Time Heals All

Chapter: Four

~~~~~~~~~~

Blood. So much blood.

He was covered in blood. Will closed his eyes and tried not to think about that fact. They'd cornered several of the thieves by the creek and not one had lived long. There were still three thieves on the loose, but the band was greatly wounded. Should he feel remorse for this? Should he feel some vast sadness for taking lives?

Visions of Adhemar as he and Christiana had found him swam before his closed lids and he opened his eyes to dispel that image, still sickened by it. No. No sadness, no regret. This was right and just. No man was going to hurt these people any longer if he could help it. He allowed no torture, though many of the men with him wanted such. Repayment, they said. Repayment for the wrongs that had been perpetrated upon them these long months of terror. Will wouldn't allow it. They were better than these thieves and they'd show mercy in the manner of quick deaths for the crimes committed.

Stepping to the creek, Will knelt, plunging his hands in the icy cold water and washing them. Red clouded the water and he stared at it curiously, strangely detached from himself, like there was a stranger controlling his body and he was merely a passenger within. Like Pontius Pilate, he washed blood from his hands, only this blood wasn't innocent. It was guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. He'd killed. He'd actually killed men today. Strange how he'd not thought about how he'd feel when it was done. There was a numbness falling over him. Was this how it felt? Was the sheer rage he'd felt while slaying the thieves normal? It was too bad Adhemar was not better. He'd ask him. Perhaps there was something the two of them had in common after all, besides Jocelyn.

His hands shook and he gulped in mouthfuls of air in an effort to calm himself.

Will blinked, removing his coat and holding it up. The bloodstains on the fabric would never come out. Likewise, his white shirt, now streaked and stained. He couldn't go home and let Jocelyn see him like this. She didn't need to see the blood, to know what he'd done. She didn't need to know that he'd taken lives.

It was necessary, his mind said calmly. She'll understand.

She may understand, he countered silently, but how can she not see me differently? No. Jocelyn won't know.

Dear God in heaven above forgive me for what I've done today!

He leaned forward a bit. The water reflected his face and he saw a man looking back that he did not recognize. Oh, it was still his face, but there was something in the expression that Will didn't like. It took a moment to identify it and when he did, he choked back a cry.

Self-loathing. The same expression he'd once seen on Adhemar's face years ago.

Getting to his feet, Will staggered into the relative privacy of the nearby bushes. The noon meal made a second, less appealing, appearance.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was evening by the time Will and company returned to the manor, Will breaking away from the group to stop at Christiana's cottage. Peeking his head in, he saw that Adhemar was awake, but silent, staring at the wall. Christiana was talking soothingly to him. Will tread to the bedside. Both pairs of eyes raised to him.

"All but three of the thieves are dead. The final three will be hunted down over the next days until they are found."

Adhemar gave him a stare, puzzlement taking the despair from those orbs. "You killed them?" The emphasis was placed as though he couldn't believe William Thatcher would do that.

Will nodded, giving the barest of glances towards Christiana when she gasped. "Yes. I did." He hated having to admit it aloud, to say clear that he had killed.

The man's gaze fell. Will hadn't expected any words of thanks and was actually grateful that none were issued. It wasn't for Adhemar that he'd killed the thieves, but for the people and his own family. The safety of the household at large. "Did it feel good, Thatcher? Did they ask for mercy? Did they beg you for it?" In the questions asked was something deeper, a tone that was breathless and eager for the answer.

"Their mercy was a quick death for each. It's done. I'll bring word when the last are in their graves as well."

Adhemar struggled to sit, flinching hard from Christiana when she reached out a hand to steady him. "Are they buried, Thatcher?" An urgency now in that hoarse voice as well.

Will shook his head. He'd not had any arguments from the men with him all day in that regard. Let the thieves rot where they fell. They weren't decent men to receive consecrated ground for their final rest. Their souls could wander forever, lost and unable to find peace. It was amazing to Will how satisfied that thought made him feel. "No. No consecrated graves for them. No priest to say prayers over their bodies. Their graves are where they fell from our swords and arrows." He watched Adhemar sink back down on the pillows and close his eyes with the air of a man who has physically exhausted himself.

Christiana came to Will, laid a tender hand on his arm, looking him over. He managed not to flinch as Adhemar had done, but he couldn't help thinking that merely coming near him would mark anyone with the dark deed he'd done that day. "You've got blood on you, Will."

"I know. I tried to wash it off --"

"Blood you've spilled will stain you forever, Thatcher. I know." Adhemar didn't move, or open his eyes.

Christiana steered Will outside the door of the cottage. "I could give you one of Roland's shirts to wear. They're packed away, but wouldn't be too difficult to take out."

Concern in her eyes. Will cupped her face in his hands, kissed her forehead. "You are an angel. I'll take that shirt." He waited outside the cottage, watching nothing in particular, his gaze roaming about the landscape before him. The men had returned to their homes and Wat gone on to the manor house. He was grateful for the time he'd ride alone. He needed to think, to ruminate upon the situation. All situations. There was not just Adhemar to consider and the rest of the thieves. There was Jocelyn and the superstitions abounding, the latter flames that were being fanned by the old priest.

Life had never been this difficult for Will. He'd always been the one taking orders until Sir Hector died. It was a common thought that nobles had it easy. They had servants to do things for them and didn't answer to anyone. How wrong that assumption was. Nobles answered to their families, to the Crown....He sighed. There were responsibilities he'd never been aware of and now he had to fulfill them all. Will didn't have only seven people to care for, he had an entire household and the peasants on all the lands he'd inherited through Jocelyn being the last of her family. He had more on his plate then he'd ever imagined he'd have. And it was terribly daunting. At times he wanted to weep from it all and gnash his teeth at the frustration of learning to deal with each new thing in such rapid succession.

"It's obviously not your own shirt," Christiana remarked, coming back out the door and holding the shirt up to him. She gave him a tiny smile. "But, it will suffice long enough to get you back to the manor."

He took the proffered garment, careful not to let it touch his shirt, though the stains on the white fabric were long dried. "Am I tainted now, Christiana?"

She looked up at him a long moment. "Walk with me a moment." Their path took them to the well, where she drew up a bucket of water before speaking. "If you believe yourself irrevocably changed by the slaying of evil men, then you will be. Let me ask you a question, Will. Would those men have stopped their evil if you'd let them continue on? Would the burning of the fields and the homes have stopped? Would the rapes and the tortures of these people have stopped?"

He shook his head to each one. No, the men wouldn't have stopped. They'd have continued on until all was in ruins and moved on to the next area.

"Were they repentant when you found them? Did they cry out for mercy or did they curse you for finding them out?" She waited while he shook his head and muttered 'curse'. "You administered justice and you let these people have a voice in that. I don't see a different man before me than the William Thatcher I've come to know. The very fact that you feel remorse over this tells me that you are still you."

He set the shirt he carried on the well edge and sighed, stripping off the soiled shirt as he spoke. "I'm glad I killed them though. Doesn't that path taken me in the direction of Adhemar? Think about it, Christiana. He wasn't always the man he ended up. Once, he was like me --"

She shook her head, lifting the bucket and pouring it into another bucket, one she'd carry to the cottage. "Count Adhemar was never like you, Will. His heart was never in the same place as yours. Don't you fret about turning into Adhemar. Some men seem to be born with battle in their blood and some are born with the desire to prevent the battle in the first place. He is the first. You, are the second. You would avoid battle if you could, but when faced with it as a certainty, you refuse to back down or accept defeat." Christiana hefted the filled bucket. "Think on that Sir Will, then answer your own questions."

He pulled on the fresh shirt, watched her slim form return to the cottage.

