Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Thirteen

~~~~~~~~~~

Marian had reached a place in her life where she simply didn't know what to do next. Strange to find herself there when she'd always known exactly where she wanted her life to go. She'd known from an early age who she was supposed to marry and why and had never seen anything wrong with taking that path. She'd embraced it, leaving a house of nine children to become a wife and mother.

Damien had been born one year after the wedding and eight more children after him. Five had lived to adulthood and she counted herself blessed for those five even if she couldn't stand one of them. She loved her children without one doubt, but Marian didn't always like them. Cheney for instance. He'd given her far more trouble than Damien had over the years. Cheney seemed to have a sense of inferiority beside Damien, always -- as far as she could remember -- competing against him in every area.

If Damien did well at archery, Cheney struggled to surpass him and so on. Perhaps it might not have gotten as bad as it was if Damien had noticed the rivalry. He'd been blind to Cheney's ambitions though and Marian had let him remain blind, preferring to let her children make their own mistakes.

Now, however, she was seeing the error of that way of thinking. Cheney was actively trying to take Damien's birthright. He had his fingers in the finances and had brought in servants loyal only to him. He bribed the Steward and was following Christiana about as though she was Venus come to earth. It was a credit to the girl that she didn't turn about and give him a whack upside the head. Marian was sorely tempted to do precisely that. What use would that do when he liked to hit? She might find herself victim to his fists. It was not unheard of for a mother to be beaten by a son.

Yes, she knew far more about her children than they realized. She knew Damien was not all sweetness and light. He never had been, even as a child. He was demanding and exacting and extremely spoiled. His father had doted upon him and, by extension, her as well. To bear a son straight away was a wondrous thing for a wife to do. She'd basked in approval and they both let Damien have his way more often then they should have.

As for Cheney, he'd been the second son. He was spoiled as well. Two sons! Marian had been considered nearly an angel. When the third came, they'd held a week-long celebration in this very house. Spoiled children, all of them. It was strange to her that only one had turned out so.... She hunted for the proper word to describe Cheney and could only think of one: bad. Cheney was not a nice man. He'd ceased being nice a long time ago.

He liked to slap his women about. Marian still remembered the first time she'd become aware of Cheney's favorite pastime. Her maid had been late in waking her and when she did come, her face was swollen and bruised and she moved as though everything hurt. That wasn't far off the mark, she'd been coaxed to reveal. Marian had cut through her reluctance and discovered that she'd met with Cheney the previous evening.

A young and somewhat starry eyed girl, Rose had hoped for romance. He'd not lived up to her expectations. Marian had quietly paid her an extra sum and sent her back to her home to heal. When Marian confronted him about his abuse of a perfectly good servant girl, he'd given her false apologies and ingratiating smiles. Entreaties for him to not mark them up so they couldn't perform their duties as expected fell on deaf ears. He'd assured her he'd be more careful.

Something had to be done and soon. With Christiana still not pregnant, Damien didn't realize how precarious his own position was. She couldn't simply tell him however. He tolerated her advice, pretending to listen and doing what he pleased in the end without ever really hearing her at all. If she tried to tell him, he wouldn't hear her.

And so, all of this led her to Christiana.

She knew he did value Christiana's counsel. He talked with her and shared things with her. If anyone could get through his thick skull, it would be his wife.

Marian peered through the open doorway, watching Christiana as she made lotions and creams with Annelle. The two women had formed a friendship, Germaine's wife grateful for something Christiana had done for her weeks earlier. Marian didn't know what that something was, nor did she particularly care. Clearing her throat, she stepped into the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The creams were coming along nicely, Christiana pausing in her labors to glance at Annelle. The woman had become a friend. Once, Christiana had never thought they two could get along. Annelle was no-nonsense and abrupt and yet once they'd begun talking in earnest, they'd found things in common. With Jocelyn long buried, Christiana was glad to have a friend.

