Title: The Lamentable Truth of Planning

Chapter: 9

~~~~~~~~~~

The tournament year was upon them in just over a week. As the opening games were being held a mere two days away, Christiana saw no need to leave a week early. It was ridiculous to do so when it was so close. She crossed her arms and glared at Will. He was being completely unreasonable about this, unbending on his decision that they should all trot out there early and spend hard earned funds for no good reason. In fact, he was enthusiastic about it!

“We’re leaving tomorrow and that’s final,” he told her, stopping his pacing long enough to glare back at her. His hair tumbled about his brow in a most pleasing fashion, but Christiana wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted.

“I’m not going a week early. It makes no sense and will only cost us more money than we need to be spending.”

Will leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling, hands on his hips. “It’s tournament, Christiana. That means that whatever we spend will come back to us in winnings.”

“You can’t know that,” she protested. “What will you do if you don’t win, if someone else takes the prize?”

“I won’t lose,” he yelled, looking at her again with irritation on his features.

“Every man can lose,” she yelled back, “Just look at what happened to Adhemar!” Probably not the best example to bring up, but one that accurately displayed her point. “He’d been champion for years and you toppled him from that.” In a rather spectacular fashion, she added silently to herself.

His fists rose in the air, beating at the empty space around him in frustration. “I’m nothing like Adhemar. I know I’ll win because I’m good at this life. I’m a good jouster.”

“I’m not disputing that. But pride and arrogance are sins, Will. You begin to share that with Adhemar. I can see it. Wat and Kate can see it.” She gestured at them. When Will looked their way, Kate contemplated the ceiling with wide eyes and Wat pursed his lips. It was clear neither wanted to say anything, for they both suddenly turned and fled rather than join in the argument. “Everyone can see it. You go to tournament like this and you’ll lose immediately. Adhemar knew he was good, too.”

“No. No, we’re going. You’re not going to dissuade me. Be ready to leave tomorrow morning.”

If he thought he was giving the final word on this, then he had another thing coming, she decided. She had her own way of getting what she wanted. While men liked to think they ran their houses themselves, it was the wives who influenced household in the end. Time to use her influence.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was simpler all the way around, Will found, not to rile his wife.

Morning found the wagon unpacked and the household still not ready for their departure. Nothing was ready despite having been planned for weeks. She’d somehow found a million and one other tasks for everyone to perform that were for some reason immediately necessary. After a frustrating few hours, Will went in search of Christiana, finding her in their chamber before the window, her sewing on her lap.

“I won’t compromise with you. I won’t bend on this.” He stared at her.

She took a stitch and ignored him.

“Do you not see how important it is that we go early?”

Her silence was pointed.

Leaning against the doorframe, he sighed. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Wat is overseeing the packing of the wagon as we…as I speak. We go early, Christiana, so that we can be seen. Isn’t that what half of tournament is anyway? Seeing others and being seen? You were the one who said we had to give a certain appearance.”

“Don’t throw my words back at me.” She looked up. “We should arrive only the day before it starts and not sooner. Until we see who is competing seriously, we need to keep a close eye on funds and not overstretch ourselves. My concern is for all of us, Will. I have as much a vested interest in our life together as you. You’ve taken my counsel before on other matters, so why won’t you take it on this?”

