News Comes

Kasey

kasey8473@yahoo.com

Summary: A letter from Christiana.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine and I do not own them.

Notes: To avoid confusion, the letter is italicized.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is a special occasion when a letter from Christiana arrives. All of us are anxious to have a moment of rest to read and discuss her news. I suppose it is easier to read it to everyone than to run about telling the contents to each person separately. I have her letter in hand and am sitting in our new home before the fire in the great hall, waiting for Wat to arrive. He has been arguing with our cooking staff since we arrived and several times already I have had to go there and explain that, yes, Wat can eat whenever he has the extra time from his duties to do so. I also explained that he has a hollow leg, so to speak. The cook, a dear older woman, then seemed to understand the situation.

I glance about at the others. Will has settled on the floor in front of me, his body turned, his arms and head resting on my lap, his eyes closed. He is not asleep though. I brush a few strands of golden hair from his brow and move on.

Roland is sewing on a dress for me, something he insisted he did not mind doing. It was one that Christiana was working on as practice of her skill and she left it behind with the idea that we could find someone to finish it. He is quick in his sewing and I do believe he will have it done soon. It was not my idea for him to work on it, believe me. I was content to try my own hand at sewing, though I know I am poor at the task and would likely ruin it, but he found it when we were finishing up our packing for the journey here and asked Will if it needed doing. Will told him if he wanted something to sew that badly, he could work on it. Personally, I think it was just a way for Roland to hang on to Christiana a bit longer. There is a superstition that a person sewing sews a bit of their soul into every stitch made. The cloth was held by her, worked by her and he could very well consider it a piece of her.

Kate sits by the hearth, staring at the flames. Her face is sooty from her work and she looks weary. This is the only time she comes into the manor. When I wish to talk with her, I must go out of the manor to do so. Upon arriving, she took possession of one small cottage and set up shop. Kate has caused quite a stir among the folk here. A pretty young woman doing such work? The men were wary, but the quality of her work has turned them to accepting her.

Finally, Wat saunters in, a thick wedge of bread in hand. He sits down beside Kate and I open the letter.

"Dearest Jocelyn and friends,

I can no longer make any claim that I understand any whit of men, for Etienne has me so very confused. He was the most attentive of men on our wedding day and ceased to be the crude beast he had been since I left your camp with him. We had a lovely night, after the first initial bit, but that is another story entirely and I do not feel comfortable sharing it when I know you read my letters to all. Perhaps if we have a chance to speak face to face, I will tell you. Anyway, I began to think that perhaps we had all been wrong about him. He is not so bad, I thought. How can he be when he showed such tenderness?

Hah! He is a barbarian to be sure! He has taken the crudest of customs, one I had not thought men actually did, and initiated it. I will not keep you in suspense. The sheets have been displayed.

Yes, friends, my husband has strung up the bed sheets for all to see his fortune in marrying an untouched female. There is more. After making critical comment on the small amount of blood speckling the sheets, he cut himself to add to it. Is my husband not a prize? I must look up at it at each meal and see that stupid sheet before us. He flaunts it, Jocelyn. He is so pleased with himself that I swear he has forgotten he accused me many times these past weeks of being a loose woman."

I cover my mouth with a hand, unsuccessful in stifling a laugh. It is funny and yet it is not. I can just picture Adhemar smiling with smugness as his servants raise that sheet somewhere where all will see it. It does not surprise me that he would favor that old custom. At least now he finally believes Christiana was not free with herself.

Will is grinning, Roland shaking his head and Kate laughing out loud.

"Oh that is in good taste." Wat comments around a mouthful of bread. "Nothing I would like more than to have to look at an old bloody sheet while I am trying to eat."

"Who are you kidding, Wat? Nothing stops you from eating." Kate grins, her gaze showing an obvious fondness for Wat, something I do not think she is aware is reflected there.

"I have a hearty appetite."

"Hearty? Is that the word for it? Glutton comes to mind to me." She replies with a snort.

"Quiet, you two." Will says, tapping the paper with a finger. "I want to hear the rest."

