Exposed

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary:  Christiana discovers what has been making Lydia wary of her.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Lydia is sick in bed and, with Patrice gone to see Adele, it is left to me to tend to her, whether she wishes me to or not.  Someone must see to her, to nurse her back to health.  I watch Sarah gather herbs and ointments onto a tray with an efficient, knowledgeable hand.  It was a surprise to me when she arrived, a maid-companion of my own, commissioned by Patrice with Etienne's approval.  She is a cousin to our nearest neighbor, a man I have not yet met named Merrick.  Sarah is young, only fourteen, and will be with us until her family can arrange a suitable marriage for her.  It seems the young man she was betrothed to died suddenly, leaving a huge mess for both families to sort out.

Whatever the case, and however long she is here, I enjoy her company.  She is a candid, happy girl with manners that are impeccable.  We share many interests and I am grateful that Patrice decided upon her.  Her presence does not replace Jocelyn's friendship, but rather gives me another friend to while the time away with.  Perhaps some day Sarah and I shall be close friends as Jocelyn and I became, but for now we are treading slowly into trusting one another.

"I am ready my Lady."  She says, lifting the tray.  She insists on using proper terms to address me at all times, something she admitted her family stressed to her.  I would rather she use my name, though I suppose that will eventually come about if she is here long enough. 

So, with much reluctance, I lead the way to Lydia's chamber.  Surely something on that tray will help Lydia's ailment.  Having Sarah here is a plus, as she has experience with sickness, her mother extremely interested in the healing arts.  Sarah often helped her, so if I should waver on how to help Lydia, I need only ask for her recommendation on treatment.

I find Lydia crouched over a basin, futilely retching her empty stomach into it, her shift plastered to her skin with sweat.  I am shocked to see she has lost a considerable amount of weight since I arrived here, more than her tall form can afford to lose.  Her collarbone is prominent, her arms so skinny as to seem skeletal.  These are things her choices of clothing have been covering.  Her hair is wet, not just damp, her pale skin an almost greenish cast.  When I go to support her, I have to force myself not to jerk back from the heat her body is giving off.

"Sarah, I need a tub in here now.  It has to have cool water, not hot.  Please arrange it."  The girl sets the tray down and goes at a run. 

Lydia trembles, her shaking very visible.  She gives me a look of pure terror, tendrils of her hair sticking to her forehead and temples, and tries to pull away.  I let her.  "Go away.  Please go away."  She whispers, scooting herself back across the floor away from me.  "Let me die."

"Lydia,  you need someone to care for you.  Your mother is away and cannot."  I glance about the chamber.  The fire has died in the hearth, the light snow we are having blowing in through the window.  The precious glass panel is open wide.  I hurry to the panel and shut it firmly, then see to the fire.  The first thing to do is to warm the room a bit so Sarah and I do not catch ill as well.  Then, we shall try and bring Lydia's fever down.

"She hates me anyway."  Lydia keels over and curls up on the floor, pressing her face into the rushes.  Luckily, they are clean.   I ordered fresh rushes placed on the floors two days ago.  "Just leave me to this.  I deserve it."

"I cannot.  If I did and Etienne found I had ignored your illness, he would be furious with me."  Furious is an understatement.  He would be more than furious.  I go to her and crouch down, being careful not to touch her.  "I will not leave you.  You may dislike me, but I will not let you suffer if I can stop it."

"Pretty words.  Is my brother listening?  Is that why you say them?  You make me suffer daily."  Her eyes close.

The tub is brought in, wrestled by two young men, servant girls bringing in buckets of water to fill it.  Sarah shoos them out and shuts the door, then comes to us.  "The water is cool, not cold.  It will feel cold though."

"Lydia, you must let us help you."  I steel myself for her struggles and am surprised when she gives none as we heave her up and strip her soiled shift from her.  Getting her into the bath is a trial, but we manage it.  She hisses from the cold against her burning skin.  Again, I am surprised when she stays in the water, huddling down as Sarah and I begin to bathe her shoulders, back, and face with cloths dipped in the water. 

