A Puzzling Turn

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar's behavior bewilders Christiana.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

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I have timed finishing the embroidery on both shirt and coat perfectly. Etienne's birthday is tomorrow and both shall be a lovely gift for him in the morning when we rise. I look forward to seeing him in them. I have been planning a special banquet for him tomorrow night, my first banquet by myself. Patrice has pronounced me ready to perform all duties as Lady of the manor without her assistance. I am a bit nervous, but she assures me I am doing a fine job.

Lydia is not in residence. Etienne has packed her off to St. Anne's to stay with Adele for a couple months. He sweetened her stay at the convent by supplying the good sisters with a large sum of monies. Lydia shall be relatively comfortable, albeit rather bored in my opinion. She shall have little to occupy her mind but prayer, some embroidery and a few menial tasks put to her by the sisters. The convent is a suitable threat for Lydia. She went kicking and screaming -- literally doing so, giving one of Etienne's men a black eye -- and has not sent a kind letter back to Etienne since her arrival there. Her letters to me are the sort of tentative overtures of friendship I am happy to see at last from her.

No more has been said of Lydia marrying and my husband has not confided his thoughts on the matter to me. I suppose it shall eventually be settled, but I do not share his belief that Lydia will do her duty without comment. He should know better. Although....Lydia is still carrying a fear of him from that day. I cannot honestly predict what will occur.

I have not only planned Etienne's birthday, I am also planning the household to cope in our absence. Tournament will begin in a month and a half and I am to accompany my husband there. He wants me with him, at his side at all times.

This lavish attention of late is bewildering, I must admit, calling to mind the interest he showed me on our wedding day. Ever since that day with Lydia just after Christmas, he has become almost too attentive, if there can be such a thing. He has become...jealous. Yes, that is the word I want. Jealous. He had not been such since realizing I was a virgin. He quit asking for Roland's name and I had thought the jealousy gone. It is becoming painfully obvious that his jealousy is growing as well, for whenever I speak to a man, he demands to know what was said and threatens each man with physical violence. He has several of the men deathly afraid of him from this. It is making running the household an interesting endeavor, Sarah acting as my go-between to the men I must deal with, such as the steward.

What is baffling is not the attention exactly. I can reason that away as him feeling some guilt for his admission. He thinks if he pays quite a bit of attention to me, I shall forget what he said. His jealousy is a part of that as well. He does consider me his property. Everyone must know that I am his property. There shall be no doubts among any man that I am his. No, the puzzling thing is the feeling I have that something is still not fully right between us. Something is just slightly off. Some truth has not been spoken that needs to be put to light. I do not know what that truth could be.

I have come to terms with the fact that he will likely never love me; that his affections remain Jocelyn's first. I am fine with it now. Many marriages are like this. Love is a fluke. Marriage, by and large, is a contract undertaken by two people for the good of their families. Love does not usually enter in to the picture. I walked into this knowing full well I was doing a duty. I should not have forgotten that. As Etienne did point out, I am his wife, not Jocelyn. I am the one who is here, the one who will have his children. By that alone, he would think of me on occasion. I have forgiven him for his thoughtless words. It took me a long while, but I have forgiven him. He is not a man who apologizes for anything, yet he came to me with one on his lips. That is something, some slight softening of him to me.

I am hoping that those brutal Tournament games will suffice to work out what troubles him. He can beat up all the opponents he likes under the guise of competition. I am looking forward to seeing Jocelyn again, but suspect that we shall not be able to indulge ourselves in long heart-to-heart talks. Etienne is resistant to any meeting of me with Jocelyn. I must remind myself that it is another way for him to yank Jocelyn's emotions about and get a reaction. It is a control issue. I will think of it in that term: control. He needs control of things like I need affection in my life. To not have it is frightening.

"My Lady Christiana?" Germaine's soft voice intrudes upon my thoughts and I look up from my contemplation of the fire. He brings a roll of parchment to me. "Lady Jocelyn's messenger just brought this."

"Thank you." I take it and sit in the nearest chair, unrolling the letter to read it. He does not stay to see if I shall send a response, for by now he knows I shall let him know when I have one ready. Germaine learns quickly how things are done, which is why, I suppose, he has become so indispensable to Etienne. He is very good at all the functions he performs in the household, including those duties that are not actually those of Herald. Indeed, when he spoke to me a long while back of being a confidant to Etienne, he was being modest. He is a friend to Etienne as I am a friend to Jocelyn, only he stays firmly back in his place, behind what is correct. It is a strange friendship they share, but one nonetheless.