I return my attention to the letter. "Again I say I am confused. I am in a strange place with him right now. He is alternately kind and cruel in his words. His cutting remarks are the sort that could be taken as compliments if one were simple and unable to discern the tone. Jocelyn, you remember how he spoke to Will that day Will rode up and asked your name as we sat in the galley? Mocking him because of his armor and that long name he used? Those are the kind of remarks I hear. With me though, they usually follow genuine compliments, like this morning as I dressed.

He watched me, arms crossed and a frown on his face that could sour milk. "That color becomes you, Christiana, but try not dress so commonly all the time. You are my wife now, so dress like it."

It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he has not commissioned a seamstress to measure me for clothes or make them, or had cloth bought, but I nodded instead, feeling my cheeks burn from that remark. It was not even that bad as far as his remarks go, mild even, yet I was instantly ashamed of my dress and surcoat. He managed to compliment how I look in my favorite blue and turn right around and criticize my entire wardrobe. In two sentences! I only have the clothes your family bought for me to wear. I was your maid, your companion. What does he expect?

All this past week, we have had guests here to celebrate our marriage. Most are friendly and a few are not, but for the most part, the days are fine. We get up from our bed after a blissful night and spend the day entertaining our guests. Patrice has been a great help to me, as she seems to know every single person quite well. Lydia though....The girl is up to something that she should not be up to, of that I am certain. Her manner has been even more secretive than usual. She now runs every time I see her. I am at a loss to explain this. I have done nothing to her. I do not know what could be causing her to behave this way. I even went to Patrice about it.

We took a walk in the garden, where the harvest of fall produce is nearly finished. "I had thought, as Lydia's mother, that you could shed some light on her manner. Ever since I arrived, she has been avoiding me. The only time we talk is when you are with us, save one time where she mentioned some girl named Beatrice to me."

Patrice thought a moment, then looked at me. "Lydia has a situation right now that is greatly troubling her, something I warned her not to become involved in and she ignored my counsel. After all, I am only her mother. I could never understand what she is feeling, right?" There was a bitterness in her words. I already knew that their mother-daughter relationship was not the best and this confirmed it. I also know that Etienne is Patrice's favorite. Is that maybe part of Lydia's problem?

I stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

She gave roll of her eyes and a soft snort that is pure Etienne. He gets that expression from her. "Do not trouble yourself overmuch about Lydia. The day is coming when she will be found out and Etienne must actually deal with her himself instead of putting it all upon me. I have washed my hands of her stubbornness. Etienne will learn that he must perform his duties here as well as those of military service. Being Count is not just a title, it is duties as well. For that matter, being head of a household is more than what he has done so far."

"How long ago did his father die?" I asked. It never occurred to either of us, did it, to find out how long Etienne had been Count of Anjou? Being new to Tournament, you and I, Jocelyn, assumed he had been Count for a long time.

"Going on two years. For that entire time, I can almost count on the fingers of just one hand how many complete months Etienne has spent here at this manor attending fully to duties as Count. He spent most of those two years either at war or at Tournament, leaving it all to me, his grandfather, and the Stewards." She stopped, giving a tiny sigh. "My mouth runs away. You asked on Lydia, not Etienne."

"I do not mind hearing about him."

She smiled. "You will be good for him in the long run, Christiana. Truly. He needs your sort of gentleness in his life. And as for Beatrice, that girl was set aside a long time ago. She has no importance to any here, nor will she ever have importance. Consider her just a name, nothing more." I opened my mouth to ask more and she shook her head. "No. Now about Lydia. Pretend you do not see her. Then her behavior will not bother you. Simple."

And with that bit of wisdom, we returned to the manor to find Etienne moody and out of sorts about something. I never did discover what. He was surly and snappish the entire day. That evening, alone with him in our chamber, he stretched out on his stomach on our bed and motioned me close. "Rub my shoulders and back." It was a command, not a request.

