The Lamentable Truth of Planning

Chapter: 2

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn was certain in both heart and mind that her very soul had died within her the day she realized her father had no intention of allowing her to marry Will. Still, she tried to hope, waiting every day for some letter to bolster her mood. No letter arrived. Until….

Two months and four days into the convent stay, a messenger arrived. Jocelyn tore into the seal, ripping it free, anxious to finally know her fate for certain. As she read, the last spark of hope that had been living inside her grew cold and guttered out. Love was lost. Her heart was a dead thing.

Tears came anew and she found she’d navigated the corridors to her chamber without actually seeing them. Throwing herself upon the bed, Jocelyn cried until she could ring no more tears from her eyes. She refused food and when the time came to meet her intended three days from the receipt of the letter, she was barely strong enough to stand unaided.

Nor did she care. Let Adhemar do what he will.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Jocelyn read her letter, her expression fluctuated from hope to despair in seconds. She began to sob, piteous things that indicated her heart was breaking into two. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Jocelyn,” Christiana ventured in question, though she knew very well what that letter must contain.

“He’s given me to Adhemar.” Her voice was listless, weak and she crumpled the letter, tossing it to the floor before hurrying from the room. Minutes later, a door slammed, disturbing the quiet of the convent.

The Sisters were absent from view, taking Jocelyn’s crying in a manner suggesting they were familiar with the sort of wailing now ringing the halls. Thoughtful, Christiana bent, picking up the letter and carrying it with her to the chair she’d taken to working her embroidery in. Once she was settled, she smoothed it out and read.

‘Dear daughter,

Your first choice is an honorable man and one I would enjoy calling son. However, you are aware that there is a need for the one thing he cannot supply: men. Therefore, I ask that you not hate me, but remember that need will always win out over want. Be a dutiful daughter. The terms with Adhemar are set. You will marry him.’

Christiana stopped reading, turning to her letter from Avery. Her hands shook with her own anxiety.

‘Christiana,

The time has come for you to leave our family. A husband has been found for you, one I believe will treat you well and will, during the course of your life together, treasure what you bring to him. You have been a credit to both my household and your father’s. The man is young and I’ve heard him described as handsome. He doesn’t abuse his horses or his men, but rather shows a courtesy for all within his sphere.’

Despite her knowledge of how Avery worked, Christiana felt her hopes swelling. One hand rose to press against her chest as she continued reading. She’d never imagined such a man as actually hers. It was too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

‘He is relatively new to the stricture of nobility, never having dreamed to call the title his own.’

A younger son perhaps? From a minor noble family? It was possible for a younger son to inherit if the elder son or sons died and for a minor noble to marry the daughter of a successful middle class merchant. It did happen. It wasn’t probable, but is was possible.

‘He is honorable and unafraid to fight for his ideals. At this point, I’m certain your wondering his identity. It was I who began negotiations with him, as he had initially preferred another entirely.’

Tactless and thoroughly Avery. His description however, struck a chord in her mind and she had a horrible feeling she knew what the end of the letter was going to say. No, she thought. Surely Avery didn’t offer me to--

‘Sir William will make you a most splendid spouse. He has agreed to the terms and, with his man Geoffrey, even completed rigorous negotiations with your father for a separate parcel of land that holds a small house upon it. You won’t have to wait for one to be built, only for repairs to be made.

See? I have provided well for you in the end as I promised I would. Surely you won’t hate me as Jocelyn will?’

Sir William Thatcher. Hers. Christiana drew in a shaking breath. And with him was Roland. They’d both known their flirtations could go nowhere. A lower class peasant man and a middle class merchant’s daughter had no future in this world. But Sir Will hers? How could she even imagine it?

Closing her eyes, she thought of his face. Tried to anyway. Not given to daydreaming about him, she couldn’t fix his features in her mind. Scrunching her nose up, she tried harder. Blond hair, expressive eyes…. Perhaps if she thought of his form instead? It was quite pleasing. She and Jocelyn had giggled over it enough. Broad shoulders, slim, muscular…. Still, she couldn’t bring him into clarity. She sighed, reopening her eyes.