"Mother used to bathe us with cool water when we were sick as children."  Her voice is listless and raw, as though it is hurting her to talk.  "I remember once, when I was very small, Etienne held me in the water for her.  I was sick like this.  She cried every time they had to put me in the water, something about how she was afraid to lose another child so soon."

I glance across the tub at Sarah.  She shrugs.

Soon, Lydia's shivers cease and I touch her brow.  Heat is not coming from her like a blazing fire anymore and she seems a bit more alert.  Lydia stands and steps from the tub on shaking legs, helping us to dry her and slide a fresh shift over her head.  With Sarah's assistance, she climbs into bed and pulls the covers to her.

I sit at the bedside as Sarah busies herself mixing a potion for Lydia to drink and once Lydia has drunk it, I try to leave.  Lydia refuses to let me, her hand grasping at my sleeve.  She tugs and will not let go.  "Stay with me.  Please.  Do not go yet."

I do not think that she has suddenly decided she likes me, but rather she has need of someone with her and I am the best available for the time being.  I tell Sarah she can go and pull a chair to the side of the bed.  I shall be more comfortable there than perched on the edge of Lydia's bed.  She points a thin hand at my stomach.

"Are you caught yet?"

"No."  I am not pregnant.  Although I would not be surprised to find I am so within a couple months.  Etienne is determined to have an heir as soon as possible, and I would not mind too terribly having a tiny babe to hold in my arms.  In all truth, I find I am able to put aside many of his inconsiderate words when night comes and we adjourn to the privacy of our chamber.  I do not think it wise to hold a grudge from day to day, not married to a man such as he.  It cannot be healthy to do so.  I forgive him those little things.  I have to make that concession in order to make this marriage work.

A flash of antagonism appears in her eyes, but is short lived, her words holding no malice at all.  "You did not let him have you early did you?  If you had, then perhaps you would now be expecting a babe."

"Perhaps."  I agree.  She is right.  If Etienne and I had been together on the journey, I might be in that state now.  But we did not, I am not, and I do not tell her that it was Etienne who held himself away from me and not the other way around.  "Soon, if God wills it."

"He wills much."  She rolls onto her back, arms flung out across the pillows.  "My illness.  It is a punishment, I am sure.  How can it be anything else with this pain?"

"A punishment for what?"  I ask, smoothing my skirts about my knees.  Even in sickness she has her mother's tendency for drama.

She turns her head, stares at me, mouth agape.  "You can ask that with a straight face?  You?"  Lydia rolls to face me.  "I have been in agony since you saw us that day after you arrived!  I was certain you would tell Etienne and when you did not I could not figure out why you stayed silent.  I have stayed out of your way praying that you would forget what you had seen without my presence about to remind you.  Yet you claim you do not know why I should be punished by God Almighty?"  Her expression shifts from disbelief to suspicion.  "Or do you trick me into saying my sin aloud?"

I have no idea what she is talking about. What is it she thinks I saw?  I shake my head.  "Lydia, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You lie.  I know you saw me with him in the garden.  You looked right at us."

A memory is rising from the depths of that deep well the mind, a scene I glimpsed but for a moment and quickly turned from.  I had gone for a walk about the gardens, attempting to calm myself with the beautiful stillness of those fading flowers, bushes and plants.  I had been delighted to learn that someone in the manor had a fondness for flowers and suspected it was Patrice, something I now know as truth.  I strayed into a wild area, one a tangle of vines and tree branches against the stones of the wall about the manor.  It was a secret place almost, a place Jocelyn and Will would have adored, I had thought with a smile.  I kept walking and came upon a couple already there, twined together the way lovers usually are.

Until this moment I had not connected the woman with Lydia.  Dear God. Lydia has a lover.  I wonder if he is a peasant.  Etienne will be furious if the man is.  With his views of peasants, it will torture him.  His own sister cavorting with peasants.  Who else could the man be but a peasant or servant of some kind?  I cannot even recall anything about the man I saw, not his face or even the cut of his clothes.  "Oh Lydia....That was you?"

Her eyes widen as she watches me and tears slip down her face.  "Please do not go to Etienne.  Please."  She covers her mouth, a hacking cough shaking her frame.  I wince at the liquid, rattling sound that issues from her.  This sickness has settled in her chest.

"Why Lydia?"