There was a glimmer of hurt in her eyes and with a jolt, he realized that was what this was about. It wasn’t about going to tournament, not really, it was about him not listening to her advice. “Yes, I’ve listened and followed before, but this time I choose not to take that advice. Can you be a good wife and do what I say?”

“I am a good wife, for a good wife questions her husband when his decision,” she stressed the next three words slowly, “makes no sense.”

“Bluntly, wife, I like tournament and while I realize you may not have the same fervent liking as I, I want you there with me at the start. I don’t want the others to say I’ve a wife who doesn’t support me by not arriving with me.”

“If we went when I want, then I’d still arrive with you and none could talk.” One brow raised in challenge.

“Yes, but I want to go now. Can you not feel the thrill of the season already starting? I can. It sings in my veins. I can’t wait to hear the crowd, to ride the field.”

“To win horses and trophies,” she snipped out.

Leaving the doorway, he went to her and sat beside her on the bench. “No, to provide for my wife, my family.” They were his family -- Christiana, Wat and Kate. “It’s how I know to do that and I welcome the return of my chance to provide well. This is my income, Christiana, like a merchant with his goods or…or like Kate with her business. I’m excited to go.” He took the sewing from her and set it aside, then took her hands in his. “Remember your first visit to tournament? The excitement, the thrill?”

“Mine doesn’t compare to what you describe. I really do dislike most of the games, although…the swordfight is enjoyable.” She looked down at their hands.

“You like the swordfight?” Why did that surprise him? It shouldn’t, he decided, since she did come out to watch whenever he practiced his technique in the afternoons. It was obvious when he thought about it.

“Well, yes, but Jocelyn and I never could see much of it. Her father wanted her at the jousting. He said the men competing there were the cream of the crop. She’d find a better husband from among them.” Her hands turned, clasping his in return. “There’ll be little to do until the games start if we go now.”

“Then you can spend time working with me on my reading and writing. Mark says I’m improving.” He wasn’t, but Mark was eager to please. After weeks, Will still couldn’t make sense of those squiggles on parchment. He was too impatient to sit and study them the way Mark wanted, though he could write his name rather well now. He had both Mark and Christiana to read and write for him and he’d gotten by for years without that knowledge anyway.

“Mark would tell you anything. He looks up to you a great deal.”

Releasing one hand, he tilted her chin up with his fingers. “Christiana, say you’ll go with me now. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“If I go, it’s against my better judgment.”

“Throw caution aside for once. Grasp at life with both hands!”

He was rewarded by a tiny grin that indicated she thought he was being silly now. “You do enough of that for both of us I think.”

“Nonsense. Everyone should live life to the fullest.” He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. “Say yes.”

“Oh, I don’t know….”

“Come on, Christiana. You can’t always worry about our finances. Let me worry about them.”

“I would but you don’t worry.”

“Because I’ve no reason to,” he returned. “Please.” Bending his head, he placed a kiss at the corner of her mouth on one side and then the other. “It won’t cost us much, I promise you.” He repeated the two kisses, a calculated move designed to fluster her, which it did well. He’d found that a careful use of kisses such as this could raise her mood quickly. And his, if he thought about it. “You’ll enjoy yourself, you know you will.”

A husky laugh left her. “Very well. We’ll go this time, but you have to promise me we’ll pay attention to finances.”

Leaning close once more, he changed direction at the last second, planting the kiss full on her lips. After a few seconds, she responded, her freed hand raising to his chest, lips parting beneath his. When he drew back, she was flushed and he winked at her. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Releasing her, he left the room to help Wat finish packing the wagon.

