Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Twelve

Notes: It has come to my attention that I have erred with naming. Many thanks to the reviewer who pointed this out to me. However, the names in this work will remain and later works will reflect the new information.

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The rest of the trip to Anjou was uneventful and for that, Adhemar was grateful. He'd had enough excitement for awhile and was ready to settle home with Christiana and take care of business matters. He wondered if his mother would be waiting for them and decided she would be. At the first sign of riders, Marian would be watching to see who they were.

As he'd predicted to himself, she was waiting in the Great Hall, pacing before the fire. Christiana managed to hiss, "I thought she was in Aquitaine," before he put an arm about her, urging her forward and not answering her. The look of panic on Christiana's face was faintly amusing. He probably should have told her Marian would be there, but it hadn't seemed important when he'd informed Christiana of their traveling plans.

Marian strode briskly across the hall to them, hope upon her face. She fairly beamed at them, cocking her head as though waiting for either of them to say something. A frown formed at their silence and she slowly reached out, grasped the edges of Christiana's cloak and tossed them to the sides, revealing Christiana in a gown and surcoat the had once been Jocelyn's. Her scrutiny fell to Christiana's stomach.

A laugh built in his chest and he swallowed it, amused at what she obviously thought. Christiana turned a perplexed stare towards him, her lips formed in a silent 'o'. He shrugged in answer.

Marian released the cloak, patted Christiana's stomach none too gently, then sighed, her hope disappearing and disgust turning her lips. Her sidelong glance at him was chiding. "And here I'd thought you'd wed her because you got her pregnant. Your invitation to witness the nuptials was strangely reserved, so naturally I thought you'd sampled the goods. I fully expected to find her belly rounding out upon your arrival. Do your duty already, I'm not getting any younger. A grandchild from you would be nice." She returned her attention, now quite critical, to Christiana. "Hurry it up, girl."

"Madame," Christiana began, her cheeks prettily flushed. "I can hardly wish myself into that state."

Stepping back, Marian crossed her arms. "I see." The frown returned, her voice thoughtful and Adhemar had a sudden realization of where this conversation was heading. Marian assumed much that she should not. He had to stop her. The last thing he wanted to do was stand before all in the Great Hall discussing this with his mother.

"We're tired, mother," he started only to be cut off.

"Good," Marian said. She raised a hand, beckoning to a servant by the stairs. "Fatigue means bed and bed...." A revoltingly coy chuckle came from her lips.

Christiana gave a peculiar choking cough and bowed her head, her hair falling over her face, effectively shielding her expression.

Marian held up one finger. "Just let me whip up a potion for Christiana."

He pretended to consider it, then shook his head. "No."

"It will only take a minute."

"No."

"Sometimes nature needs a push, my son."

"We've not been wed long enough, mother."

"And that means what exactly?" Marian rattled off a list of herbs to the servant and sent him running out of the room on his errand.

"It means we've not had enough time to get on with the business of children." This was hissed at her through clenched teeth. The hall had fallen silent enough for the words to carry and he felt Christiana begin to shake in the circle of his arm. Laughter? Or tears?

That stopped Marian. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, a confused glint in her eyes. She stared at him, then Christiana and back at him. "You mean when Jocelyn died you didn't...?" It didn't take long for what he was saying to sink in. Her expression mournful now, Marian sighed as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. "You really didn't...? But you were always the one son who wasn't.... Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me, Damien. I'll make the potion anyway. Nature will get a push whether nature likes it or not."

Marian didn't waste any more words on Christiana, turning and following the path the servant had taken.