Rolling the letter back up, she tapped her palm with it. How had he reacted to the offer? Had he seen through Avery’s ways to the man beneath? Or had he been blinded to Avery’s manipulation?

She didn’t dare dream this as truth. It wouldn’t surprise her to find Avery sending another letter next week claiming Sir Will had cried off. Christiana shook her head. She’d better comfort Jocelyn and put all thoughts of this letter from her mind. Until the day Sir William stood before her here, she’d assume Avery was lying to her as a part of her punishment for helping Jocelyn.

~~~~~~~~~~

The woman waiting for Adhemar could have been Jocelyn’s ghost, so silent and pale she was. He didn’t miss how two of the nuns supported her or how she seemed ready to keel over at any second. Adhemar found himself glancing about, thinking someone was playing a prank upon him. This couldn’t be Lady Jocelyn!

Yet it was. Striding to her, he tipped her chin up, surprised when she didn’t jerk away. He’d expected such. Her gaze was calm and blank, bloodshot from crying. Her face was puffy, a distinct reddish cast to her pert nose. What made him draw in a harsh breath however, was the realization that she was far thinner than she’d been when he’d last seen her. She couldn’t afford the loss of weight. It made her appear gaunt and drawn.

Dear God, he thought. She’s broken.

The idea of Jocelyn broken was met with mixed feelings. He’d never intended that to happen. Despite his words to William Thatcher, he’d rather liked her bold manner and obvious temper. He’d also thought of her as an exception in that rule of women he’d mentioned.

Her bloodless lips parted. “My heart will never mend.”

He had to strain to hear her whisper and snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic.” That’s all this was, yes? A way to try and make him feel guilty? She used theatrics. However, he’d not thought her such an exemplary actress…. “Everything mends in time. Even your broken heart.”

Alarm rang inside him. She made no response to his words, nothing outward to show she’d even heard him. No scorn, sadness, or anger. Nothing. Troubled by that, he released her chin, turning to Germaine.

“See that her things are loaded into the wagon. We leave immediately after.”

He watched her as they waited. The nuns didn’t release her for a single second. Very…troubling. Where was her wrath? He’d looked fondly towards weathering it. Where was that bloom of emotion on her cheeks? She remained pale and wan, barely acknowledging what was going on about her and when her trunks were loaded onto the wagon he’d brought for that purpose, Adhemar swung back up onto his horse.

“Come, Jocelyn. Let us be about our journey home.” He waited for her to approach so that his men could lift her up to sit behind him. Seconds ticked by. She raised her gaze to meet his, brow furrowing slightly as though she didn’t understand.

He’d planned a swift beginning to their journey, a brisk ride along the road, for he knew she adored such things. He’d wanted to show her that he’d still accommodate her on some matters; still give her some measure of freedom. Adhemar wouldn’t hold Thatcher against her.

“Jocelyn,” he repeated, hating that he had to do so. He wasn’t a man who liked to say things twice. Besides, it wasn’t as though he’d continued his pursuit of her after London. She had no reason to be in a snit over that. Contrary to the belief of some, he knew when he was well and truly bested, however much it pained him to accept it. He’d been well into plans of retreat when her father had contacted him. No, it wasn’t Adhemar who’d insisted that the contract drawn up be pushed through to completion. It was all Avery.

Once it had been clear to Adhemar that Sir William Thatcher was being denied the prize, he hadn’t seen any sense in setting Jocelyn aside. Someone may as well marry her and why not him? After all, he’d sustained injuries in fighting for her, more than her newly nobled lover had that was for sure. He didn’t see Thatcher struggling to keep from limping after a long day. He’d agreed to the terms with far less final negotiations than he normally would have begun, for Avery had already sweetened the pot considerably. The wanting for Adhemar’s connections had spurred Avery into adding more to Jocelyn’s dowry.

Peering at her more closely, he saw her chest rising and falling faster and faster, her breaths panting. She gasped for air. One of her hands raised to her brow even as her eyelids fluttered shut.

