Confrontation

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary:  Things are not always what they seem.  Adhemar and Christiana reach their breaking points with each other.

Rating: PG-13, for swearing and violence.

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

Notes:  The letter is in italics.

~~~~~~~~~~

'Dearest Jocelyn,

I am in shock.  My only emotion is numbness, a great pool of it closing over me.  I cannot believe the thing that has just happened.  My hands tremble and writing these words is a difficult thing, both for that physical shaking and for the idea that to write it down is to acknowledge it has happened.

He nearly struck me today.

My husband nearly hit me.  His fist raised, shook with his anger, and he struck the young knight beside me instead.  It was clear he wished to strike me.  I turned and ran into the manor--'

"Christiana wait!"

'--to our chamber, dropping the bar onto our door only seconds before he was there, banging against it, trying to break it down.'

"Dammit wife!  Open this door!"

'--For nearly an hour, he yelled and cursed and hit the door.  I have never heard such language as he used!

What was my crime, you ask?  Why did he succumb to his rage?  I went riding without telling him first.  Riding with only Einon as escort.  This simple thing has put him into a rage.  I am so very confused.  I do not understand.

Sometimes he is loving and gentle and I know he trusts me, but then, he will suddenly fly into a rage, those jealous fits he is given to.  His outbursts are becoming more bizarre, over little things.  His behavior is erratic.  He drives his men near to exhaustion each day.  He pushes himself, and when they are all at the brink of collapse, he taunts them into further exertions.  His advances are far spaced because of this physical exhaustion each day and I miss those hours we spent together in the darkest time of night.  I miss becoming lost in his embraces.

What ails him?  Tell me, Jocelyn, do you have any idea?  Do Will or Wat or Roland?  Or Kate, even?  How can I make him back into the man I have come to love?  I want him back and I do not know how to accomplish it.'

I pause in my writing.  My hands are slowly steadying, my racing heart calming.  There has been silence outside the door for over an hour now and I wonder if Etienne has managed to kill himself in this episode of rage.  The thought causes a stab of pain to lance through my heart.  I cannot imagine a life without him now.  I have become accustomed to him.

My girlish dream of a tame love seems silly to me now.  I would have been bored stiff with one of those foppish, mild men.  My life here has been anything but boring.  I have passion in my life, a passion that is overwhelming in intensity.  I have the passion that Jocelyn spoke to me of.  It is different from the sort she shares with Will, but just as beautiful.

There is a light knock on the door and I hear Patrice's voice.  "Christiana?  Etienne bids you to join him in the hall below."

I get up on legs that are quivering and barely hold my weight, go to the door and remove the bar.  It is she who opens it.  Her gaze, so much like his, studies my face.  I must look a mess.  My nose is running from the tears I have cried and my face feels hot.  My hair is tangled, many of the braids I worked this morning coming undone.  With a sigh, she tugs me into a fast hug.  I smell the rose scent she favors, breathing in that comforting perfume.  She holds me as though I am a child, her hands stroking my hair and back.

"To love a man of this family is to shed many tears, dear.  Etienne is exactly like his father was."

"He is hateful."

"He is fighting his feelings."

"He has no feelings." I spit out.

She pushes me out to arms length, her strong hands tight on my shoulders.  "Do not give up on him yet, Christiana.  My son is on the verge of becoming the man God intended him to be.  Do not leave him to fall back into that pit of hatred he had fallen into.  You vowed to love him."

"He nearly hit me today, Patrice!  How can I honor that vow now?"  My hands clutch at the sleeves of her dress.

"Did he hit you?  Did his fist strike your flesh?  I see no evidence of that on you.  Do you read his mind now to garner his intent?  Perhaps you should hear him out without judging his actions."  Her face is expressive in this moment, pleading with me to follow her advice, to hear whatever Etienne has to say.  She seems almost desperate for me to do this.

I lower my eyes.  "He did not.  He hit Einon instead of me.  But it was obvious it was me he was angry at."  Or was it?  There had been a relieved welcome in his hazel eyes for several seconds before that rage surfaced to obliterate the pleasure.

Her hand forces my chin up.  "Were he completely lost, dear, and the monster you are thinking him, you would be nursing a broken jaw instead of Einon.  He did not strike you.  Have faith."  She jerks her head towards the stairs.  "Now we must go down before he is tired of waiting."

I follow her, wary of him.  The hall has many people in it.  I realize he has chosen a semi-public place for this meeting for a reason.  Does he not trust himself?  Does he doubt his own control?  I go to the table and take a seat beside him, adjusting the cushions there behind my back with exaggerated care.  Patrice sits down the table a ways, taking up a pen and dipping it into ink with delicate jabs before writing on a piece of paper.

