from past events, would we?

Adhemar snorted and got unsteadily to his feet. “I will not let it go.” Placing his hands on the table, he leaned down to Anne and smiled drunkenly at her. “I ask only for comparison purposes. Anne. Dearest Aunt. Obviously Uncle uncrossed your legs immediately since he carried you off for such a purpose and since you gave birth only months later, but did you enjoy it? Did that warm shining love you claim you felt from me keep you still and like a corpse or did you welcome him? You must have both welcomed and enjoyed, for you did conceive and everyone knows that for a woman to conceive she has to enjoy it. Which means you’re a lying whore.”

Anne’s eyes blazed ire. Standing, she slapped him so hard it turned his head. Pushing her chair back farther, she bumped the table in her haste to flee, the pitcher of wine turning on its side and spilling across the table. Adhemar made a grab for her, but Anne hurried out of reach. A few moments later a door slammed upstairs.

Jocelyn was embarrassed for her. Knowing what had happened those years ago had helped her to understand in turn what went on now, though she didn’t like those taunts the two loosed at each other. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, Adhemar.”

His laugh was ugly. “I’ve not had enough.” Righting the pitcher, he peered into it, then poured the dregs into his cup. “When I’ve had enough I’ll tell you I’ve had enough and not a moment sooner.” He chugged the liquid. “Germaine! Bring me wine!”

Germaine had already been dismissed for the evening and even if he hadn’t been, Jocelyn had had enough. “You’re drunk,” she told Adhemar, not bothering to hide the curl of disgust to her lips. She despised drunken men. They all thought they were witty when the opposite was true. “And belligerent.”

“So what if I am? It’s my house. I can be both drunk and belligerent if I choose.” He looked about the room. “Where the devil is Germaine?”

Robert touched her arm, speaking low only to her. “Go on up. I’ll bring him in a minute.”

She was at the top of the stairs when she heard the crash and turned to see Adhemar on the ground flat on his back. Robert was massaging one fist. She gave a silent prayer that morning would not be difficult, but knew it would be. Adhemar would have a terrible hangover when he woke.