She returns to her splayed position, covers twisted at her hips.  "I want to marry him so badly!  I love him beyond anything I have ever felt before.  I cannot remember a time when I did not love him.  When he came and confessed his love for me in return that day, I was overjoyed.  That he would neglect his duties to seek me out and confess that....I did not want to sneak about to meet him, you understand, but we could not meet in the open, not until we knew where Etienne would stand on our love." 

This seems a catharsis for her.  She is telling me everything.  I think she has been under such a strain from her worries that it is easier to tell it all than to hold it in any longer.

"He said Etienne would not consider him as a husband for me unless we forced his hand.  He was right, I knew that.  Etienne would not even consider him for me for several reasons, mainly the money issue I think.  So I let him take me to bed while Etienne was gone this last time.  I met him outside the manor.  It was horrible trying to get away without being seen and I succeeded a few times.  Then Mother found his love letters to me.  She warned me not to get involved with him.  She said it would only lead to trouble if I continued to meet him.  She did not understand.  She never understands.  That last time, when you saw us, he promised to approach Etienne straightaway, but I have heard nothing."

A suspicion forms in my mind.  "Are you pregnant?"

"I thought I was."  She admits.  "But I am not.  Why has he not done as he promised?  I do not understand.  My letters go unanswered."

I bite my lip.  I almost tell her that men can be like that.  They sometimes take what they want, using all the persuasion God gave them, but with the devil telling them how to entice with sweet words.  Etienne is such a man.  His tongue can be most sweet when he wants something and cruel when he is through.

"I have sinned by letting him do it and now I suffer from my decision!  Father Persius always says that fornicators are the worst of all and God makes them wallow in pain.  I am in pain.  I am abed in a stagnant well of sickness."

"Others are ill also, Lydia.  I do not think your sickness is from God."  Perspiration has formed upon her brow, fat droplets that begin to trickle downward.  I take up a discarded bath cloth from the end of the bed and press it along her face, soaking up the sweat.

Her eyes turn to mine, hope brimming them.  "You think so?  I feel so wretched, Christiana."

It is the first time she has spoken my name willingly.  I place the cloth back where I found it.  A bridge has been crossed and I anticipate  harmony replacing the discord we have had between us.  I grasp her hand and give her a smile.  "Of course.  You will be better in a day or two.  Cool baths will keep your fever down and you should begin to feel a change soon."  I meet her gaze square.  "May I ask who he is?"

Joy lights her eyes and I am reminded so much of Jocelyn when she spoke of Will, or even when his name was mentioned.  There is that glow that softens the features and gives them a dreamy expression.  She opens her mouth to speak, but her gaze slides away, that light fading abruptly.  I hear a creak behind me and release her hand, turning slightly in my chair.

Etienne is standing there in the doorway, his hand splayed on the wood panel.  He is shaking his head slowly, side to side as though not believing what he has heard, his body rigid with violent emotion.  His mouth is open and I can see the fury rising within him, not a hot, raging thing, but a cold and smoldering fury that will burn a long while.  His breath grows faster and he strides forward, shoving my chair aside with me in it.  I tumble to the floor, my wrist smacking the stones painfully as I attempt to stop my fall.

"I have a whore for a sister!"  He roars, hands grasping the bed curtain rail above his head and shaking it.  "A whore!"  The heavy bed frame actually scoots a bit from the force he is using.  My skirts are a tangle about my legs and I struggle to get twisted about so I can find leverage to get up.

Lydia sits up with a flinch and a tiny cry, then brings her knees up to huddle.  She looks up at him, cowering there on her bed, her fright on her face.  "You do not understand--"

Etienne's fists lower to his sides.  They are tightly closed and shaking, I believe from the effort to not start beating on Lydia.  "I understand that you could not keep your legs together until marriage like a woman should."  His voice has gone calm and tight, a mottled flush spreading his face.  I finally get to my knees, steadying myself with the chair.  I grasp the wood tightly.  "Christiana managed it and she had ample opportunity to whore about.  You could not?"