Adhemar looked about the hall, but didn't see his brother waiting. Just as well. He didn't particularly want to speak with that one right now. A few orders and he was leading Christiana up to the chambers that were theirs.

~~~~~~~~~~

Christiana managed to wait until he'd closed the door to their chamber before letting loose her amusement. She'd not thought Marian a source of humor before. Now though, she could see the woman in a different light.

She could imagine that Marian was exceedingly confused right about now. Had Damien seduced all the girls growing up? Had Marian wished year after year for one of those girls to birth a child, even a girl child? With her behavior just now, Christiana realized that Marian was desperate for Damien to produce an heir. How confusing for her to find that her wild child son had done one respectable thing -- he'd not seduced Christiana on Jocelyn's deathbed.

That was what Marian thought he'd do. She'd thought he'd seduced Christiana, gotten her pregnant, then married her upon finding that she was actually noble and that there was a baby on the way. It was so obvious in what she'd said.

She removed her cloak, smiling wider at the sour look her husband flashed her. "She's not how I remember her."

"No," he snorted. "She's worse. My own mother considers me of low character."

Christiana perused the chamber appreciatively, noting the empty area for the bed and wondering how soon until their wagons arrived with the household goods. They were going to have to sleep on the much smaller traveling bed used in their tent for awhile at least. "She has no illusions of you. There's a difference."

"Oh really?"

"Really." Christiana leaned out the window a moment, then looked over her shoulder at him. "She knows who and what you are. Many mothers hold illusions of their offspring and cannot see them for the flawed beings we all are. You are real to her."

He came to her, leaned against the wall beside her, arms and ankles crossed. "What of you? Am I real to you now?"

He would not let her forget her flights of fancy, constantly bringing them up and she felt heat return to her cheeks and spread down her throat and chest. "You know you are."

"Do I?"

"Yes." She returned her gaze out the window. "You didn't tell me she was here."

"I didn't think it particularly important." He left his place beside her, went behind her instead, his hands lifting her hair and settling the mass of it over her shoulders. After a moment, Christiana felt his lips at her neck, his hands on her waist. "I let her go where she pleases and she stays out of my business for the most part. In fact, she aids me, like this mess here."

Tilting her head a little to give him better access, Christiana, clasped his hands in hers and brought them around to her stomach. "I wish I'd known earlier."

"You can wish all you like, but that won't make it true."

There was a knock on the door, the panel opening and slamming against the wall with a bang before they could answer. Adhemar didn't pause in his kissing of her neck, making it difficult for Christiana to turn and see who was there. She finally gave up trying.

"Well, brother," came an oily voice from the doorway, "I see you've wasted no time kicking me from my home on a whim."

Now, he paused, but only for a moment, turning her so he could kiss her neck and still see the man in the doorway. "My home, Cheney. This is my home."

"Why come back now? Why not stay down there? Mother is being close-mouthed again. She refuses to tell me anything except to 'prepare for Damien's arrival'." He said the final words in a falsetto that neatly mimicked Marian.

Christiana remained silent. Cheney was smaller than his brother, shorter and wiry in the same way Wat was. His hair had not one curl to it and his ire at Adhemar was blinding in intensity. This was no gentle sibling rivalry, but rather one that could easily cause a war. Her husband's hands tightened beneath hers, evidence that he was not as unaffected as he seemed.

"The Steward, Cheney. Think about the power you gave the Steward. When you've properly digested everything there and considered how little supervision you gave him, then return and we'll discuss why I'm here." He gave an impatient sigh, releasing Christiana from his embrace. "Until that point however, get the hell out of my chamber." In several quick strides, he was at the doorway, shoving his brother from the opening and closing and barring the door.

Ignoring the pounding upon the barred panel, he cleared his throat. "And now, would you like the rest of your present?" His head tilted in question and Christiana gave a nod.

"Of course." The ink had given her a large clue as to what he had for her. She was not to be disappointed. From the bundle set by the door, he lifted a slim stack of pages. She tried not to think of how much those pages must have set him back, then allowed herself to reflect upon the fact. He was wealthy yes, but deliberated carefully over expenses, weighing costs before opening his purse. This was a thoughtful and wondrous gift to receive from him. It showed her that he cared on a deeper level for her comfort than she'd initially thought.

"There are fifteen pages, all empty. Your new wardrobe shall have to wait to be completed unless you tackle most of the task yourself. I somehow thought you'd prefer the pages to the clothes. If I was wrong," he set them in her hands, "we'll sell the paper for a profit --"

"No," she hurried to assure him. "I prefer these. I have all those clothes I salvaged from Jocelyn's wardrobe and I can wait for a new dress or two."

"I'm not that destitute, Christiana." A wry half-smile made a brief appearance upon his lips. "I believe you can have a new dress and a few fripperies to go with it. That won't hurt the coffers."

"I can sew it myself and do the trimmings."

His eyes narrowed and lips pursed. He appeared to be thinking about that idea, then shook his head. "No. This once you shall not sew it yourself, nor do the trimmings. I've other tasks in mind for you and don't need your time taken up with that task."

