Coming Home

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: Adhemar accepts his feelings and heads for home.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

Notes: Pinpointing exactly when the movie was set was quite a chore. I had to take into account when Chaucer was married and that gap of time (that Brian Helgeland mentioned) where no one knew really where Chaucer was. And then, to take into account that Adhemar, during the movie, was supposed to be at war in Southern France. I made a "guesstimate" based on all that, the wars written of in historical sources and the fact that Adhemar's army was disbanded by Prince Edward.

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The ride has given me time to think. I have come to terms with that feeling Christiana has dragged from me. I have fought it as long as I could and am unable to squash it into submission. There is no recovery. I am firmly caught in the all encompassing net that is called 'love'. How is it possible that I, Adhemar, could sink into that weakness love?

But it is possible, for it has happened. The revelation was like a jolt of lightning from the heavens above, scorching me with the knowledge that I love Christiana. Looking back, I can see it so clearly, that road I traveled in my affections for her. That inability to put to words why I wanted her was the beginning. And now the emptiness inside me when we are parted.

I love Christiana.

I can say it to myself, a whisper inside my mind. Out loud though? To any and to her? Certainty is not mine. I have tried to whisper the words, but they find no purchase on my tongue, slipping away into silence. I know she loves me. I know she has been hesitant to tell me. Her letters to Jocelyn admitted the fact several times. She has willed herself to love me and by doing so, she now loves me. The only obstacle between us now is me, and any misunderstandings that remain. All shall be rectified upon my return home.

My emotions rage about in a wild storm within me, only they are not the tortured turns of a man fighting himself, but rather the raging of a man strangely freed from the prison his own body and mind had become. I feel light and carefree, a boy once more. The past of Beatrice is ashes. I am clean, purified by the fire Christiana set in me, and I can see glimmers of the boy I once was in the man I have become, a full circle back into myself.

I do not recognize myself. I understand Will Thatcher and his perceived foolishness of months past, for I have become foolish as well.

Should Christiana crook her finger after what I have put her through, I will go most willingly into her arms and grant every wish and whim of which I am able. Her kindness drew me to her, I know that at last. That she could show me even the tiniest bit of civility during that week after I exposed Thatcher for what he was and attempted to murder him....Some part of me recognized that I needed such a thing in my life, a woman who could teach me what I have missed all these years. No longer am I standing alone, watching others enjoy life.

I love!

No more avoiding my feelings, of hiding them away until I am cold and isolated once more. No more playing games. I am a husband. I am a Count, and I have responsibilities I cannot ignore. There shall be no more going off to war, save those that impact us directly.

"You have grown thoughtful, Adhemar." Prince Edward says from across the table. I look up at him from the map I have been staring at and not really seeing.

I stare at him. The Prince is not in good health. Sickness is heavy on his features, his breath a wheezing in his chest. He has greatly aged in the months since the season end with Thatcher's win. Indeed, he hardly seems the same man. I wonder how long before he returns to England with his wife and children and how long until he dies of the injuries and sickness he now carries. I do not wish to end up as he, off at war while my family waits at home for some word. In all truth, I am not certain I agree with the politics of this latest war. It was both politically and financially advantageous for me to side with Edward in supporting Peter the Cruel back into power in Castile, but this latest war....

I do not like that Edward raised the taxes in Aquitaine to the extent he did, yet I understand why he did it. War is expensive. I also understand King Charles' support of the people of Aquitaine. Oh hell. I am coming to hate politics. I understand both sides and really do not agree with either fully.

"Adhemar?"

"My wife..." I begin, trailing off, not even sure what I had intended to say.

He smiles and gives a laugh that ends in a cough. "As much as I benefit from your expertise here on the battlefield, go home. We do not need you here. Your men, yes, but not you. You are still newly wedded in my eyes." Edward drags a chair over to sit, collapsing into it with a weariness that I sympathize with. "I understand the love of a good woman. Believe me. If I did not carry the burden of royal blood, I would be at home with Joan and our children." A shadow of pain crosses his face, swiftly passing. "You have my leave to return to your wife. Choose some of your men to take back with you and leave the rest. Whichever man you trust most can send you regular updates on how they fare."

That he bears me no ill will from that joust and my actions towards Thatcher still manages to surprise me. Prince Edward is a unique man. I waste no time in making my arrangements. I shall take twenty men with me, Germaine included. We shall leave as soon as we can load tents, furnishings and supplies into carts. I leave Douglas in charge and we set off.