"He said we had to...that you would not consider him unless I let him...."  She is shrinking inside herself, wilting under her brother's rage.  The sickness and fright are draining her, the slight strength that had returned from the cooling bath and Sarah's potion leaving her.  She knew he would be furious with her, but the reality of his anger appears more than she had bargained, the awareness settling on her features.  I see genuine fear of him there.  She is not certain of what he will do now.

Etienne gives a laugh, one filled and dripping with venomous scorn.  "Are you truly that naïve, Lydia?  I have used that line myself before to overcome the reluctant maiden.  You were nothing to him but a release."

Lydia pales.  His admission and charge are visibly a shock to her.  I do not think she ever actually realized the sort of man her brother is before.  She knew in general how he behaved, but not particulars.  So much is coming to light for her that it is painful to me to witness it.  I have known the kind of man he is, but then, I was witness to his attempt to murder Will.  "He...it was not a line, not just a...a...release!"  Her voice is starting to crack a bit.

"You are ruined Lydia.  I must eliminate nearly all eligible men now, for who wants to wed a ruined girl?"  He towers over her, practically spitting the words from his lips.  A furious energy coils around him.  I am caught before a storm and can only thank God that I am not in his immediate path.   I stay as still and silent as I can.  Now would not be the time to remind him that he had wanted to marry me when he thought I was ruined.

"He cares for me."  Lydia whispers, lower lip trembling as she sinks as far as she can into the pillows behind her.

"He cared for having you!"  Etienne corrects with a yell that rings about the room.  "Who is he?  Tell me his name, Lydia.  I shall have him castrated for this and you shall watch.  Will that not be lovely for you, to watch your lover lose--"

"No!"  She screams.

Etienne reaches down, hands taking her arms and dragging her up.  He shakes her, her hair tangling about her face.  Lydia beats her fists against him, twisting her body, trying to break free of his grip.  "Tell me, or I swear to Almighty God that you shall have no food or drink until you admit his name!  You will languish up here in your misery!"

"Merrick!"  She cries, head rolling left and right.  "It was Merrick..."   Her voice trails off into sobs.  Etienne goes still, releasing Lydia as though she is diseased, dropping her, disgust curling his lip.  He wipes his hands on his coat with a fastidious air.

"That is low, girl.  Is it not enough that you whore, but you have to try and trap a man as well?"

"I do not lie.  He came to me..."

Etienne slashes his arms in the air.  "Enough!  I am so close to giving you and your dowry to St. Anne's.  One more word on Merrick and I shall do so."  He runs a hand over his face, then  through his hair, gaze falling onto me as though just noticing my presence.  "And you, wife.  Did you know?  Did you help her?  Did you arrange a tryst for her as you did for Jocelyn?"

Slowly, I release the chair.  My hands are shaking from the tight grip I had employed on the wood. Getting to my feet, I step around it, stopping far enough away from him that he will have to walk away from Lydia to reach me.  "How dare you."

"I dare much.  Do you?  Do you dare to make a whore of my sister?"

"Your sister is responsible for her own actions, Etienne.  I did not know this until today."  I hear Lydia groan, but forge on.  "I do nothing but try and be a good wife to you.  Only a couple months into marriage and you accuse me?"  Shaking my head, I sweep by him and leave.  As I walk down the hallway, astonished he has not followed me, I hear him start in again on Lydia.  I cannot help her.

The hours pass and I find myself going into our chamber to speak to him.  It is not that I want to have conversation with him.  No, I would rather not.  Yet for Lydia, I feel I must broach the subject.  I hope Etienne has calmed.  I have no wish to be railed at.  He is writing letters at the table and looks up as I approach.  I can still see the anger on his face, but it is fading, so I sit across from him.  "Do you have a few moments to talk?"  I ask as gently as possible.

Etienne glances away from me, then back.  "On what?"

"On Lydia.  Do you plan to speak with this Merrick?"

A muscle on his jaw twitches, as does his left eye.  "No."

"Why not?  Perhaps Lydia speaks the truth.  Maybe this Merrick..."

"Lydia lies, Christiana.  She is good at it and does so without the slightest thought to what could happen.  She is lying now.  Merrick has duties he would not leave just to meet with her.  He has two children from his first wife that need care and an estate that is larger than this one to run.  He would not seek out Lydia."  He sets the pen down beside the ink container.  "I plan to find an eligible man who will not be able to tell if she is a virgin.  Specifically, a man my grandfather's age who is not in good health and will likely need help performing his husbandly duties."