Perhaps she’d rise early just this once. It might be best to be away from him when he remembered what had occurred.

~~~~~~~~~~

She’d been reading his letters. Not just the recent ones, but the older ones his mother kept claiming she’d like to reread someday. He knew otherwise. She was hardly a sentimental woman like she endeavored to portray for others. It was another one of her shows.

Adhemar knelt, grasping the trunk edge, the gift he’d bartered for Jocelyn placed beneath her embroidery. He stared at the letter rolls and the one opened flat on top, pondering what it meant that she had them. It meant she was curious about him but didn’t want him to be aware of her curiosity.

“What are you doing,” came Jocelyn’s cry from behind him. She came into view, hurrying to kneel beside him, her hands shoving his from the trunk edge and closing the lid with a slam. “Rifling through my belongings? Invading my privacy? How could you?”

“How could you,” he returned. “Those letters of mine were put away, which means, I should point out, that you rifled through my possessions to find them.”

Jocelyn gasped, protesting, “It was your mother’s possessions, not yours.” She moved up onto the trunk, keeping him from raising the lid back up.

“Oh, and that makes it better, does it?” Adhemar cocked a brow at her.

She did the same. “Anne did it first.”

“While she does deserve some blame, you now pass it all onto her? What a friend. I’d hate to be your enemy with such an endearing show of loyalty.”

“Katherine won’t even notice anyway. She never looks at the trunk they were in, evidenced by the dust inside. I about choked to death from it the first time I looked for letters.”

The first time? How many times had she gone looking? “So you snuck in to my mother’s chambers, snooped in her things to find letters I’d written, then stole them?”

“They’re not stolen,” she informed him with a sniff. “I have every intention of returning them when I’m done reading.”

Adhemar laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was too amusing to think of Jocelyn managing to snoop without his mother knowing, for it was certain she didn’t know. She’d put up a fuss if she’d discovered the theft. He knew something his well-informed mother didn’t and that pleased him more than a little.

“You’re laughing at me,” she stated, crossing her arms.

“Hardly. I laugh because mother is unaware of your actions when she seems to know everything else that goes on.”

She glanced at the door. “I bribed her maid to keep her occupied.”

Sitting fully on the floor, Adhemar raised a knee and rest one arm on it, sighing. “If you were so determined to learn about me, why did you not ask what you wished to know?”

“And have you laugh at me like you always do when you think I’m being a silly girl?”

She had a point, though he disliked admitting it. “Tell me what you’ve learned so far from my letters.”

Jocelyn turned her head back to stare at him, then nodded. “You don’t dance often because you prefer older music and the newer music and modern dances make you feel grossly uncoordinated and clumsy.”

“I never wrote that.” But he’d alluded to it several times hadn’t he?

“Of course you did. You just used different words to say it.” A smug grin curved her lips.

Adhemar blinked. Was she actually smiling in his presence? He wished he’d some way to capture that expression, for he was certain it’d disappear soon enough. “Fine. Continue.”

“You despise being fitted for clothes, but consider it a necessary evil. Green was your favorite color up until a few months ago when blue was suddenly far more pleasing to look upon. I do so wonder why you changed your mind on that?” Her brows rose in challenge.

“You know why.”

“Admit it, Adhemar. Admit the reason out loud.”

Glancing away, then back, he shook his head. “I don’t have to.”

Calculation flared in her eyes and she leaned forward a fraction. “Too frightened to? Not man enough to admit to something so very petty?”

She was baiting him. Intentionally baiting him. Tilting his head a little, he studied her more closely…and saw a piece of the old Jocelyn staring back at him. “I leave pettiness to the women.”

“Obviously you don’t, or do you not recall tipping a lance? I did hear about that, you realize.”

Adhemar held up a finger. “First, that was not pettiness, it was anger. And second, I’m master here and answer to no one.”

Leaning down a bit more so that her face was close to his, she bit out quite clearly, “You’re too scared.”

“Am not.” He couldn’t help that rising to her bait though he knew he shouldn’t do it.

“Oh but you are.” Jocelyn sat up straight, her hands behind her on the chest. “You are so scared to admit --”

“I’m scared of nothing.”

“Prove it,” she said.

And then the words fell from his tongue. “I dislike green because it reminds me of one I’d rather forget. Blue is pleasing as it has no such odious remembrance attached to it. In fact, blue is a color you look beautiful in.”

Surprise blotted out the calculation. She’d not expected him to answer, had she? Adhemar was pleased to have caught her off-guard that way. Her mouth opened and closed several times. After a moment, she went on to the next item in her list of things she’d learned.

“You like children and appear to have a better rapport with them than you do adults.”

“Children are the greatest gift from God. I think we should have several.” He could imagine her big with child with ease, yet he rarely indulged himself in such imaginings. Contemplating that future when it didn’t seem possible at present merely depressed him.

Jocelyn looked away. “I agree to the first, but not the second.”

He pretended ignorance to her meaning and asked, “Then how many would you prefer?”

There was a long silence and then, “If I must, and I’m aware I must eventually, I’d wish for a son for you and a daughter for me, after which my obligation is done. I’ll have born an heir.”

“And what if that son dies? Would you then be obliged to bear another?”

There was a longer silence. “That’s the way of it, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is. But tell me Jocelyn, what will you do if, in the process of having these children, you find your heart has become attached to me as well? Would your wish stand then?”

With a long breath, she stood, ignoring his question.. “If you don’t mind, I’ve sewing to attend to.”

“So attend.”

“It’s in my trunk.”