~~~~~~~~~~

There were visitors he saw, when he returned. Or a visitor rather. Jocelyn was in the great hall, looking more lively than she had in months. She was smiling and laughing. "Will! Come over here. I'd like you to meet Duke Gilles Fortier. He was my father's closest friend. Last I heard, he'd gone to Italy and he's back!"

The man who came halfway across the hall to greet him was tall and lean, with close cropped black hair and beard. He moved with the lithe grace of a man half his apparent age, his eyes assessing Will coolly before extending a warm greeting. "Pleased to meet the famous William Thatcher."

Will felt a flush heat his cheeks, shaking his head. "No fame really."

"Oh yes," Fortier grinned, an almost wolfish show of white teeth. "Fame. The young man who found quick favor with Prince Edward, earned the respect of a bevy of knights at tournament and whipped that upstart Adhemar in the joust. You're quite famous boy -- in certain circles."

"Gilles. Quit teasing," Jocelyn admonished gently, shaking her head.

Will was surprised when the man laughed, clapped him on the back and ushered him over to the chairs where he and Jocelyn had been sitting. The Duke refused another chair. "I'll stand. I can't remain much longer anyway. I only stopped on my way home to offer my condolences to Jocelyn for the death of her relatives." The familiar use of names told Will that this man was practically family to Jocelyn. "That and to offer aid in apprehending the thieves I hear have been about. We've always had a problem here with them. There are far too many hiding places about the woods for them to scurry into."