 

"You would marry her to someone like that?  Your own sister?"

"If Lydia had not whored, she could have been wed to any number of young men closer her age.  Her actions change the course of her life considerably.  Lydia will do her duty and marry who I tell her to."  He says this in a mild, reasonable tone.

"She will do her duty like I did."  I feel the weight of his unblinking hazel stare, the iciness of it boring into me. 

His reply is slow in coming, and when it does, the stress is on the word 'you'.  "Yes.  Like you did.  You are a most dutiful woman, Christiana."

"And if a man such as...you...offered for her, uncaring of her ruined station, would you wed her to him, to someone rivaling your reputation?"  I cannot help but ask this.  I would know if he would make the same decision my father did.

"If his offer was good enough.  But we're not talking of Lydia any longer are we?"  He leans forward, crossing his arms on the tabletop.  "Are you curious as to why I offered for you, Christiana?  Is that bothering you?"

I nod.  "Yes.  You told her no man wants to marry a ruined girl.  You thought me ruined and offered for me.  I do not understand."

"Where was my benefit?  Where was my gain?"  His lips twitch.  "I do nothing without a personal motive, yes?"   

I struggle to keep my emotions under lock and key.  "What did you gain by marrying me, because I know my dowry was a poor one.  I have wondered on this from the beginning and can find no logical answer."

"Your sisters have all produced boys."  He throws out, a bone tossed to a yapping, annoying dog, for I see he is annoyed by my question, his eyes narrowing.

"You gamble on that.  I could be the sole producer of girls out of all."  I shrug my shoulders.  "Is that all you gained, Etienne?  A mother for your children?"

"Would you like to hear the truth, Christiana, as to what I have gained?"  That voice snaps coldly.  His stare bores into me and I shrink back into my seat.  That hated, heartless gleam has come into his eyes.  No, I do not want to hear this, but I cannot say no.  I cannot speak at all.  He gets up from his chair and comes around to me.  "I have gained dominion over Jocelyn.  I have her pain at your parting, her constant worry for you, and with it, Thatcher's helplessness."  He takes my chin in his fingers, twisting my face cruelly this way and that.  "I have gained a wicked wanton who knows just how to please me and will do so whenever I crook my finger."

I try and jerk back, but he places his free hand about my neck, holding me in place.

"Tell me what you have gained, wife."

His fingers dig painfully into my flesh and I keep my mouth shut.

"I will tell you what you have gained."  Etienne thrusts me back, releasing me, my head hitting the high back of the chair just hard enough to hurt.  "You have re-gained your station, left the life of a maid behind you.  You have a home to run.  You have a husband who pays you more attention in a month than your family has in your entire life.  You have wealth and, God willing, you will soon have babies to occupy your time.  Now, dear wife,"  he returns to his seat, "leave matters of my family to me as master here and keep to your own place as Lady of this manor."  He takes up the pen and dips it into the ink.  The pen scratches loud on the paper as he writes.

My face is flushed, I can feel the scorching heat of that blush across my cheeks, and my hands are clenched into tight, helpless fists in my lap.  The back of my head hurts, the places his fingers gripped me throbbing.  I want to cry, to scream, to beat at him in frustration.  But I only sit still, barely drawing in breath, letting those sneering words sink in fully. 

Jocelyn.  He still thinks of her.  That is what he means.  He has married me and still thinks of another woman.  I had thought to come into my own as woman and wife, to be in the forefront of his thoughts as he has grown to be in mine.  His attentions had led me to believe such.  I had assumed I would not be just another woman he has bedded.  That is not the case.  I am his chosen wife; but chosen only for the reaction he can still pull from  Jocelyn.  I am second best and I am just another woman in his bed.  My fists uncurl and I twist the heavy ring about my finger.  I am tempted to throw it at him, for I know it means nothing to him really.  I do not though. 

He clears his throat.  "Was there anything else, Christiana?  I have too much work to do to ravish you right now, but I suppose I could spare a few minutes later."