I wonder if we shall meet the messenger I sent on the way. He will be returning with a letter from Christiana I am sure. The woman loves to correspond with others, though her usual written efforts were confined mostly to Lady Jocelyn. There were a couple letters sent to a Phillipa Chaucer and an Alison Randall that I recall, though I have not a single idea who the women are. I look forward to reading her letter and surprising her by arriving after only being gone a few weeks. Hopefully by then I can manage to release those three words from my lips. I wish to ride into the courtyard, swing her around and tell her I love her before carrying her to our chamber and ignoring my duties for a few hours.

We travel swiftly and two days from home, we do meet the messenger. The man is agitated, eyes wide and limbs shaking. I dismount to greet him. He slides from his own horse, nearly collapsing. "My Lord Adhemar, I am glad you are returning! I could not enter your lands!"

A coldness prickles at my back. "What do you mean?" I ask guardedly.

"Your home is surrounded." The man drinks thirstily from a cup Germaine hands him. "There are soldiers..." He stops, shakes his head. "Not true soldiers like these men, but ruffians. Thieves. A good many of them. I was warned on the outskirts to turn back or be killed, that Owen Marchant claims the lands for his own and all within his."

I shudder at the name. How very fitting that Beatrice should kick me in the ass right when I have finally put her aside. Owen Marchant would do nothing like this without her urging. I remember Beatrice's brother Owen as a mean, arrogant little snot who never could listen to a bad word about his sister. I am beginning to wish I had killed Beatrice years ago when I discovered those things she had done. If he hurts my wife, Owen had better pray I am killed before I find him, for he will suffer a thousand different hells before I allow death to take him.

I leave a man with the messenger, urging my troops further down the road. Less than a two hours from home, we see a figure coming towards us in the road and slow our pace. Drawing closer, I see the figure is a woman, and that she is very familiar.

It is Jocelyn. She has not given birth yet, her belly even larger than it was at Tournament and her graceful walk reduced to that waddle pregnant women usually end up with in their final month. As I near her, she drops to her knees clutching her belly, a sharp cry coming from her. I dismount and go to her, crouching down. "Jocelyn? Lady Jocelyn?"

Her clothes are dusty and torn, a bruise darkening her left cheek and jaw. She pants, then reaches out a hand, clutching at my jacket. "Help me....Please!" Her fear filled gaze entreats me, pain etched on her fine features, the sort of expression that feeling radiates from. I can almost feel her hurts reaching out to me, raining over my skin. "It is coming, my baby is coming!"

"Germaine!" I call out. He is there, already beside me, taking in the situation with an efficient, assessing gaze.

"My Lord?"

"Get my tent and bed set up and bring that young priest Edward sent with us up here. The baby will need baptized when it comes." Jocelyn's hand clenches, her knuckles turning white. Tears begin to overflow her eyes and roll down her cheeks. A strangled noise sticks in her throat, as though she is trying to keep from screaming.

I have seen a human birth before in one of the villages in Southern France and witnessed many animal births, so I am not completely ignorant of what needs to be done. Her pain is likely to get worse as the hours pass. "Let it out. Scream if you must." I slip an arm around her to steady her.

My words give her license to vent, her first scream loud and piercing. By the frequency of her screams, her baby is coming soon. I grind my teeth. The position the two of us are in is physically awkward. If she shifts at all, we will both end up flat in the dust. Slowly, I move so that I can lift her as soon as the tent is ready.

"Where is Thatcher?" I snap.

She gives me an exhausted glance as she pants. "Defending the manor." The last word turns into a scream and I glance at the clearing. It is taking too long to put up the tent. Her screams and panting are becoming constant, any word she tries to speak ending in one or the other. I work my jacket free and roll it up, then ease her back so her head is on it.

I am reluctant to check her progress, to see if the head is appearing. I cannot explain my reluctance. I simply do not feel right playing midwife to her, but there is no other.

"Oh God! It hurts! Get it out!" Two of my men sit at her feet, backs to us. I watch Germaine lift Jocelyn's feet and place them on the men's backs.

"She can push against them." He says quietly, bending and picking up a small branch, quickly snapping it in two and trimming off the twigs. He smoothes the branch and goes to sit at Jocelyn's head.

"For God's sake--" She screams again, eyes closing, face contorting in agony. Her scream ends with the Germaine placing the branch between her teeth so she can bite down.

"My Lord?" Germaine nods. "I think we are ready."