Etienne laces his hands together on the table top.  He swallows hard and his voice has a coarse, tense quality to it.  "I am...sorry.  I should not have overreacted as I did.  I did not think how....It will not happen again."

"Prove it."  I say, the numbness I am encased in making me bold.  I am detached almost from the scene, an observer to this drama.

His eyes widen and he turns in his chair.  "How?"  He unlaces his hands, stretches one out to me, but I pull mine back before his flesh can touch mine.  "How can I prove such a thing?"

I shake my head, hands gripping the arms of my chair.  It all comes down to trust.  I trust him, but what of he to me?  What can he do to prove himself to me?  "You claim to trust me, then punch a man, breaking his jaw."  I lean towards him with each word.  "If he had not been there beside me, you would have hit me.  Your fist would have connected with my face.  And why did you lash out at Einon?  Because of an imagined ridiculous notion that I wanted him.  Your mother was busy.  Lydia with Adele.  You were nowhere to be found, Etienne.  I chose someone to accompany me because you have always wished me to.  How could you dare to think that I would even glance at another man when I have everything I could ever want or need in you?  Yes, you.  And now that I have managed to stoke your ego with that admission, you must prove to me that you do trust me, Etienne.  What have I done in all these months, to make you think you cannot trust me to be faithful?  Anything?  Tell me!"

He slumps back in his chair, eyes still wide, mouth open the tiniest bit, his breath harsh and hard in his chest.  There is a flush, a dull dark red, spreading along his face and a trickle of sweat runs down his temple.  "Nothing. You...you have done nothing."

"I have trusted you, though God only knows why with the horrible things I know you capable of.  I have trusted you."

The hall is hushed to almost a deathly still, so quiet that our words ring out loud for all to hear.  No one even attempts to look like they are working, aside from Patrice.  My slow burning temper has risen to a fever pitch, my patience with him most certainly gone.  I compress my lips into a tight, thin line as I watch him.  His gaze searches the table top in quick, flitting movements, his mouth forming words that have no sound behind them.  Expectation tenses my shoulders.  We are on the edge, he and I, dancing together on a cliff that will take either one or the both of us.  What will he do now?

"Damn!"  Etienne strikes the table with his fists and shoves his chair back.  The lean, stealthy grace that normally defines his movements is in shambles and he stumbles around the able to stand before me.  There is the look of a wild man about him, the emotion in his eyes taking the breath from me.

Emotion.  The barrier he had placed upon himself is torn down, everything he feels naked upon his face, giving him a vulnerable quality I have never seen in him before.  His gaze is as tumultuous as my feelings.  He is confused, shocked, saddened and still a bit angry, but not angry, I think, at me.  He looks above my head at that damn sheet that still hangs there, both his blood and mine upon it, and swallows hard. 

"I go to Edward.  The Free Companies have been re-banded and will join him in two weeks, give or take a few days.  We shall be gone probably two to three months, perhaps longer."  Now, he places his hands flat on the table and leans down to me, voice tender, yet rough.  "You may, in my absence, invite Sir William and Lady Jocelyn to visit with you.  They may bring..."  He shudders.  "...any in their household that they see fit."  He licks his lips, right hand raising, fingers grazing my cheek and mouth.  A half smile curves his mouth and he blinks with an air of weariness, a man exhausted after having struggled with himself.  "How is that for trust, wife?"

I raise, taking his face in my hands.  His flesh is hot and clammy.  "Thank you."  I kiss him, trembling butterfly kisses along his cheeks, jaw and mouth.  When I linger on his mouth, he deepens the kiss.  It is filled with desperation and need, this meshing of our lips and tongues and I fully expect him to urge me to come around the table and go up to our chamber with him.

He does not, slowing the kiss and easing back.  "Trust."  He says, then staggers out the hall.  I fall hard into my chair.  A cup is placed before me and I glance up to see Germaine there, a strange look upon his face.

"What?"  I ask.

He shakes his head, declining to answer.

"What?"  I urge.

His gaze turns to Patrice and I find she has come up on my left side, a roll of parchment in one hand, pen and ink in the other.  She sets the objects before me.  "My dear,"  she starts.  "I believe Germaine is thinking that you have nearly won the war.  My sons defenses are down, castle walls breached.  He is more open than I have seen him in years."  Tears trickle down her face.  I am shocked to see this strong woman weeping silently.  "Write your letter.  Invite your friends.  They are only a scant three days from here.  Depending on the arrangements they must make, you should expect them just over a week.  Giles goes to visit friends and I am off to see my new home, so you and Lydia and Adele must welcome your guests.  Spare nothing.  Show them the best welcome this manor can give."