Adhemar was off his horse and to her, catching her unconscious form just when her head would have struck the ground. Slipping an arm beneath her shoulders, he raised her to a sitting position. Her head lolled against his arm and shoulder, the cap she’d been wearing slipping to the ground. Some supports the nuns were, he decided with a scowl, letting her just fall like that.

“She’s not eaten in three days, my lord,” one of the nuns offered in a soft voice.

“Why the devil not,” he snapped, working his other arm under Jocelyn’s knees and lifting her as he stood. He didn’t wait for whatever answer they’d give him, striding into the convent and finding a chair to sit in with Jocelyn upon his lap. “Her maid is still present? Then fetch her to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Christiana had been afraid of something like this happening. Jocelyn seemed intent on fading away into nothingness. Sometimes, Christiana wondered how life would be different if her lady married Sir Will. The wondering was fancy and she always pushed it aside as such. At the open door of the room, she paused, smoothing her skirt and mentally composing herself before stepping inside. Dealing with Count Adhemar usually required all of one’s wits and temper. Even when he’d used her to attempt to woo Jocelyn she’d needed to watch herself carefully to remain on that fine line before him.

A simple meal was laid out on the table, Jocelyn awake once more and sitting in a chair. She looked ready to cry. Adhemar was facing away from Christiana, his hands flat on the tabletop, his voice low. At her approach, he turned, frustration in his eyes.

“Make her eat, or I will. I will not carry an invalid all the way to my home. She’ll keep up her strength or I’ll force her and she won’t like my methods.” The words were spoken through gritted teeth.

Spying a bench by the wall, Christiana carried it to Jocelyn’s side and sat, making note of the food on her trencher. A hearty portion of everything and very nearly the amount she’d eat under normal circumstances. She smiled. “Just a few bites, my lady. For strength to travel.”

“I cannot.” Jocelyn shook her head. “It has no taste and I…I have no appetite. My stomach won’t stop churning about.”

Behind her, Adhemar made a noise somewhere between a growl and a snort. She clucked her tongue, ignoring him as she took a sliver of cheese and ate it. “He wouldn’t want you to harm yourself.” Taking another sliver, she nibbled again. “Mmm. This is that cheese you liked, that one made near here,” she coaxed.

“I care not what Adhemar wants.”

Aware that one was watching and listening, Christiana pressed on. “Not him, my lady. Sir Will. He’d be distressed to hear you starve yourself. He’d hate to think of you in anything less than robust health.”

Now Jocelyn raised her gaze to meet Christiana’s. There was a flicker of acceptance in her eyes. Blinking twice, she nodded. “You’re right. I….” Slender fingers reached for the bread. “A few bites.”

Those few bites became a meal as Jocelyn fed the hunger of her body until she’d eaten more in one sitting than she had in a very long time.

“I hate to leave you, Christiana. You take such good care of me.”

“You make it easy.”

“Not recently,” she replied with a tiny, rueful smile. “Have you word?”

Christiana struggled to hide the truth and pretended to wipe crumbs from her lap so that her hair hid her face. “No. It will come in time.”

Her hand was grasped, held tight, Jocelyn’s voice a whisper so low that Christiana could barely hear it. “I pray he doesn’t betray you as he has me.”

And then Jocelyn was shoving back her chair and standing, accepting the arm Adhemar came to put around her. Once, she would have rebelled, but now her manner was meek. Despondent. He led her from the room and Christiana was left thinking on those last words. Perhaps Jocelyn’s father had betrayed her. But if he’d betray his own daughter, then why give her maid a great gift in return?

It had to be a trick. There was no way Avery would give her to Sir William. He’d sooner toss her into the street.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jocelyn was well aware how her behavior would look to Count Adhemar. She didn’t care. She’d spoken the truth to Christiana: food had no taste anymore and she’d no desire to eat. She’d only eaten back at the nunnery for two reasons. The first was that Christiana had been right. Will wouldn’t want her to starve to death. The second was to please Christiana. Christiana would worry if she didn’t see her eat and if she worried, how would Jocelyn appease her worries once they were miles apart?

It had been easier to eat, then let herself be led out to the horses.

She prayed her father would be kind to Christiana and remember how well she’d served their family. It was only recently that she’d done anything wrong in his eyes. Until then, Christiana had been a model maid. Jocelyn wanted Christiana happy, even when she herself was miserable. She wouldn’t begrudge her sunshine.