'Dear Christiana,

Geoffrey Chaucer has blessed us most thoroughly since taking his leave of us last fall as you did. He found a new herald for Will. His letters on that process of interviewing have been hysterically humorous accounts of men he dubs 'complete and utter imbeciles, the whole lot.' He claimed he was certain there 'must be a somewhat redeemable fellow among the throng of pompous, preening idiots' and proceeded to find us one that is up to his standards. His name is Stephen and he does not quite have Geoff's droll sense of humor, but we like him. He is a studious young man and eager to begin his job in earnest once Tournament begins.

Geoff has also sent us a steward, since we were lacking a good one, a gentleman of his acquaintance whom he says does not share his 'single sad affliction that caused so many miserable days of naked trudging.' That puzzled me until Will enlightened me. Our dear friend Geoffrey likes to gamble on occasion. Unfortunately, he loses quite a bit. His clothes go to pay his debts. Anyway, Geoff is fine and sends his greetings to you through us.

I am four months along now and seem to be in perfect health.'

"Christiana?"

I glance up and see Etienne a few feet away. His clothes are disheveled and ripped in places. He motions to me, holding his left side. "I need you."

Rolling the letter, I go to him. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to work out a...knot."

I follow him to our chamber, placing the letter on the table and waiting for him to take off his coat and shirt. He does so slowly, wincing and hissing in a dramatic fashion that would shame his mother's dramatics were she to hear him. When they are dropped, I see a nasty bruise darkening his ribs. I do not wait for him to get on our bed, but rather I cross to him, gingerly touching my fingertips to the spot. "A knot?" I query, doubt in my voice. "This looks more like a bruise to me."

The corners of his mouth twitch, satisfaction glittering in his eyes. "It is a bruise."

"Hmm." I frown up at him. Sometimes he is just a little bit too pleased to be injured. It makes me wonder why he has not cheerfully gotten himself killed before now with his casual attitude to wounds. I cast my eyes to that bruise and study the place. By the looks of it, I would guess he got it early this morning, as it is blossoming in beautiful shades of purple, from light lilac to almost black. "Is anything broken?"

"The man's nose who did it."

"I mean on you."

"And his ribs and an arm. He was the biggest of those latest brutes I added to my men. I made him cry from the pain."

I make an exasperated noise. "Etienne, is anything broken on you? I could care less about your opponent."

"No. Nothing is broken." He brushes my fingers aside and strips all of his clothes off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. "I just need your gentle touch to soothe away the stress of the day." Etienne climbs on our bed, giving me an imploring gaze. "I do have knots that need worked out."

As I slip off my shoes and step to the bed, our door opens. I turn my head to see Sarah frozen in the doorway, her arms filled with the last of the surcoats Patrice had me measured for. Her mouth forms a tiny 'o', her eyes widening as she first sees Etienne laying there naked, then me fully dressed. Her entire face turns bright red and she turns and runs. I am a bit embarrassed. Poor Sarah. I guess I should have barred the door straight away. I do so now and lean my back against it when I am done. Etienne's amused chuckles pull a giggle from me before I can stop it.

"Poor Sarah." I saunter to the bed and join him, kneeling beside him on the mattress. He is chuckling and wincing at the same time, hand again on the bruised place. "You think it is funny?"

"It is funny. She looked scared to death and I was not even yelling at her."

I give him a chiding look and slide my hand slowly along his back, urging him to roll onto his stomach. "I doubt she has seen a naked man before."

"Not my problem."

"Etienne."

"Well, it isn't." He says reasonably, rolling over for me and resting his head on his folded arms.

I straddle him, my skirts covering his legs, and begin to press my hands along the flesh of his back, searching for the knots he claimed to have. I deal with one on his shoulder blade and slide my hands further down his back, finally discovering a mass of knots all along his lower back. Now I understand why he stripped naked. I could not have reached them well with his breeches on. They yield quickly under my fingers, Etienne giving a relieved groan as the last one relaxes. I move from him, but before I can move away, he catches my wrist, yanking me down beside him.

"My birthday is tomorrow." He says simply, undoing the fastening of my surcoat, spreading the fabric and leaning down to rest his cheek against my breast. His face is warm through my dress. I glide my fingers across the sculpted plane of his cheekbone.

"I know."

"You have been working on something for me." He is determined I shall tell him what I plan to give him. It is my fault that he knows I have a gift for him. I let it slip last week, rather unintentionally.

"You want it now?"

"Yes." Etienne sits up, hand sliding over my stomach in tiny circles. "You see it my way. Where is it?"