~~~~~~~~~~

I have plummeted to depths in which I have never gone before.  I have become the most detestable of men, spying in my own house upon my wife, the insanity of that cliff jealousy pulling me closer.  Christiana has done nothing to warrant my suspicions, yet still they arise, placing devious turns into the simplest of things.  The talons of the demon shred my insides and I am helpless against that jealous side of me.  The rational part tells me that Christiana is most faithful and attentive, yet the jealous part brings that peasant man's face to the surface of memory.

I should not remember the man, for he was and is nothing to me, but I can see his face at will and imagine he and my wife together, though I know full well he has never possessed her.  Jealousy is a cold thing.  It rides my back day in and day out, whispering in my ear until I must wear myself out training to be free of it.  Even then, I wake to its evil ponderings.

My reflection is something to be avoided.  I cannot bear to see my face, to see the tortured expression of a man twisted by his personal demon.  I fear Christiana will betray me.  Strange to feel fear again, for long years have passed since my folly of the Lady Beatrice and I had thought to eradicate such weakness as fear.  But I do fear, which drives the demon further and I do the lowest of things.

I spy on her.  I watch her more intently than I did follow Thatcher in the rain that afternoon.  Almost every move she makes is in my sight.  Even her correspondence is not safe.  I read her letters before they are sent and I read the letters coming to her.  Germaine was surprisingly bold enough to voice his displeasure in my actions.  He then waited expectantly.  She has unmanned me so completely that I could not discipline his insolence in questioning me.  My hand would not lift and all I could do was nod to dismiss him.

Her letters.  Dear God in the heavens, her letters!  I now know her innermost thoughts, for she pours out her heart to the Lady Jocelyn, every single thing she feels is laid to parchment and I see her bare.  She writes of that weakness love and how she feels it for me.  She despairs of my feelings for her.  I know I have hurt her deeply and continue to do so daily with my words and actions.  She puts each thing to the paper and I cringe to read what I am doing to her.  God help me, I cannot stop!

I am losing my manhood to her as I had begun to lose it during my lusting for Jocelyn, except I cannot escape the inevitability of it, for Christiana is my wife.

She is my wife.

Until we part at death.

My madness is overtaking me.  My men despise me fully now, for I drive them as hard as I drive myself, punishing them with training.  If I can find no ceasing from my pain, then they will have no rest.

I found myself just this morning considering wrapping my hands about that slender, pale column of her throat and squeezing the breath, nay, the life, from her as she slept to free myself from this turmoil.  My hands were caressing that silken vulnerable flesh, when she woke, eyes opening and lips curving in the gentlest of morning greetings.  I could not find the desire, truly, to do the heinous deed that whirled in my mind as a solution.  No, to kill her is to lose myself and I would die as well.

The horror at that thought of harming her spurs me now.  I have not mastered her.  No.  She has mastered me!  I must be parted from her, this witch who charms my heart into the weakness of emotion.  I have readied my army and plan to join Edward in his latest battle.

To show I trust her, which it has become painfully clear she does not believe, I have told her she may invite Sir Will's household to visit while I am gone.  I do trust her.  It is everyone else I do not trust.  Yet I shall rely on her judgment and her faithfulness while I am away.  Her kisses of thanks did nothing to assuage the emotions that rage through me.  I am no longer the ice demon my mother has called me for years.  Christiana has melted the ice and set a fire burning within me that I do not know how to control.

How could she misunderstand so horribly this afternoon?  Then again, she does not know what Germaine has told me of Einon.  She does not know that he has bragged that he could have her if he wished.  He has been warned before to stay away from her.  I was not alarmed this afternoon when I learned she had gone riding, not until Germaine came running with the news that Einon had left with her and they had been gone a long while.