Jocelyn turned her face against Adhemar’s back so that she looked at the other side of the road. Slightly behind on this side, the herald Germaine rode. She sighed. If it weren’t for the circumstances, she’d enjoy this ride. Adhemar set a lively pace, moving them swiftly towards his home. A place she dreaded. She very much feared what life in his household would be like. Jocelyn remembered well his very public words on the role of women.

I am to be forever caged, she thought. A prized possession to be shown off.

Did she care anymore? No. At this moment, Jocelyn didn’t care what happened to her. It’d be easier to die than to live with the knowledge that she was parted from the one she loved most in the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was strange to see Jocelyn so despondent. Was this proof that she’d truly loved Thatcher? Adhemar eyed her for a moment, considering the evidence. She’d a marked loss of appetite and a disinterest for everything going on around her. She was grieving for William Thatcher and grieving hard.

The tactician in him analyzed the situation. He’d assumed previously that Jocelyn had been swayed by Thatcher’s pretty face and odd manner. The younger man had stuck out among the other knights in everything he did. There’d been no denying he was different. Not being a woman who liked ordinary, she’d naturally been drawn to the novelty of him. Adhemar’d assumed she’d become tired of Thatcher and of her games.

He’d never considered her feelings to be genuine. That error nagged at him now. He had to completely re-think his plan of action regarding her. The woman before him wasn’t the same woman he’d verbally sparred with. Hell, this woman hardly responded to anything at all. She was too wrapped up in her private pain.

“Have you slept at all these past weeks,” he enquired with raised brows.

Lifting one shoulder in a listless shrug, Jocelyn sighed before speaking. “How can I sleep when I see Will every time I close my eyes?”

The statement was dramatic, yet if real emotion was present, it was undoubtedly the truth. Even Adhemar was familiar with the force of such emotion.

Germaine approached, bearing a cup in his hands. With a nod at Adhemar, he bowed slightly to Jocelyn. “My lady. Some wine to warm you before you turn in.”

Raising her gaze from the fire, she studied Germaine a moment, then took the cup and sipped. “It’s very good.”

“I made it for you myself.”

Adhemar raised his brows higher in approval. Sometimes, Germaine really was the very best of his servants. In his opinion, Jocelyn could benefit from a sleeping draught every night for weeks. He himself frequently used the drink, suffering from insomnia with regularity.

After a few more swallows, Jocelyn frowned. “You made this?”

“Herbs for flavor, my lady.”

She paused, then finished the drink and handed back the cup. “Somehow I suspect I’ll be feeling sleepy rather soon and will sleep deeply all night.” Her gaze met Adhemar’s. “Your doing?”

Germaine slipped away as silently as he’d approached.

Adhemar crossed his arms. “Entirely Germaine’s. He’d take as good care of you as Christiana did if you let him. When we reach home, his wife will be maiding you. She’s a quiet girl. You can train her as you please. Besides, would I contrive to drug you?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps if I’d thought of it first,” he admitted. “Don’t fight sleep, Jocelyn. The journey to my home is long and arduous. I’d not have you succumbing to illness. You can rest. I’ve enough men to guard us as we sleep. You’ll be safe in your slumbers.”

“Will they keep me safe from you?”

“Do you need safety from me?”

“Will they,” she repeated.

“I will never harm you.”

“Do you really think you’re not already harming me?” She got to her feet and stepped towards him.

Adhemar leaned back on his elbows and stared up at her. “In your mind perhaps. I’ve been courteous to you, seen to your needs. I make allowances for your presence. How is that harming you?”

“You’ve taken me from my heart.”

And he now understood. She wasn’t referring to the journey, but rather to her lost love. Did she not understand her father’s part in their coming union? “Take your night’s rest. Your world may seem different in the morning.”

Her hands grasped her long skirts, raised them a few inches in preparation of walking away. “I very much doubt that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She was learning far more about Adhemar than she’d ever wished to know. He’d a well trained staff who never did anything without his approval first. She’d seen it in action. His men deferred every tiny little thing to him, much like lords to a king. Indeed, he was a king of his domain, wielding his power in the manner of a small child -- one often given to temper-tantrums.