With a last look at her face, I move to kneel between her spread legs and toss her dress up.

Several hours later, Jocelyn is asleep on the bed, exhausted from birthing two babies. Two. They are small squirming bundles to my eyes, yet I realize they are actually large babies in comparison to others. No wonder her belly was so big. She was carrying two huge sons. I shift the oldest of the boys in my arms and glance at her. The priest Edward sent is getting up from the bedside, settling the covers about her, while Germaine holds the other baby.

Cool throughout the birthing process, Germaine now seems uncertain. I sit in the chair beside him. "How did you know what to do?"

He shifts the child, shrugs. "Claire."

Claire is the midwife who lives on my lands. She is young, I recall, and pretty. I wait for him to explain more fully.

"She needed help when Nell, one of the kitchen maids, went into labor and, as you were with your wife, I agreed to help her."

I nod. I only vaguely remember that day. "Your help today was appreciated."

He is quiet for a long moment. "Thank you, my Lord."

We sit in silence. Exhaustion is claiming me so, tomorrow I will leave more men here with Jocelyn and the boys and go to my home.

In the morning, I look in at Jocelyn. My men have carried out their orders well and made her and her babes most comfortable. She is on my bed, a serene beauty in the aftermath of birth. She looks up at me, a hesitant smile curving her lips. There is no stir within me, no rage that she is not mine. Jocelyn is simply another beautiful woman among the many beauties in the world. I feel nothing for her. She does not compare to my wife.

"Thank you. I never thought I would say those words to you ever, but I say them now." Her smile fades. "Christiana will be sorry she missed the birth. She is anxious for the birth of your own and had hoped to have her fears of labor quelled."

I stare at her, feeling the heat on my face draining away. Birth of our own?

She stares back. "I know you plan to go riding in there and you needed to know. It is not just her life held hostage, but your child in her also."

Her news has shaken me and I drop into the chair near the bed. "Is she well?" Pregnant. Christiana is pregnant. The thought of losing her now makes fear clutch my heart. To finally be free of my demons and lose my deliverer, my love, will surely shatter me.

"I saw her with a bow in hand, putting to use archery skills I do not remember her having. She got up on that catwalk with your men, not coming down until the gate was splintering under their attack and we had to retreat fully to the manor. When Lydia managed to get Adele and I out, Christiana was fighting like a...a...tigress to defend your home."

I stand. There can be no delay. I must be home.

"You love her." Jocelyn says quietly as I turn to leave. I glance back.

"Why do you say that?"

"Your face." There is something triumphant in her voice and the gentle lift of her lips in a smile. "It shows your feelings quite plain."

Am I transparent now? "You are right. I do love her." The word comes out with only a slight tremble to it. I have made progress.

She nods, sobers. "There is more to tell you. The siege began a week ago. It went so quickly that Richard suspected a spy had recently been within the walls."

Immediately my thoughts go to Einon Chartrand. It would not surprise me at this point to find that the young knight is in Beatrice's favor.

"They got through the front, but the whole of the forces remained outside. Only the worst looking of the lot came in to try and storm the manor. Will killed one man who was attacking Adele and we got separated. Christiana, Will, Wat and Kate held the front and Lydia led myself and Adele through a maze of corridors and out a gate in the back wall, one hidden by bushes and brambles. It led almost directly into the forest and was like a tunnel."

"How many were there?" I ask, crossing my arms to still my angry trembling. No man invades my home like that.

Jocelyn shakes her head. "I do not know. I am not military minded. All I was concerned with was living. I tried to get Christiana to come, but she would not leave your home. Lydia planned to steal a couple horses and ride for a neighbor, a man named Merrick I think she said. She was sure he would help."

"He would. If he was at home. I doubt he has returned from visiting his other holdings though." I sigh. There could be little left for me. If any of my family has been harmed, that man will suffer even more. Christiana....Defending our home. "Why did you not go with her and Adele?"

"Riding in my condition? I would have slowed them down. Lydia pointed me towards the road, told me to keep south. She said I would eventually come upon a town and a safe haven could be found there if the Adhemar name was mentioned."

"It is a poor army that does not surround the walls. It shows deficient planning, lack of foresight. Jocelyn, I must go. Men will remain with you and your babies. If we do not return in three days, they will pack camp and take you to your father's nearest home."

Any reply she says is unheard by me as I leave the tent. My men take their instructions and within ten minutes, we are gone.

Please, God, let Christiana still live!