When she reached down for the sewing, she’d find the gift he’d bartered for her at great expense: a few pages of poems. The very sort of thing she liked. Let her then try to claim he had no care for her whatsoever. Adhemar nodded once. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then. And to my letters.” He stood and, at last glance from the door, he saw her raise the slim book, a cry of surprise from her, and left before she could say anything at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

How did he know?

Jocelyn pondered the question as Bess brushed her hair. She supposed her love of poetry could be considered common knowledge for many. After all, she had demanded poetry from Will in that very public cathedral. Anyone could have overheard and it wouldn’t have surprised her anymore to learn Adhemar had sent a man to follow her and report back to him.

But to purchase a book for poems for her…. It presented a problem. The gift was expensive and Adhemar was not a man to part with money for a frivolous item unless it was mostly for him. However, this wasn’t for him. He hated poetry, disdained it as ‘silly and sentimental rubbish with no purpose but to fill women’s empty heads with illogical longings’. This gift was for her alone, also evidenced by the fact that he’d slipped it into her trunk. He meant it for her.

The problem was huge. Jocelyn could no longer claim he’d no affection for her, for only affection would cause him to part with money for a gift of a thing he himself hated. She couldn’t say he’d given it to soften her so she’d be agreeable in bed, for she’d not fought him at all. He’d no reason to give that gift unless he cared enough to give something he knew she’d like.

The beginnings of a headache throbbed in her temples and Jocelyn raised her fingertips to rub her temples. “Don’t braid it tonight, Bess.”

“It’ll tangle if I don’t, my lady. We’ll have a terrible time brushing it out in the morning.”

“I’ll bear the consequences of my decision with no grumbling, I assure you.” Turning, she looked at the young woman. Bess was no Christiana, yet she wasn’t terrible either. She simply needed time to grow into her duties. Jocelyn was becoming more certain each day that she could trust Bess not to talk to others of the matters they discussed. So far, none of the things she’d mentioned had made the rounds of gossip. “You can go now.”

Bess bit her lip and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but is something bothering you?”

Jocelyn gestured to the book of poems. “I don’t know what to make of that.”

“Did the master give you that?”

“Yes. Put it in my trunk earlier so I’d find it when I reached for my sewing.”

She smiled. “Germaine does things like that for me sometimes. It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” Sweet was one of the last words she’d even use to describe Adhemar.

“Very.” Going to the bed, Bess picked up Jocelyn’s robe and brought it to her. “Normally, I’d not call the master sweet you realize, but him giving you that when you like poetry so much…. It’s sweet. And thoughtful. He’s trying to woo you. I’m happy for you, my lady.”

“You are?”

“Of course.” Now Bess stepped to the bed, turning down the covers as she talked. “What happened after the tournament season was terrible. Why, I don’t know how I would’ve reacted if I’d been in your place! Germaine has been my only love and I can’t imagine a life without him. But you’re such a strong woman, accepting my lord after what he’d done! I admire you so much, to tell the truth.”

Jocelyn wasn’t sure how to feel about that pronouncement. “My life doesn’t glitter, Bess. I’m not strong like you think.”

“You handle the master well enough. He gave you a gift. Do you not see how remarkable that is? Adhemar doesn’t give gifts. Ever. You’re changing him, my lady.”

Hearing voices in the hallway, she gave Bess a stern look. “Enough of that. It remains to seen whether he’s changed or not. Don’t be expecting miracles.”

Jocelyn remained wide awake as hours passed. The realization that tournament was coming up had her both excited for it and dreading it. They’d be scrutinized, all of them. Her and Adhemar and Will. She fully expected him to be there. Tournament had become his way of life by the end. There was no way he wouldn’t be there.

She heard Adhemar come into the chamber, give his instructions to Germaine and undress. The bed dipped as he slid beneath the sheets with her and moved close. One arm wrapped about her, dragging her against him before he rubbed that hand up and down her arm. His lips touched her ear.

“Do you think you could possibly take over the household tasks from mother anytime soon,” he whispered. “She’s driving everyone around her insane. I had no less than eleven servants come to me today about her.”

He knew she was awake. Jocelyn licked her lips and opened her eyes. She should have known he’d know. He always had before. “Katherine refuses to allow me.”

Adhemar stilled, his hand tightening on her arm a fraction. “What do you mean she won’t allow you? Why ever not?”

For a moment, she considered how to say it and decided blunt was best. He’d prefer it that way. “She knows we haven’t been…intimate,” she stumbled over the word, “since arriving here. She claims I’m no true wife to you.”

“When did she say this to you?”

Not long after Jocelyn had told her it was none of her business. Should she tell him it had gone on that far back? “Weeks ago.”

“Hell!” Releasing her, he kicked the covers off. “How does she dare?” He left the bed, reaching for his clothes. “Get up. Get dressed.”

What did he plan? Jocelyn dressed, contemplating the question as Adhemar dragged on his own clothes with constant muttering. They were probably the only ones left awake aside from the night watch. What could he possibly do at this hour? “Adhemar?”

“Come.” One hand latched on her arm, pulling her out of the chamber and into the corridor to his mother’s door. He banged a fist on it. “Wake up, mother.”

The panel opened, Katherine peering sleepily at them. “I trust you’ve a good reason for waking me at this hour? The house burning down about our ears perhaps?”

“Who is this woman beside me?”

Jocelyn flinched from his tone. His mother merely clasped her hands together.

“Jocelyn.”

“And what is she to me?”

Understanding lit Katherine’s gaze and she was suddenly more alert than she’d been. “You tell me.”