Jocelyn settled down in the small tent Adhemar had ordered raised for her, clutching the blanket Germaine had given her tight to her. She was grateful for the warmth, as there was a definite chill in the air. The mild fall they’d enjoyed thus far would soon be a hard winter she suspected. Adhemar had talked to her earlier of rewarding his peasants for the profitable harvest when they reached his home. He’d had a letter while still in London that praised the fields this year.

Strange to think of him as rewarding anyone beneath him in station for anything. She’d have thought he’d be more likely to ignore the plight of others. He’d laughed at her then, an uproarious sound. Did she think him a poor manager of his lands, he’d asked. How did she think he kept his wealth?

In all truth, she’d assumed he simply looted like mad after battles. While there was certainly a portion of that, she had to allow that he was fully capable of managing his estates.

With a sigh, Jocelyn closed her eyes and fell into a deep drugged sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kate did what she had to do. She, Wat, Roland, and Geoff had agreed. With Roland leaving, it’d be just Kate and Wat for awhile, until Geoff found them a new herald, and Will needed them more than he ever had before. The journey into nobility was half as hard as the journey within it. Geoff was clear about that. They should do whatever they had to do to convince Will to accept Christiana.

Why? Because she knew the story in it’s entirety and wasn’t the sort of woman to treat him differently. Because she knew those things Will would need to know as the days turned to weeks, months and finally years. Because having a wife was one more way to be accepted by the nobility. Marrying Lady Jocelyn had been a dream, yet marrying Christiana fully accepted. She was closer to his new class than Lady Jocelyn and therefore acceptable. No one would talk of that marriage.

Geoff made sure they all understood.

She smiled a sad smile. Dear Geoff, so worried about leaving them by themselves. He wished to remain with them, he claimed, but had to go home. He’d duties he’d neglected for months.

“Kate.”

Looking up, she found Geoff watching her. “Geoff.” They were alone.

“I’d not thought I’d have to tell you goodbye more than once. I’d not anticipated returning for any length of time.”

Crossing her arms, she turned her glance to the ground. How often had she dreamed of him? Discovering he’d a wife had shattered her idle daydreams, making their interactions seem awkward once the excitement and drama had wound down. “I know.” His goodbye from before was heavy on her mind. She recalled the passionate words on how he’d never forget her. They were embarrassing now. She too had never anticipated meeting again.

His hands gripped her arms, squeezed with a light touch. “If things were different, you know I’d look your way. You can’t help but know it. Things aren’t different though and I’ve Philippa to consider. She is my wife.”

“You don’t have to say it. I know very well --” Kate took a steadying breath and changed the subject. “Have arrangements all been made?”

For a moment, he looked like he’d protest the change, but then his lips tightened into a thin line and he nodded, his voice hard and cool. “Yes, Kate, the arrangements have been made. You’re traveling to the convent where Christiana waits first thing in the morning and the man I’ve found for the herald position will meet you at your new residence. Everything is ready.”

“We’ll do our part.”

“I’ve never had any doubt about that.”

She’d never planned on falling for Geoff. It had just happened. How much better it would have been if Wat had been the man on her heart lately!

“This is goodbye, Kate. I don’t intend to see any of you ever again. My life will go a far different direction than yours.” Yet he didn’t move, standing there still, watching her with the tiniest bit of regret in his eyes. “This decision --”

“There’s no choice for you to make, Geoff. You made it long before you ever met me. Go already.”

After long moments, he turned and walked away.

Kate put him from her mind. It would be best if she concentrated on her duties. She’d her business to work and Will to help. There was no room for mooning over a man she’d no business considering to begin with. She’d been as foolish as Lady Jocelyn. Both of them should have known full well they’d no future with the man they wanted.