Now, I can recall only a couple times where I have massaged anyone's back. Can you think of more than that? His order made my palms sweat. I am familiar with touching him yes, but this is an altogether different sort of touch to give. So, I climbed up onto the bed with him and sat beside him. I had to stretch to reach his entire back. I thought I was doing quite well for not really knowing what I was doing, but apparently I was gravely mistaken.

"Is that the best you can do?" He twisted his head to look at me, annoyance glittering in those hazel orbs.

I took my hands from his back, folded them together. "Yes."

He did a half roll of his eyes. "Did Jocelyn's family not educate you in this matter?"

"No." I shook my head.

Etienne sighed, a huge, long, drawn out whoosh of breath. "Very well. Straddle me." I hesitated, but he growled out, "Well?"

Have you become a masseuse as well, Jocelyn? Do you rub Will's back for him?"

Will lifts his head. "No, you do not rub my back. Why is that? I demand you service me like that, woman." He is teasing me, I know that. Sometimes, we make light of the view that a woman is only to serve a man and bear his children.

I smile and clear my throat to read more. Later, when we are alone, I will rub his back. I will rub anything he wants me to.

"He was extremely demanding on what I must do. I learned what a muscle knot feels like beneath my fingers and how to work it out without using too much pressure. He has a problem with muscle aches on his left side. Etienne has, since that eve, admitted that the aches are largely from that armor he wears. I have also learned that he is ticklish along his ribs and will wiggle about if I draw my fingers lightly along the skin there. Finding that out made him even more human to me and less like a beast to be feared most of the time. How can I stay afraid when I know how to cause the great Count Adhemar to squirm like a child?

Well, you can guess what happened next, when all his muscle knots had been tended. I will not give detail.

That is all for now. I hope to have more time to write as we settle into our daily routine again. Pray for me, that I shall have the wisdom of Esther in dealing with my husband. I will certainly need it.

My love to all,

Christiana."

"And that is the end." I say, setting the pages on the table beside me.

Roland sets the cloth aside, sticking the needle into it. "She is well then. I am glad." He gets up and walks from the hall. I do not understand why he stays to hear the letters. It pains him to hear of her with another man, yet he refuses to stay away for this. I was hesitant when he first asked me to read Christiana's letters to him. I knew of his affection for her. How could I not? I think Roland would have married her himself if he could have. He would have given her everything he was capable and done anything for her.

He gave me an almost pleading look that day, his hands holding Christiana's first letter out to me. "Please Lady. I have to know."

As I read him her words, I cast covert glances at his face. He has an expressive face. Not as expressive as Wat's face, but then no one's face is as expressive as Wat's. Roland reacted to her words with first sadness, then anger, and finally just nodded.

"Thank you."

Why does he need to hear what she has written? It only saddens him and makes him wonder what might have been. I am finding that I, like Christiana, do not really understand men at all.

Kate speaks up, pulling me from my thoughts on Roland. "She is coping it seems. It is just like a man to criticize a woman though."

Will's eyes go wide and he lifts his head from my lap. "Oh come on, Kate! I do not do that. Do not put me in the same category as Adhemar."

"Me either." Wat gets up.

There is a twinkle in her eyes. "So the two of you are exceptions, not the rule. And I did not specifically mention Adhemar."

"There is no rule and Adhemar was implied in your statement." Will sits forward and I do as well, putting my forearms on my thighs and clasping my hands together.

"No," I say. "Kate has a point." Two outraged male stares turn my way and I hurry to explain. "Consider men besides yourselves. Look at the clergy. They both praise us and condemn us. On one hand, we are Mary, pure and chosen by God, birthing Jesus in the stable. But on the other, we are Eve, wicked temptress, tool of Satan, tempting Adam to fall. We are both pure and wanton at the same time, imperfect because we are not male, considered jealous of the state of perfection they claim that being male is. It is the ultimate in criticism."

Kate nods her head. "Exactly. We women have male criticism on all sides. Our fathers, brothers, husbands and sons. There are rare few who do not criticize like that."

This is what I am coming to love. These debates of ours. We will discuss this issue for hours and I look forward to doing so. Christiana's letter will be picked apart over the next couple days and I shall pen a response to send in return.