From behind them, came a noise, her glance finding Marian watching them with what appeared to be indecision in her eyes. Marian was certainly not the terror she remembered, though perhaps her perspective had changed on the woman. There was a difference between seeing her as a maid did and seeing her as her son's wife did.

Annelle's back straightened, her hands not wavering in her task. "Good morning, my lady," she greeted Marian.

Christiana wiped her hands on a cloth and turned fully to the woman, a greeting upon her lips as well. "Would you like to join us?"

"No," was the reply, Marian shaking her head. "No, I've never been good at making such things. It's not my talent. I came to speak with you."

Something weighty to be certain by Marian's manner. Christiana left the long table and motioned Marian to the chairs set to one side. Was she going to go on about children again? I hope not, she thought. There'd been far too much discussion on that subject lately and she was feeling the tension rising for her to become pregnant. Marian had not had any difficulty in that way, so she assumed every woman could produce children quickly. Christiana was feeling very pressured and a bit resentful at the emphasis placed upon children. She knew there needed to be an heir. No one had to badger her about it. "Wine?" She picked up a pitcher, only to put it down when Marian refused.

"You speak often with Damien. He considers your counsel."

"I've given little counsel." Truthfully, she usually just listened. There was not often a case where her thoughts were asked for. Adhemar didn't want counsel, he wanted someone to listen only. Jocelyn had once commented that he wanted a silent woman and Christiana supposed there really was truth to that in relation to the running of the household. He talked, she listened, and he came to conclusions and solutions without hearing her ideas.

"But he takes what you do give and thinks upon it. I've heard it happen. He won't listen to me, however. I'm only his mother." Marian crossed her legs, arranged her skirts and turned her gaze to Annelle, who was steadily working and giving the impression that she could not hear them, though Marian talked loud enough to be heard in the Great Hall below.

Christiana waited. She didn't remind Marian that they'd come here on Marian's own recommendation.

"Cheney is in above his head with this estate business. He's been trying to rook his brother and now he's going to be caught. I expect he's going to attempt to make Ansel take all the blame. Then, there's the matter of you."

"Me, Madame?"

"Yes," her attention returned to Christiana, her eyes glittering hard, much like Adhemar's did when he was negotiating some detail, "you. Don't be coy. I detest that in other women. You know very well Cheney has set his sights on you and I want to know how you're handling him."

Christiana sighed. "Germaine has been my guard and Annelle stays with me. I've no idea what else to do. Damien has been so busy sorting out the accounts, that I hesitate to bother him if I can take care of the situation myself."

Marian nodded. "You will have to put it before Damien eventually, you realize. He should know of Cheney's foolishness."

Sadly, Christiana had already realized that fact. Cheney was becoming bold, bolder than Adhemar had ever been, scheming and maneuvering until she was almost afraid to enter a room without a group of people with her. She would have to inform her husband of what was occurring and yet, Christiana didn't want to. She was more than half afraid he'd think she'd been encouraging Cheney. Trouble would be stirred and she was quite happy without upset in her life.

"I'd be grateful for help if you have any suggestions," Christiana said, looking at Marian with the best pleading expression she could muster. As Cheney's mother, Marian should have some idea how to head off disaster. Besides, being asked to help would give Marian a sense of being needed. Her focus might shift away from the subject of babies and that was always a good thing.

Slowly, Marian smiled. "Why yes, I do have a few." She proceeded to list them all.