Christiana slid one hand along the top page, enjoying the feel of the paper beneath her fingertips. When Jocelyn had given her the gift of that journal, she'd saved up her money to pay for it. Jocelyn had shown restraint in her personal purchases for well over a year before presenting the gift, something Christiana had thought odd at the time. Jocelyn had never been particularly known for her restraint with merchant's wares. Christiana recalled that day.

She woke to someone shaking her rather energetically, finding Jocelyn precariously perched on the edge of her small bed, a cloth wrapped bundle held in one arm. Even through the morning's waking fog, Christiana could tell Jocelyn was greatly excited over something. She blinked, rubbed at her eyes and sat up.

"I should be waking you, not the other way around."

The bundle was thrust at her, Jocelyn unable to keep her grin from forming. Her eyes fairly danced with her enthusiasm. "Open this. I can't wait until later. Open it now."

"Open what," Christiana was curious as to what Jocelyn had gotten for her. It was too hard for clothing and she supposed an object could be encased in a box, for she felt a hardness under the cloth wrapping. Christiana shook the bundle, not feeling or hearing anything rattle.

"Don't tease about it. Open it now. I've saved and saved and I can't wait even if you can." Again, Jocelyn pushed the bundle at her.

Christiana indulged her, a glimmer of excitement in her veins as well. This was a milestone for her, a full fifteen years with Jocelyn's family and Jocelyn was making it into a celebration. The ribbon -- actually one of those long trailing scarves Jocelyn adored -- was unknotted and laid aside. Then, she took hold of the cloth edges and opened them. In the cloth, was a small, slim book.

Frowning, Christiana opened it up. The first page had words written in Jocelyn's hand.

'For Christiana. My dear friend. Love, Jocelyn.'

The rest of the pages were blank. Tears came to her eyes and she could not hold them back. This was a gift far too precious for the likes of her. If Jocelyn's father knew the expense Jocelyn had gone to to give her this gift, he'd thrash her soundly and deny the upcoming trip to the tournaments. "Jocelyn, I can't accept this. It's too expensive."

Some of the pleasure dimmed from Jocelyn's eyes. "It's my money to spend as I wish. Father said so. I've saved for this gift for a long time, ever since I first saw how much you enjoyed writing letters and such. I wasn't even certain I'd be able to have the pages bound for you. I almost had to give you loose pages. Don't say you can't accept it. You can. You will."

"Your father --"

Jocelyn got up from the bed's edge, shaking her head. "My father doesn't have to know. It's my gift to you. He has nothing to do with it."

"He would punish us both for the expense."

A mischievous smile curved her lips. "What father doesn't know won't hurt him at all. Keep it in your trunk at all times, except when you're writing in it. He'll never know." She knelt at the bedside. "You are my maid, my friend, my confidante and my sister. I love you dearly. Now get up and let us be about our planning!" She laughed. "The tournament will be here in a week and we have so much to do before then. I want us both to be at our best. We must outshine all the other maidens." Mischief displayed upon her features in full now. "Not a particularly difficult task for us two, I must say."

Christiana lifted the book to her face, sniffed it. She smelled the cover, enjoyed the scent of it and the paper in encased. This was a gift she was planning on treasuring. Already, she was determined to write as small as humanly possible to make it last. A few lines every day would be best, nothing too long. Just enough to record the day without going into tedious detail.

"Father wants me to find a husband," Jocelyn said, standing and crossing her arms. She pursed her lips. "I wonder if there'll be any men there with the gift of poetry? I'd count myself blessed to find just one who can talk to me in such speech."

"You'll find several, I expect," Christiana remarked, getting from her bed and moving to her trunk. "I've a good feeling about these tournaments."

If Jocelyn had not given her that journal, she would not have written of her longings for this man and he would not have known her thoughts. Where then would she be now?

"Christiana?"

She felt his fingers beneath her chin, raising it a fraction. "Hmm?"

"You were far away."

She blinked, smiled as sweetly as she could and raised up on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Thank you. This gift...."

His fingers moved and only then, when he brushed them across her cheek, did she realize she'd been crying. "No tears, Christiana. It's only a gift."

"It was thoughtful though."

For a moment, she thought he might take her into his arms, but he only shrugged and turned away, shoulders shifting as though he was uncomfortable. "It took little thought to know what you'd like. You're easy to understand sometimes." He strode to the door, lifted the bar and was gone.

Christiana remained where she was, holding the gift and treasuring what it meant. He was coming to love her in his own way, even if he denied that he could love.

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The fact of the matter was not that Cheney hated his brother. Oh no, Cheney loved his brother, he simply hated that Damien had everything while he had to settle for the leavings. The eldest got the title, the control of the finances and basically everything, while the younger brothers received nothing. They, like any girls born into a family, were at the whim of the one in control.