~~~~~~~~~

How did he do it? Christiana picked up her sewing after he’d gone and shook her head. One brief kiss from him and she was falling over herself to do what he asked. He knew it, too, and used it to his advantage every time. It would be maddening if it wasn’t, at the same time, so very charming.

Leaning back against the wall, she sighed. She’d gotten her way for one day at least. That was something. Her glance strayed to her trunk. If they were leaving tomorrow, she might as well pack and be ready. Knowing him and his eagerness to be at tournament, they’d be setting out before dawn.

Flinging the embroidery aside, Christiana got to her feet and began sorting out what she wished to take with her. Other embroidery projects to be sure. Perhaps the scarf she was nearly finished with. It was a delicate thing with geometric shapes, flowers, and Will’s crest all twined together in a design of her own making. The idea was to have it ready to be a favor tied to his arm and tucked beneath his armor. He’d seen her working on it, though likely didn’t realize her plan for it. She’d make sure it was far more secure than Jocelyn’s favor had been that one day. It wouldn’t be lost and no other knight would take it away.

She packed most of her clothes, only leaving the drabbest, most worn garments set aside. Tournament was for showing off and while her clothes weren’t grand like Jocelyn’s had been, she’d kept them in good repair. Jocelyn had insisted Christiana’s clothes be of decent quality to begin with. Soon, she was done with her own trunk and went to Will’s. It was important that they keep a certain appearance and while he’d agreed, she could tell he didn’t really care what he wore underneath it all. He was willing to let her dress him how she thought was appropriate.

Carefully, she sorted clothes. Shirts, coats. He didn’t have many. Her hands lingered on that garment Roland had made -- from the tent fabric she’d realized later. He’d done excellent work, but perhaps that one article should remain at home for now. Too many memories. If they’d decent income from winnings, she’d ask for a little to make him some new coats. Maybe something she could add some embroidery to. She thought he’d like that.

It seemed she’d just started when Wat and George came to collect the trunks. They were surprised she was done, groaning good naturedly together about aching backs before lifting the first trunk. Upon first glance, Wat and George were nothing alike. However, as weeks had passed, Christiana had noticed striking similarities between them. They were both spoiling for a fight half the time, with eager tempers that snapped to attention quickly. They enjoyed food and both held a superior attitude in the areas they thought they knew best.

Christiana adored them both. She thought her life was turning out rather well, save one tiny detail: Jocelyn. They had not quite left her behind. Still, Christiana had hopes that the future would bring her Will’s attention in full. His kisses came with more frequency these days and his embraces were longer.