I stand, the numbness I have not felt since our journey to this manor dropping over me as a heavy, weighted cloak, covering me.  "You are hateful sometimes."  I whisper, and walk on shaking legs to the door.  He does not stop me.

~~~~~~~~~~

At first I thought I was hearing Lydia's voice asking that question, but then realization that it was not cracked at me like a whip strike on my back, cutting deep into my flesh and drawing blood.  It was Christiana posing that gentle query.  Are you pregnant?  She was asking that of Lydia.  Lydia.  My mind whirled at the words.  My sister.  My unmarried sister who should know better.

My sister has become a whore.  A slut.  The revelation of her actions flays the skin from my back.  My own sister!  I know I have been lax in my duties here at this manor, but have I been that negligent?  Had I been here, surely she would not have played at such games.  She would not have dared.  Or would she?  She is woman, so she is treacherous, as I know women can be.  Beatrice taught me that a long time ago.  She taught me that a woman can claim one thing and be another, that faithfulness is fleeting, and that a woman is not happy unless she is tempting some man to come to her.  That trait of treachery lies within Lydia's breast, as it does with every woman, even Christiana.  No, it is slumbering in Lydia no longer, awakened by that lusting of a woman to have a man helpless and clasped to her breast.

What man here has she made weak from his craving for her?  I look to my men, those who have stayed at the manor and cannot decide the likely one.  I do not believe any would chance my wrath, but then I know well how that craving for a woman can make a man do things he would not consider under normal circumstances.  I myself have been prey for that demon lust.  I cannot accuse any man without cause or I shall have tension among my troops.  I have cause, but no specific idea of the man.

For her to claim Merrick as her lover astounds me.  I do not honestly see Merrick throwing away his duties and coming here to meet with her in secret.  It is more like the Merrick I know to ride in here while I am in residence, toss Lydia over his horse in full view of all, announce his intentions and ride off with her.  He would not sneak about.  He would be up front with me if he desired her.  And yet....It all goes back to the demon lust and however deep the talons of that creature have pierced the flesh.

I cannot claim in all certainty that Merrick did not come here and meet Lydia in secret.  It is a slim possibility that he was hesitant to be up front with only my grandfather and mother here.  I cannot dismiss her claims outright.  Her story did not change at all.  She never wavered from her claim.  Lydia insists Merrick wants her.

I told Christiana I will not talk to Merrick, but I have made myself a liar.  I have penned a neutral letter to him regarding Lydia and her claims.  If she is telling the truth, by any chance of fate, and he does want her, the letter will open channels for further discussion on the matter.  If she is lying, then Lydia shall have to bear the embarrassment of her lie when she sees him next.  I have also penned several letters of excuses to various men on the issue of my dear, whoring sister, something that twists my gut to do.  I was very close to an agreement to one, a young knight I met at Tournament.  To have to put that alliance aside is a bitter gall in my throat.

And Christiana, my beauteous wife.  I accused her of having a hand in Lydia's trysts, knowing full well she could not have done so.  The words just fell from my lips, like I was not controlling what emerged.  All I could think of was her hand in Jocelyn's elicit meetings with Thatcher.  I thought of that and Jocelyn became Lydia, then Thatcher's features became blurred, a faceless man having at my sister with Christiana standing at the side.  I lashed out at her.

She came to see me later, wanting to speak on Lydia and Merrick.  Somehow, the conversation turned to us and what I had gained from our union.  Still incensed from earlier, I gave her a lie.  I opened my mouth in anger and that lie spilled forth with great ease, as my accusation in Lydia's chamber had.  I think that even if I had tried to list all the things I have honestly gained from marrying her I would have choked on the admission.  No, the lie was easier.

And when I had finished hurling those words at her and returned to my seat, I happened to glance up from the paper.  The gleam that had blossomed in her eyes upon our marriage day died as I watched.  It died.  It withered in slow degrees until a despairing emptiness  replaced it.  Something twisted hard in my chest and I lowered my eyes a moment before saying those last words, designed to get her from me as quickly as possible.  I do not think I can forget the pain that I saw on her face.