~~~~~~~~~~

To Cheney's frustration, no number of schemes budged Annelle or his mother from Christiana's side. Those women, frustratingly, stuck together at all times, leaving him to wonder if his plans were transparent. If so, it was only a matter of time before Damien had him dragged into the courtyard and whipped.

Liking his skin the way it was, Cheney backed away from Christiana the same way a man tried warily to turn from a wild beast: with extreme caution and much wincing with every step.

Spring turned to summer and he was no nearer his goal of taking everything from his brother than he'd been upon conception of the idea. Ansel had been dismissed, his monies returned to the coffers. He left with no references and no monies. Disgraced by his greed. Cheney was surprised the man hadn't broken under Damien's will to discover the problem. He'd thought Ansel would incriminate him right away so as to not hold all the blame. It's what he would have done.

But no, things went on as they had before, save his exclusion from the Steward meetings. A new man was hired, one that reported only to the heir.

Cheney sulked in his chamber. How was he supposed to get Damien's fortune if he couldn't get at it? Disgust turned his lips and he wondered what to do now. He was becoming bored with the role of second son, yet was too wary of a whipping to find quick satisfaction. How sweet it would be to just kill Damien and be done with it.

He loved his brother, he really did, but wouldn't Damien be happier in heaven? Although it was doubtful that was his destination. Really, he wouldn't be plagued with the limp and he wouldn't have to put up with mother complaining about not having grandchildren from him. All the little things, and big, wouldn't bother him. He'd be...well...dead.

So why not kill him? It was easier in the end than this exhausting plotting and he didn't even have to do the deed himself. Men could be found to do that. Perhaps one of the men in his army would take on the duty. Cheney made a mental note to feel out the rougher element for that task.

His mood lightened as he considered murder. So many things could be considered accidents. Why look at the mess at tournament! The ways a man could die that were not suspicious were in the thousands. Cheney contemplated them all and turned his full attention back onto his brother. Perhaps it was time to learn all he could about Damien. His routine, his habits. When the time was right.... Goodbye, big brother. Enjoy death.

Christiana would wait. And if the opportunity presented itself, then he'd steal her away.

Cheney sighed happily. Everything he'd ever wanted would soon be in his grasp.

~~~~~~~~~~

How stupid did Cheney think he was? Damien was amazed that his brother appeared to consider him an imbecile incapable of understanding figures. Attempting to skim off monies from the accounts told him that Cheney was stupidly greedy, inclined to take an easy road. The blatancy of the thievery floored him, serving to reaffirm his opinion that even family could not be trusted. Cheney would have to go. But where? Toss him out on his ear? Tempting. Very tempting. Especially with his foolishness in pursuing Christiana.

She had yet to bring it to him and while Germaine had assured him she felt only disgust for Cheney, a tiny part of him wondered if she found his romancing refreshing. He was romancing her, too. Cheney was doing all those things she'd written of wanting. Or at least he was trying and she was avoiding him.

He sighed. Life was so much simpler at war. He knew what to expect there. Little subtlety was needed, while at home, half the time subtlety was expected. Being Count was more a headache than anything, however, the time had come to settle into the title. He couldn't keep gallivanting off whenever he felt like it. He was the head of this family. With his grandfather steadily going dotty, as he'd been for years, he truly was the eldest male left. Leaning forward, he rested his chin on his palm and contemplated the fire. Since coming here, he'd had little time for leisure activities like the ones he'd enjoyed with Christiana before their wedding.

Frankly, he missed the board games, the talks and the general camaraderie that had sprung up between them. Did she miss them too? They'd both been falling exhausted into bed, too tired to do more than undress.

That, he decided, was about to change. He was going to make a conscious effort to romance her, see if perhaps the idea of him as the man in her dreams wasn't as absurd as he'd thought. Why not? The new Steward was trustworthy and Germaine was chomping to return to his full duties. Marian could hire a companion if she missed Christiana's company too much. What was keeping him from spending time in leisure? Nothing.

As for Cheney and his foolishness, he'd deal with him whenever the next showing of stupidity warranted it. He could hardly wait

~~~~~~~~~~

Water, deliciously warm, cascaded along Christiana's back and shoulders. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the tub's edge. A sigh worked from her. "Do those potions Marian keeps giving me really work?"

Annelle set several large, folded cloths on the bench. "It depends on who you ask. Germaine and I never needed them, but I know women that swear by them."

"How long did it take between your wedding and your first baby?" Taking up the soap, she worked up a lather and began to bathe in earnest.

"Ohh...." Annelle shrugged. "Two years, give or take a month or two." She took Christiana's comb and set it by the cloths. Then, she came to the tub, crouching down. "I wouldn't worry, my lady. Some couples are very fertile to begin with, yet their well goes dry after two babies, while others are slow and have many, many fat and healthy babies. You'll have babies. Be patient. God will bring them to you."