His hand squeezed Jocelyn’s arm. “My wife. She’s my wife.”

Jocelyn watched Katherine carefully, but that one only tilted her head.

“In word or deed?”

“Both.”

Katherine’s brows rose. “Liar,” she said slowly, dragging the word out.

“You’ll treat her with the respect due to her.”

“Respect must be earned and she’s not earned it.”

The door slammed in their faces and Jocelyn heard the bar being dropped across it. One glance at Adhemar showed him growing angrier by the second, murder in his gaze and his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

“Old woman,” he roared, releasing Jocelyn, both hands pounding on the door “Open this door! I’ll have it broken down, you miserable meddling hag!”

Jocelyn touched his arm. “Perhaps this isn’t the time for this,” she suggested. Servants were beginning to appear in the hallway, curious as to what was going on. Katherine knew the truth, that Adhemar hadn’t touched Jocelyn in weeks, and she knew because the servants had informed her. Bess, ever loyal, had sniffed in annoyance at her fellow servants and exclaimed it wasn’t their business what went on between the master and mistress at night. It was only going to get worse if Jocelyn and Adhemar didn’t do something. Anne and Robert’s door opened, both of them peering out into the hall as well. Anne, Jocelyn noticed, hadn’t bothered braiding her hair either.

“You’re lucky I don’t turn you out this instant,” Adhemar threatened, voice a bellow that surely the watch outside heard.

She glanced at the faces watching, felt a sinking in her heart, and did the only thing she could think of to both stop him and make those watching think that perhaps they didn’t have all the information they thought they did.

Jocelyn grabbed Adhemar’s face in her hands, rose up on her tip-toes and kissed him full on the lips.

His attention was diverted towards her at a speed that was terrifying, but Jocelyn wouldn’t let herself pull away too soon. She had to make a spectacle of them before those watching. She had to make them believe, so she stood kissing and being kissed in return, feeling his arms go about her squeezing the breath near from her. In those moments, Jocelyn discovered something that would certainly distress her to a great extent in the light of morning: his kisses weren’t repugnant. In fact, she found it…enjoyable. Regrettably, terribly, confusingly enjoyable.

When she did raise back down and release him, his color was again normal and she thought he might be somewhat rational while she herself was fast losing that state. The anger was gone from his eyes, replaced with a speculation she didn’t care to see. It was best if he didn’t look at her that way.

“Now come back to bed.” Jocelyn turned, walked a few paces and glanced back. “And for God’s sake put the bar on the door. I’d have no thoughtless interruptions like we’re usually subject to.”

Bravado got her much in life, she’d found long ago. It had helped her with bold speech and much more and now she used it to advantage once more, walking into their chamber and undressing with the door still wide open. When she’d removed all but her shift and had loosened the drawstring so that the fabric slipped halfway down her back, she added, “You’re keeping me waiting, Adhemar. You know very well I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

She stood still, waiting until she heard the door close and the bar drop before pulling the shift back up into place. Adhemar came to her, one hand on her back, halting the fabric, fingers tracing the line of her spine, his lips on her shoulder.

“You surprise me, Jocelyn.”

“How so?”

His chin rested on her shoulder. “You played your part well out there.”

“What else would you have had me do? Let the servants think they know all? Let your mother think she knows all? Were we to let them continue thus, your authority as lord would be questioned and I know you can’t have that. A man is master in his home and no other. I know this.”

“Mother does know all, to an unfortunate degree.” Releasing her, he began undressing. “That kiss was masterful, Jocelyn. Dare I think your heart is softening and your grief lessening? Will I soon have that temptress from tournament back?”

Jocelyn tied the drawstring on the neckline of her shift. “No,” she informed him, skirting the end of the bed to reach her side of it. “That temptress never existed for you and I’ve no feelings for you, Adhemar. There is nothing in me that even cares one bit about you. I won’t love you.” She sat on the edge of the bed. It was a lie she told, for Jocelyn did care about him. What affected him, affected her in the end.

“Love is overrated. I’d rather have you a willing partner instead of how you’ve been these months.”

“And that I cannot do either.”

He crawled across the bed to recline behind her, one hand caressing the length of her hair. “Would you be able to move on in this life if you discovered he’d moved on from you?”

A glance showed only curiosity reflected upon his handsome features. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Will was happy now….” Jocelyn bit her lip. “Adhemar, I’m tired and it’s late.”

“Then by all means, let us retire.”

The question stayed with her. Could she resign herself to making a life with Adhemar if Will had become attached to another? Or would her heart break anew?

~~~~~~~~

Never in his life had Adhemar ever expected Jocelyn to go to such lengths to give a single impression. He saw the servants eyes widen and his Uncle and Anne share an amused glance before he followed her into the chamber. He decided to lie abed awhile in the morning and let them all think about that. Adhemar never stayed in bed late. He preferred to be up and about, conducting business, training, and enjoying noble pursuits. This turn should give them pause.

Jocelyn gave him the perfect opening to tell her about Thatcher’s wedding to Christiana and yet he held his tongue. Why? It likely wouldn’t benefit him later when she found out he’d kept that information from her, but he didn’t want to see her descend back into constant tears. Only recently had she begun to smile again, a smile that caused his heart to skip a beat in his chest and a tightness develop in his throat. It had become his personal battle to bring the old Jocelyn back and with such progress as he’d made in the past couple weeks, telling her the news would surely crush her.

And then when would he have a willing wife? Never.