I laugh. "What makes you think I am going to give it to you a day early?"

He glances at the canopy top, considering my question. "Well, I was born just after midnight and that is only a few hours from now. It is not a day early."

"Just half a day." I am happy to see him light hearted, even playful, something I am seeing for the first time today. I decide to give him his gift. His mood makes this a special occasion. "Very well. You have to let me up though." He does so with an expectant gaze, hands raising so I am not held there on the bed before him.

I have hidden it in plain sight, his gift. On a bench near the window, I keep a pile of embroidery, projects I have started or plan to start soon, each cloth folded, with the colored silks in the middle of the fold to keep them together. I go to the pile, refastening my surcoat as I go, and lift the pile up, setting aside the top cloths. In the center of the stack, are the shirt and coat I have made and embroidered for him. Taking them up, I go to our bed and set them on the mattress.

Etienne picks them up, studies them with the same concentration he studies an opponent with. "You have been working on these. I have seen you."

The embroidery has been precisely placed on the shirt neck so that when the coat is over it, the embroidery on the shirt shall be displayed. I have also embroidered vines and leaves along the collar, hem and cuffs of the coat. As he holds the shirt up to him, I am pleased to see I was right. The color is perfect for him. I sit beside him, waiting for some comment or facial expression so that I know he likes my gift.

His hand slips behind my neck, pulling me close, his mouth covering mine in a gentle, brief kiss. "Thank you, Christiana. The needle work is beautiful."

"You wear black so often, I wanted to see you in another color."

He considers me, fingering the cloth. "Is there more of this cloth?"

I nod. There is still a bolt of it in the storeroom. Patrice had bought it with the intent of making dresses for herself, Adele and Lydia, but the death of Etienne's father Philippe had stalled the project. She had been happy to let me use the fabric. "There is quite a bit."

"Good. Make a dress and surcoat for yourself, or have it done for you. I wish us to match."

I do not know what to say. He has never shown any interest in our clothes matching before. Style and color have not bothered him, just the fabric choice, and now he wishes us to match? Confused, I give another nod as I slip from the bed to pick up his discarded breeches. "Will you try them on?"

"Of course." As he dresses, he remarks, "You shall have to embroider the cloth yourself, you know. I do not think another could do such a fine job."

I stare at him, feeling a bit faint. What is the matter with him? Where has my husband gone? I have received two compliments in one day and neither was backhanded. He is agreeable, kind and playful. Is he drunk? He does not reek of liquor. This behavior is inconsistent with how he has been behaving towards me, conflicting with the jealous man who has been here. "Are you feeling okay, Etienne?"

"I feel fine."

The feeling that something is wrong creeps over me.

He glances at me over his shoulder as he pulls the coat on. There is a fleeting glimpse of something in those hazel orbs, but it disappears too quickly for me to decipher what. "Can I not give my wife a compliment?"

I make no comment, smoothing the cloth across his shoulders, back and chest. The measurements are perfect. He looks most handsome. Reaching up, I tousle his hair the way I prefer it, making sure a few locks tumble down his forehead.

He arches a black brow at me. "Do I meet your approval, wife?"

Those eyes bore into mine and I sense a weight to his question, as though we are not just talking about how he looks in the new shirt and coat. "Yes." He continues to stare at me for a long moment, then turns and begins changing clothes.

"I will wear these later."

His playfulness has vanished, moodiness returned. I take Jocelyn's letter from the table and seek a quiet corner in which to finish it.

~~~~~~~~~~

She asks if I am well. I suppose I cannot claim to be ill. I do not suffer any physical malady, save those aches my opponent gave me this morning. No, what I suffer from is not an illness. I suffer from that weakness fear. There in my mind, is that minute fear that I am not supplying all she needs.

The unwelcome opinion of my grandfather is that if I do not unbend myself on certain matters, she will look elsewhere. He has come out of his chambers enough times in the past weeks to tell me this, that I cannot think of anything else. The thought has been beat into my brain. My wife could stray. I will not allow her to do so. I will not allow that to happen.

I am setting my house in order. Lydia's fate shall be decided once Merrick returns from both burying his grandfather and seeing to his other lands. My mother is soon to retire to the lands my father set aside for her in the dower. She shall have full reign there and I shall bother myself with the running of them no more. As for my grandfather, he can go to one of our other houses and terrorize the servants there, thus giving me another house I do not need to look at so closely.

Christiana and I shall be alone here by summers end at the latest. I shall have no relatives looking over my shoulder regarding her, no unwelcome advice put forth to me almost daily on how to deal with her. I await that time with great impatience.