I recall running to the stable to ride out and look for them, Germaine behind me, and being so relieved to see her dismounting her mare, safe and unmolested, that my legs threatened to give way beneath me.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that insolent boy Einon coming to stand beside her, a smirk on his features, my hand lifting, fist forming and lashing out as I still looked at my wife.

Christiana gave a horrified "Oh!", her welcoming smile replaced by fear as my fist connected with Einon's jaw.

Einon staggered back, Christiana slipping to her right.  "Christiana!  Wait!"  The fingers of my left hand grazed her cloak, failing to find purchase.  She was gone, running from the stable as though Satan himself chased her.  I turned back to Einon, hitting him again, this time in the belly, then again, until he went down onto the straw of the floor, groaning.  "Pack your things and leave this house by sundown.  You were warned to leave my wife alone."  I left Germaine in charge of evicting the young man and ran after Christiana.

She locked herself in our chamber and as I pounded on the door, I became angry with myself for acting so impulsively.  I could have handled Einon better.  I should have waited and dealt with him privately.  I should not have let visions of him violating her come into my mind.  "Dammit wife!  Open this door!"  I gave a few more kicks, and became aware of a sobbing behind me.

I turned, and saw Adele standing there, trembling and frightened.  "You are scaring me."  She whispered, eyes wide.  In my mind, I had a sudden image of Christiana inside our chamber, crouched down against the wall opposite the door, her arms about her drawn up knees and an expression exactly like Adele's on her lovely face.  All of my anger drained away then, leaving me tired and very cold.  "I do not mean to."

"You always scare me.  You used to be nice and now you are bad.  I want to go home."

"This is your home, Adele."

"St. Anne's is home."  She backed away from me. 

"Adele...."  I licked my lips.  I had to ask her the question that came to mind at her statement.  I used to be nice....  "When did I start acting bad?"

"When the blonde girl came to stay."

I stared at her.  I had always thought I was gentle with Adele after the accident soon after Beatrice arrived those long years ago, and now I find I have not been?  I could not think of a thing to say, shaking my head and shrugging helplessly.

Adele's gaze went to the chamber door.  "I like Christiana.  She is nice to me."  She gave me a determined frown.  "If you send her away I will run away and never come back."

With that, Adele turned and ran back down the hall, disappearing around the corner, her feet slapping on the stone floor.  The hallway was cold, so very chilly.  I shivered and started down the stairs, meeting my mother on the way down.  There was no approval in her eyes, that pride she had always had for me there gone.  She said nothing, only stared stonily until I gritted out, "What?" through teeth I clenched to keep from losing my grip on the raging wave of feelings that were forcing their way through my body.

Her eyes narrowed.  "Grow up.  Just grow up, Etienne."  She swept by me, back stiff.  I watched her go, a noise escaping my throat before I could stop it.  I collapsed there on the stair, halfway down, my legs refusing to hold me.  I buried my hands in my hair and stared at the steps, my hold on my emotions tenuous at best.  I would not lose control.  I would not--

I lost control.  I do not know how much time passed, how long I was sitting there alone on the stairs.  When I managed to bring myself back under control, I found Lydia coming up the stairs to me. 

She sat beside me.  "It hurts, does it not?"  One of her hands clasped mine, squeezed gently.  This was the first friendly gesture she has shown me since I called her a whore months ago and I returned the squeeze gladly.

"What hurts?"  My voice was ragged and drained, nearly a whisper.

"Finding out you are not who you think you are.  Or what you want desperately to be."

You have been weighed.  Measured.  And found wanting. 

I flinched, the image of Will Thatcher chained in the gaol flashing quickly in my mind.  "It does."  I agreed with her.  What else could I do but agree?  I was hurting, my personal view of myself now laying bleeding and broken on the floor, defeated and dying.

Lydia dug her nails into my hand and thrust me back as she stood.  "I hope it tears you apart, Etienne.  I hope it rips you to shreds and you know exactly what you have put everyone through for years."  And once more, I was alone.

After that, I was calmer, quieter, and certain what I must do.

I must leave.  I will wage war and perhaps I can regain myself from this swirling void Christiana drags me into.  Perhaps I can find some way to put out this inferno, these licking flames that eat away at me.  When I return, I will not be this way.  She will not affect me in this manner.

This weakness must be shattered!

But I am already empty without her beside me, an ache that is a real physical pain, pricking my chest.  The hours ahead look lonely without her to help fill them, my ears hungering for her voice, the only music I can hear without pain.

God help me, I am empty!