She had hope.

~~~~~~~~~~

Since the kiss in the hallway outside his mother’s room, Adhemar had found Jocelyn to be almost distressed in mood. She would watch him in the hall as though wanting to speak to him, yet when he initiated conversation, she would say as little as possible. He sensed something rising between them and wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. He’d take either at this point. Something had to give and soon.

He went to bed with plans of packing for tournament. After all, it was only days now and if they timed it right, they could arrive the day before and not have to withstand much early scrutiny. By the time any knew of their arrival, they’d have other things to talk about. It would also give him an opportunity to sneak up on Thatcher early the starting morning and perhaps have an unguarded conversation regarding Jocelyn. He’d found mornings were an excellent time to catch others unaware. With luck, Thatcher would be confused and would reveal plenty before wondering on Adhemar’s motives.

Jocelyn was actually asleep when he slid beneath the covers, so he took the opportunity to throw an arm about her and drag her close. For once, Adhemar slipped into sleep quickly.

He had wonderful dreams of Jocelyn warm and willing, her mouth eagerly meeting his, her body pliant beneath his hands. The fog of sleep began to lift, the perfume she wore in his nostrils. Her hands slid along his back, sudden jabs of pain pushing the last vestiges of sleep from him.

Adhemar wasn’t dreaming. Jocelyn was everything he’d been wanting right then. He didn’t think on her change of heart until they were still once more and her screech nearly deafened him. Her hands moved, grasping his arms, shoving, voice panicked as she demanded he get off of her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her dreams had been an escape for long weeks now. Jocelyn went to her slumbers nightly eager to leave her life and return to Will’s arms. Sometimes her dreams accommodated her -- like now. She was in bed with Will, a very welcome return to her past. Jocelyn fell into the dream. It felt so very real to her, his hands on her body, mouth trailing kisses…. She didn’t question the tactile sensations, she merely enjoyed.

Unfortunately, clarity snapped into place, revealing not Will, but Adhemar. She gasped, horrified, that she’d apparently encouraged him while asleep. “Adhemar,” she hissed, shoving at his heavy weight above her. “Get off of me!”

“Stop hitting me,” he mumbled and rolled away with a sigh.

“How could you!” Jocelyn shoved her shift back down her legs.

His eyes started to close again, then snapped open. “How could I?” Incredulity colored those three words, as though he couldn’t imagine why she said them.

“You assault me while I sleep.” Tossing the covers off, she left the bed, reaching for her robe, intent on putting distance between them.

Adhemar raised up onto his elbows and stared at her. His eyes narrowed and a small smile played at his lips. “You’re my wife. I’ve rights.”

“I said I wouldn’t fight you, yet you wait until I’m unconscious. Could you be any sleazier? Brute,” she spat, ignoring that she’d been encouraging him. If she could ignore it, it couldn’t be true, right?

He snorted. “Yes, you said you wouldn’t fight, but neither were you the least bit agreeable. A corpse would be a better bed companion than you most nights.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s not a first for you.”

“I don’t desecrate the dead,” he roared, sitting the rest of the way. “At least allow that there are some sins I do draw the line at.”

“I trusted you --” His snort was loud and Jocelyn harrumphed, before starting over. “I trusted you not to attack me while I slept, but what did you do? You grope me like one of your whores while I sleep!” Crossing her arms, she watched him toss off the covers and turn his back to her. She gulped. Her nails had left marks on his back, one of which was trickling blood. He was going to be more insufferable than usual wasn’t he?

“I’ve a wife. I’m not supposed to need whores.” Adhemar looked over his shoulder at her. “Or hadn’t that occurred to you?”

“I won’t put up with this. I won’t be pawed in the middle of the night.”

“You’re my wife, Jocelyn, or have you forgotten that? A wife attends her husbands needs and I’ve seen little of that in any area thus far. You’ve scarcely behaved as a wife at all. You ignore me, refuse to give counsel --”

“When have you asked for it?”

His glower made the room feel even darker than it had before. “What wifely duties can you claim to employ, for I’ve seen none.”

“You disparage me.”

“You lack.”

“As do you.”

“How,” he demanded. “How do I lack as a husband?”

“If you cannot see your faults there, would you believe me if I pointed them out?” Her heart was beating very fast in her chest and Jocelyn noticed that everything about her right then seemed a bit more…solid and colorful. That trickle of blood on his back was bright against his flesh. Indeed, Jocelyn had never seen blood so red. She wanted to reach out and wipe away that evidence of her transgression.

But he’s your husband, a tiny voice inside her mind whispered. It wasn’t wrong. You’ve every right to enjoy his embraces as he does yours.

“Oh Jocelyn, you only say that because you can’t think of any.”

Well, yes, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. Besides, given time she was sure she could think up dozens of ways he’d been lacking. “And now you imply I lie.”

“No.” He stood, reaching for his clothes. “I say it outright: you lie. You lie to me and to yourself.”

“I do not.”

Coming to her, he hooked a finger on the neckline of her shift, dragging it down. “You’re flushed.”

“I’m angry.” She slapped his hand away and tugged the fabric back up, uncomfortably aware that Will had noted the same their first night together. She’d flushed and remained so a long while from pleasure.

Adhemar wasn’t buying it, standing a little straighter, a smirk tugging his lips. “It’s a very telling thing in most women, that flush.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you were pleased. There’s no shame in admitting your husband performed his duties satisfactorily -- even if you do claim to have been sleeping.” He shrugged on his shirt.

“You’re wrong.” Her voice could not have been more unsteady.

“And you’re delusional, so we’re even.”

“I’ll never find pleasure in your company in any way, shape, or form. You’re mad to think otherwise.”

“We’ll see.” Adhemar went to their door and opened it.

Germaine was waiting, peering in at first Adhemar, then Jocelyn.

“Mad,” she reiterated.

Adhemar reached for his coat, but Germaine stopped him.

“My lord, your shirt is bloody on the back.”

Removing the shirt, Adhemar studied it, then cocked a brow at her. “Is the scratch deep, Germaine?”

The man stretched a hand out to Adhemar’s back and Jocelyn’s cheeks burned. It was obvious the scratches were from her nails. The servants would have plenty of gossip today. “It should be attended to.”

Adhemar made no further comment, only that smug stare that indicated he knew damn well Jocelyn was lying. He held out the shirt and Jocelyn conceded the victory in stony silence, fetching a clean shirt and handing it to him. She drew the line at taking the soiled one. It fell to the ground when he released it, those small spots of blood giant to her eyes.

Jocelyn spent much of the day in their chamber, musing over what had occurred.