Will glanced cautiously towards Jocelyn, who was frowning as she studied him, her gaze lingering on the shirt Christiana had loaned him. He cleared his throat. "We've captured all but three. The leader is still free."

Reaching out a hand, Jocelyn caught the shirt and yanked, tugging him half from the chair, bringing him to her. "This isn't what you left wearing, Will. Where is your shirt and coat?"

Will didn't want to tell her. Rescue from doing so, however, came from their guest.

"Probably torn and muddied, I'm afraid, Jocelyn. Apprehending thieves is dirty work and they tend to take exception to being caught." He raised his brows at Will as though to say 'And that is how you deflect such questions, my boy.' "I myself have lost many a coat and shirt over the years due to such hunts. Don't you recall Henry and I going out?"

Jocelyn was quickly distracted by her memories. "Yes, of course I do. Father would fume and snort at the loss of clothes and you'd all come back in high spirits until the next group of thieves came along, to which you'd run out and come back....The same story over and over. I'd hoped it had all ended by now. I don't particularly like having Will go out like father did." She released her hand on Will's shirt, smoothing her skirts in a prim fashion. "Perhaps father was right and there's a more organized band of thieves set here. It would explain how they seem to persist."

Fortier snorted, crossing his arms. "Henry was amazingly quick to take credit for an idea that was not his, my dear. I've said for years that the thieves had to be part of a larger, organized band. Henry claimed differently. How like him to claim my idea once I was gone."

Will held his breath at the remark. Jocelyn was rather protective of her parents and became upset at the slightest noise of displeasure over them. He was once more surprised by his bride when she laughed, rolling her eyes.

"That's what mother said. She wrote to us that father had a change in ideas suddenly once your baggage wagons had disappeared over the hill and into the woods." Jocelyn leaned back in her chair, hands pressing at her belly. "Oh, I do wish I could sit for one minute without an ache all about."

Fortier's expression shifted, concern playing upon his features before he went to Jocelyn and knelt. "You are feeling well, aren't you? Don't lie either. I want the truth." His gaze was keen, the alarm Will noted quickly masked.

Her glance at Will was more than a little guilty. "I'm tired quite a bit."

"Normal," Fortier said, clasping one of her hands and doing a wicked impression of Father Michel hearing confession.

"I ache everywhere even though I've not done anything."

"That's probably why you're aching. Go on. Tell Gilles everything."

"You're not a midwife, Gilles, or even a physician." Jocelyn cast a pleading look at Will, who crossed his arms and returned a blank stare. Let her try and squirm out from under this man's questions like she did his. Just try, my love. Just try.

"Yes, but I have several children and am familiar with the many aspects of childbirth. The pleasant and unpleasant both. I have experience in the matter. My first child was delivered by me without the benefit of a midwife present."

Jocelyn was squirming in her seat like a naughty child caught in the act of mischief. Will found himself becoming amused by it, a laugh forming in his chest, which he coughed to cover. Fortier winked in his direction and Will managed another cough quickly as the laughter kept bubbling forth.

"Gilles, please." A flush was staining her cheeks, her eyes widening.

The man raised both brows so high that they fair disappeared into his hairline. "Why Jocelyn, are you embarrassed?"

"You know very well I am. Here I'd hoped you wouldn't tease me about anything because you were being perfectly lovely and then Will came in and you--"

A serious gaze was turned to Will. "How am I teasing, William? Enquiring about her health? Or mentioning my children?"

Will shrugged. "I've not one idea, sir."

Jocelyn snatched her hand from Gilles'. "Oh! I saw that wink, you beast! Leave me be!"

For the barest flash of a second, the expression on the two faces were uncannily alike, but then that brief moment passed and Will was left wondering if he'd imagined it. Just then, if Will hadn't known Jocelyn's parents, he would have sworn that the two were father and daughter.

Fortier stood, giving Jocelyn's cheek a fond pat as he did. "Well, I must be going. Take very good care of yourself, child. I do not want to have to bury you as well." His head turned, and Will was fixated with a piercing stare. "Show me out, William, yes?"

Will nodded. He took a moment to kiss Jocelyn before following the man outside. Once there, he was assaulted by a rapid barrage of questions.

"How far along is she? Has she been having problems? Does she have a history of problems? Has a midwife seen her recently?" Fortier sputtered to a stop and Will saw that he was upset, spots of color darkening his cheekbones. The man glanced up at the brilliant blue of the sky, taking a deep breath. "My apologies, William. Jocelyn is dear to me."