She does not come down for the evening meal and I eat alone with my men.  Sarah is tending to her I presume and Lydia is confined to her chamber.  I am not surprised to find that Christiana refuses to come down from our chamber at all.  A tray is sent up to her.

What do I do?  I have no experience with a wife.  Lovers, yes.  Lovers are easy to handle.  A trinket and most women are forgiving of any offense.  But a wife?  I wife is, by definition, quite different.  There is a rift between us now, and instinct tells me I must fix it somehow.  But how?  I head for my grandfather's chamber.  If any can help me, it is he.  The man outlived four wives.  If he has no counsel for me, I do not know what to do.

He is at his table when his servant lets me in, several large books piled about him.  They are all musty things, the room holding that peculiar papery smell monasteries have.  He leans back.  "Finally coming to me for advice, Etienne?  In over your head?"

I sit in the chair across from him and stretch my legs out.  "How much did you already know about Lydia?"

A smirk crosses his lips and he strokes his white beard.  "You should have come here the first day you returned.  I could have informed you better than your mother."

"You taunted me.  I saw no reason to see you after that."

"I teased.  There is a difference.  If I had been taunting you, I would have made verbal reference instead of letting you figure out the limp on your own.  As to Lydia, let her pout in her chamber for awhile.  Then discover the truth of the matter."

"You are not going to tell me either?  You and mother.  What do you both have against me of late?"

His smirk fades, a hard light glittering in his gaze.  "You are an arrogant pup who has neglected his duties far too long.  I will let this house fall to ruin to teach you that you cannot run from your duties."

I blink and shake my head.  "I do not run from my duties.  Edward needed the Free Companies--"

"Does he need them now?  He is embroiled in bigger conquest than previously.  Has he called you back into service, Etienne?  Or does he let you sit here and pine for battle?  There is a time for battle and a time to let it pass you by.  You can be both Count and soldier, but both must be balanced.  You are not balanced.  You have spent months at battle and months at Tournament and little time here."  He glances about his chamber, nodding his head as though considering some weighty matter.  "Yes, I shall let this manor fall to ruin, this family be torn asunder, just to teach you your place."

It has been a very long time since my grandfather has spoken to me thus, and it is never a pleasant experience.  I stare at him.  "I know my duties."

"Then perform them.  Deal with Lydia.  Do so straight away.  Then deal with your mother."  I frown at that.  Why should I need to deal with Mother?  "If you cannot see that your mother is unhappy here, then you are an idiot and you might as well stay here just long enough to get your wife with child, then ride off into battle and get yourself killed as quickly as possible.  It would be no large feat running the estates upon your death, as it is what we have been doing all along, and we shall be better off without your idiocy among us."

My teeth grind together to keep from giving free reign to my feelings at this reprimand.  "What should I do about mother?"

"Talk to her.  Ask her what she would prefer to do since you now have a wife in residence to manage this house.  And as for your pretty little wife, talk with her as well.  Think of your marriage as a battle where you must navigate yourself with utmost care.  A wife requires much more than a lover or mistress, Etienne.  A wife must be talked to, cuddled and cared for, her opinion sought whether you truly want it or not.  You must give compliments to keep her complacent, and not the sort of backhanded remarks you have offered to Christiana.  If you like how she looks, tell her, but do not add anything on how she could be better."  He snorts and drags a book over to him.  "Lastly, you cannot tell a woman you think of another woman other than her in any way, whether it is a roundabout admission or said plain.  That error is a stupid, tactical one that I had thought you better of."

"And how do you know what has been said between Christiana and myself?"  I ask, sitting up and leaning forward.

"You think you have privacy, Etienne?  I could tell you many things that would embarrass you greatly.  There is no such thing as privacy here.  Now go.  Tell your wife you did not mean what you said.  Blame it all on temper.  She will not doubt that."

I am dismissed, knowing little more than when I came here.  He wants me to talk to Christiana.  Okay.  I shall do so.  I go to our chamber, intending to speak to her, but upon arriving there, I find her already asleep.  Once more she has the blankets rolled about her.  Kneeling by her side of the bed, I rest my arms on the edge and my cheek on my arms.  There are reddish streaks on the pale smoothness of her cheeks, the marks of tears.  Her breath hitches with the last remnants of her crying.  I suspect she has only just fallen asleep.  Should I wait until morning?  Should I wait to attempt to close the rift?