That was what Cheney hated. And so, he'd concocted a scheme to take some control from Damien. What was the harm in padding the accounts? It wasn't like anyone looked at them besides him and Ansel to begin with. But then Marian had come, dear sweet mother whose one annoying trait was her tendency to meddle where she shouldn't. Cheney should have figured that she'd go looking in the accounts. It hadn't ever occurred to him that she could read though. He'd never seen her read, nor write her own letters. He'd assumed she couldn't do either.

Well, he thought sourly, look what happens when you assume. Big brother comes riding in to take back the home and finances.

He considered Damien at that. It had been a long time since they'd been face to face and secretly, Cheney had hoped that Damien would get himself killed and then he, Cheney, could step in with full control. Luck was with his brother and even that fall in the joust with William Thatcher hadn't done more than put a bit of a limp in his leg. Not that it was obvious he limped.

How did Damien get two beautiful brides in such a short amount of time? For that matter, how had he gotten beautiful women throughout his life? Cheney didn't think Damien was any better looking than he or of better disposition. To his thinking, Damien's disposition left much to be desired. Women seemed to like him. Puzzling. This latest woman, Christiana was a beauty like all the rest. She was too quiet however, preferring to sit back and let everyone else talk around her.

Cheney preferred a woman that took initiative. He preferred....

He stopped the pacing he was engaged in, the glimmer of a plot beginning in his mind. How wonderful it would be to strip the money from Damien and take his bride as well! The shy ones were easier to sway than the bold ones and after living with his brother, Christiana could probably use some kindness and consideration.

He set himself to fleshing out the idea and by the time Ansel came to him in a panic about the upcoming meeting with Damien, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Germaine counted the hours as they all waited for the household to catch up with them. He was on short duties these days, something his lord had insisted upon. He'd been ordered to take the time to finish the grieving process. Well, he'd tried that and decided emotions couldn't be ordered like that. Closure would have to come in it's own time. And so, he set about using his many free hours to informally protect Christiana.

His lord didn't say anything to lead him to believe that Christiana was in any danger, but Germaine wanted something to do and this was what he could think of since herald duties had been temporarily turned over to another. He followed her far more discreetly than he ever had, carefully watching those she had interactions with. He was following her now, still smiling a bit from her latest interaction with the lady Marian. Marian kept trying to slip Christiana strange concoctions guaranteed to bring about a pregnancy and Christiana kept avoiding those drinks, artfully dumping them out in the nearest receptacle without Marian noticing. She'd not been able to toss out this latest one, Marian standing there beside her, insisting she drink it right at that moment. The grimace on Christiana's face had been comical and he'd bitten his lip to keep from laughing aloud.

She managed not to gag until well out of Marian's hearing, coughing and making noises of disgust, then continuing on her way. She toured the manor daily, stopping to talk with servants and any guests who were there and even pausing to play with some of the young girls Marian was training up as ladies.

She was nearing the end of her daily tour when Cheney appeared, Germaine hastening to keep himself hidden from them both. He didn't like Cheney and never had. The man had never paused in tormenting him when they were all children. He'd taken all of his frustrations with Damien out on Germaine. Naturally, there was dislike.

Cheney caught her arm, keeping Christiana from passing him. "A moment, my lady."

"Of course," came Christiana's cautious reply.

"I fear I must apologize for my behavior the other day. My brother angers me at times and I was hasty. I should have come to him in private."

Cheney apologizing? What was the world coming to? Germaine didn't think he'd ever heard that word come from Cheney's lips except in the case where Cheney thought someone else had to do the apologizing.

"Think nothing of it," Christiana said. "I did."

There was a moment of silence, as though Cheney was trying to figure out what Christiana meant. Did she really not think a thing about that interruption the entire household knew of? Or was she giving an insult, implying Cheney's interruption was not important enough to consider? Germaine could practically hear Cheney working through the thoughts.

"I wouldn't want to distress you, my lady."

Christian's laugh was tinkling and greatly amused. "It takes much more than that to distress me. Trust me on that."

"Well, if I ever manage to distress you, my lady -- my sister --, then I'd be the worst of scoundrels. Call me on it immediately and I'll hasten to...atone."

He could picture Cheney smiling warmly and Christiana's amusement fading at the blatant flirtation.

"There's no need. Now if you'll please excuse me, I have duties to attend."

He waited until Cheney had gone and hurried to catch up to her. She was waiting around the corner, leaning against the wall, her arms crossed and a worried expression upon her face. Somehow, Germaine wasn't surprised that she wasn't surprised to see him.

"I'm not a siren to have men falling over me," She began. "Did my husband ask you to watch over me again?"

"No." He admitted it with a quick shake of his head.

Christiana gestured in the direction Cheney had gone. "He worries me. Once, I told you to stay away from me. Do you remember that?" Her gaze shifted to his, solemn with a bit of fear laced within.

"Yes, I do."

A sigh left her. "With him about, I rescind that request."

Germaine bowed. "Understood."

Her lips turned up in what may have been a smile, yet never reached that stage of development. Without adding to the brief conversation, she turned and walked towards the stairs.