"She's dear to me as well," Will said. "She has had difficulties carrying and she's seven months give or take a week or so. This time she's not had any unusual pains that I'm aware of and we all try and keep her calm. The midwife visits her daily, and Christiana tried to assess her condition every week."

"Christiana is here as well?" Relief on his face. "Good. I'd worried on her also."

Will licked his lips, uncertain as to what to make of this man. He was the nearest neighbor and he vaguely remembered Jocelyn's mother mentioning his name in a letter or two. Admittedly, Will hadn't paid much attention to the letters Jocelyn read out loud to him. Her mother had written mostly of gossip of people even Jocelyn didn't remember and of the latest embroidery pattern she'd bought. He did remember Jocelyn mentioning this man's name in a rather 'would you listen to this amazing thing' tone. Of course, he'd managed to not hear whatever the subject had been. "Jocelyn is well. Really. She's being exceedingly careful this time, staying inside resting when I know she'd rather be outside."

They began walking, the Duke smiling. "Her mother was like that too. Henry and I had the hardest time keeping her from running about the countryside. Jocelyn is so much like her mother it's frightening. Gabrielle was also one of most sought after maidens at tournament when we were young." He sighed. "Jocelyn is luckier than her mother. She got to marry the man she preferred."

"She didn't want to marry Jocelyn's father?"

Fortier walked slowly, staring at the ground. He was lost in his thoughts, speaking softly. "She didn't want to marry Henry. In fact, she refused to eat for three days after the decision was made, swearing she'd run herself through with a sword before marrying him. She wanted her lover, not Henry. In the end, she consented."

"I didn't think she was unhappy. Her letters were always cheerful." It was hard to imagine plump Gabrielle as a young woman Jocelyn's age, but Will pictured her as resembling her daughter. The woman had always mentioned that Jocelyn was just like she'd been.

"She wasn't unhappy, not after a long while. She had Jocelyn and settled into her role as Henry's wife. She was a remarkable woman."

They continued walking until Will was stopped by a hand on his arm. He glanced up. The older man's expression was thoughtful, his eyes on something across the courtyard.

"Who," he asked in a low voice, "is that perfectly exquisite creature?"

A brief look in that direction showed Kate petting one of the horses, her hand smoothing in slow strokes. As Fortier had said 'who', Will didn't think he meant the horse, so logically, he had to be indicating Kate. Will's mind struggled to switch topics so quickly. Kate? Exquisite? "That's Kate."

"Mmm. Kate." An appreciative eye ran along her, lingering. "The maker of that armor of yours?"

Will nodded his head at the questioning brow. "Yes."

"How delightful to find a fellow connoisseur."

What the devil was the man talking about? "I'm sorry?"

A startled glance his way, then an apologetic and somewhat sheepish grin. "I'm the sorry one, William. Sometimes I forget that my thought processes aren't always blindingly obvious to all around me. You've surrounded yourself with beautiful women I mean. Smart boy. I've a tendency towards that myself."

"I didn't do so intentionally." Kate beautiful? Will turned to regard her, unaware that he was gawking at the woman. He'd never really thought of Kate in the context of full woman before. She'd been a temporary blacksmith first, a dance instructor second, and finally a steadfast friend. Will hadn't thought of Kate as beautiful in a physical sense. Was she? Well...maybe. Her skin did have a flawless quality that wasn't often seen in peasant women. Her person was always as neatly attired and decently groomed as she could manage and her figure was rather pleasing to contemplate.

Will decided he could see it after all.

"Tell me about her." A trace of steel in Fortier's words, making them an order.

Will shrugged. What did the man want to know? While he'd known Kate for around three years, she'd kept many things about herself private. He'd assumed it was either from habit or that Kate simply liked keeping privacy. Will could understand both reasons. Some things just needed to remain private. "I know little to tell, really. Kate likes her privacy. She reveals only little things at long intervals."

There was a hungry gleam in Fortier's eyes, like that of a man half starved eying a meal being set out. Will chewed his lip. Would Kate welcome the attentions of this man? How should he know? Kate had been oblivious to nearly all the men that had looked her over since he'd known her. Several times he'd seen her distract Wat with a well-placed tidbit of pastry. Perhaps it would give her something to occupy her time besides the distressing lack of customers for her business.

"You could go to her yourself. Come back a day when you can stay longer." As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, Will realized that there was a hint of disrespect in them, but Fortier only nodded sagely.

"Wise advice, William. I'll return another day." Solemn green eyes turned to him. "Take care of Jocelyn. And Christiana. Please."

"Of course." Will watched the man go, mulling over the conversation. But then Kate was hailing him and he abandoned the conversation into memory.