I stretch my fingers out and draw them back.  Not now.  Let her sleep.  Getting up, I find another blanket, remove my clothes and blow out the candles.  I will find her tomorrow.  She should have calmed by then.

Morning comes and goes and I approach the solar, where Christiana has closeted herself.  I intend on finding some way to ease the tension from my lie.

She glances up as I stop in the doorway and does not even set aside her sewing.  "My Lord?"  She asks sweetly, though her face is not set in an agreeable expression.  There is a peculiar nasal quality to her voice that betrays just how much she has cried.  Her needle jabs viciously into the fabric and I cannot help but think that she is wishing the fabric was my skin.

"You are upset."

Christiana's lips tighten and she gives a curt nod.  "You are astute, my Lord."  Tying the thread into a knot, she leans down and bites the tail end off.

I stride to her, dragging a chair near and sitting.  "Tell me."  I would take my grandfather's advice, but am not good at gentle discourse. 

She gives a scoffing laugh.  "You do not want to know.  You do not care."

"According to who?"  I query, tilting my head a bit.  I take it as a good sign that she is speaking plain and not trying to hide everything within her.

She glances at me.  "According to yourself.  You care what Jocelyn feels, my Lord, not me."

I look around the room, more than a little out of sorts.  "You are my wife Christiana, not her.  That is what matters, not the reason for marrying you or what I may or may not have gained."

"It does matter.  It matters to me.  I had actually thought I was not considered second best and then to find out that I really am...."  She places the cloth beside her and turns her head, but not before I see the tears that escape her eyes. 

What in the hell do I do now?  Damn it all, she is crying!  Reaching out, I tuck her hair behind her ear, then touch her cheek, wiping away some of those hot tears.  "I do consider myself blessed for wedding you, Christiana.  You are more than a bedmate."  She rolls her eyes.  "You put up with my family, you are running the household...."  I sit back and cross my arms.  "You are my wife."  The word, to me, explains it all.  Wife.  "You are the Lady of this manor."

She stares at me a long moment, sniffling and wiping her cheeks.  "Are you trying to say that you are sorry?"

I do not answer her directly.  "I should not have let my anger rule me.  It is a problem I have occasionally.  I would have thought you would know that by now.  I spoke in anger and did not think before I said those words."  There.  I have followed grandfather's counsel.

Another minute goes by as she stares at me, then nods.  "I accept your apology."

Thank God.  "I have not apologized, Christiana."  

"Of course not, my Lord."  She chews her lip a moment.  "Did you mean that?  That I am Lady?"  There is a stress to the word and I realize she puts as much meaning into it as I put into 'wife'.

"Yes.  I do want you Christiana.  How can you not know that?"

The tiniest of smiles is turning her lips, that light I had thought dead returning in wary degrees to her eyes.  The tightness in my chest eases somewhat and I realize, with a jolt, that I have missed her half smiles and fond glances, those looks of hers that leave me with little doubt as to where her thoughts are straying.  And it was only one day without them.  What is happening to me?

"My Lord?"  I ask with raised brows.  She has not called me that so many times in a row since our journey here last fall.

She blushes just a bit, rosy coloring creeping across her cheeks.  "Eteinne."  I like that added bit of color.

I hold out a hand to her.  "Come here."  After a moment, she places her smaller hand within mine and I give a tug to urge her from her chair and onto my lap.  Her weight is slight on my leg.  I study her, a surge of possessiveness washing over me.  This woman is mine.  "You are mine now.  I do not give up what is mine without a fight.  And that is the way of it.  You are mine.  Any man who tries to take you from me will die.  Remember that."

She nods, her hair a weight along my arm.  I give her a kiss and let her go to her seat.  I also have things to do.  At the door, I glance back at her.  She has already returned to her sewing.  That possessiveness grows stronger as I watch her, an overwhelming sensation that fills my entire body.

I feel an icy trickle of something at the back of my neck, like little talons scraping gently along the skin, and a barely there weight along my shoulders.  A tiny voice whispers in sly susurrus, "Yes, any man who dares try and take her will die.  And if she encourages him, then she shall die as well."

Shaking my head, I dismiss the disturbing thought and go about my duties.