Christina set the soap aside and rinsed. "Marian is so persistent. She's always asking. I can keep her distracted for only a short while and while I do want a baby, her persistent questions wear thin." One large cloth was held up, Christiana standing, letting Annelle wrap it about her before she stepped from the tub.

"She is worried for heirs. It's natural for her to be concerned. She means well with those drinks and if it makes her happy to think she's aiding nature, then what is the harm in gagging them down." Annelle made a face to punctuate the idea and Christiana laughed. "Honestly, what is the harm?"

"No harm, I guess. I wish they didn't taste so foul. Each one is worse than the previous. The taste of the last one remained for hours." She dressed, then moved to sit on the bench to comb her hair. Annelle busied herself cleaning up from the bath and calling men to take the water and tub. When they were alone again, Annelle brought Christiana's sewing to her. She took it with no intention of taking a single stitch. "Where is my husband?"

A faraway look came into Annelle's eyes as she thought. "Training, I believe. Germaine mentioned something about swords for today."

Mischief welled in her. "Have you ever been out to the training field?"

"Why?" Her lips quirked in a smile, as though she had some inkling of what Christiana was about to suggest.

"I'd like to watch him train."

"Then why are we still sitting here?"

Christiana shrugged. "Well, Marian does expect me to bring my sewing to her chamber. All the young ladies are ready to practice their stitches." The sewing was set beside her. "Of course, nothing says I have to remember I'm supposed to be there. It's been a long and difficult morning already. Perhaps a matter came up and I simply have to speak to Damien on it."

Annelle laughed, a hearty sound. "She will not be amused, my lady."

Christiana stood. "Well, it's too nice a day to stay inside."

They snuck from the manor with giggles and shushed conversation, pretending they didn't hear Marian calling to them as they went out the door. Christiana felt like a girl again, some of her seriousness lifting. It felt good to deviate from the set routine, to shake it up. Outside the walls, she paused.

"Which way?"

"Umm..." Annelle peered to the right with a frown. "I think that way. We spend so much time in the other house that I always get turned around at this one. Right. It's right. I'm sure of it."

The training field was to the left on the path. It only took them a little while to realize their mistake and then they hurried towards the field. The sound of the men's swords ringing with each blow should have told them which direction to begin with, but in their merry mood, they didn't particularly care. The day was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky and the warmth of the sun shone down upon them.

In the field, men were fighting and being corrected in their techniques. When they saw the two women, they stopped, one young boy running through the crowd of men shouting, "My lord! My lord!" If Christiana had hoped to surprise Adhemar, she was to be disappointed. By the time she and Annelle reached the center of the crowd, every man there was aware that the lady of the household had come to pay them a visit.

"Well, if it isn't my wife," Adhemar said, resting the tip of his sword against the ground. He gave Germaine a glance and nod and then Germaine was telling the men to return to work. "What brings you out here?"

He was bare-chested and she took a long moment to admire him before answering. "I'm hiding."

"Are you?" His brows raised, a smirk tugging his lips. "From...who?"

Annelle edged away, Christiana paying her little heed. "From your mother."

"Ahh. I hide from her on occasion as well. Why are you hiding today?" One step brought him closer to her, his free hand slipping along her waist, squeezing warmly.

"Sad really," she began. "She wants, no demands I remain indoors on this gorgeous day. I simply can't do that. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and one little bird told me you were out here in the hot sunlight." Placing her hands on his chest to brace herself, she stood up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "I couldn't stay away."

He held the sword out towards the nearest men. "Take this." When it was out of his grasp, he wrapped that arm around her. "Shall we slip into the bushes? That copse of trees on my right is thick and if I recall correctly, the grasses are soft." His lips brushed hers. "As for the men, they won't bother us. They know better."

Christiana let him lead her into the trees. They returned awhile later, him still picking grass from her hair as they walked. He got right back to training, retrieving his sword and choosing an opponent. Annelle came up to her, grinning.

"Is that what you call watching him train?"

"No," she replied. "That was what I call incentive to come to bed early tonight."

"Hmm. I'll have to remember that incentive."

The rest of the morning passed quickly.