Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Fifteen

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The trip into town had been satisfying in that now, all the pieces needed to repair the tower were on hand. Adhemar rode home with that satisfaction settling upon his shoulders. One task well completed. Soon, the tower would be repaired and men could once more be posted there without fear of falling through the great hole in the floor.

He went through the gate, his attention drawn first to the rather large crowd of people gathered near on wall of the house and then upward. "Germaine," he began. "Why is my wife dangling from the pulley system?" He asked this with immense curiosity until he noticed Cheney on the roof only a few feet from where Christiana was. Cheney was leaning out, attempting to grab at her and she was twisting around to avoid him, screaming at the top of her lungs.

His curiosity turned quickly to an urgency he couldn't shake. He and Germaine dismounted, found Annelle underneath the pulley system, her jaw looking more than a bit swollen. A wagon filled with straw was directly underneath Christiana and Annelle was calmly sawing at the rope that kept Christiana high in the air. Every so often, Annelle would pause and call out, "Hold on tight, my lady! Only a minute more!"

Germaine hurried forward. "Woman stop!"

Glancing at him, Annelle kept sawing, making little actual progress on the rope. "I will not."

"You can't just cut the rope."

"Have you another idea? Should we fly up there to get her?"

Cheney disappeared from the roof and Adhemar gave two men orders to detain him. Under normal circumstances, he'd find Christiana's predicament amusing, but Cheney's obvious involvement took away all humor in what he was seeing.

Christiana gave a yelp and he winced involuntarily as her grip slackened and she slid several feet down the rope before managing to grip it again. He could well imagine the rope burns that were going to be on her hands from that and felt much sympathy for her on that count. Rope burn was not a fun ailment to suffer from.

With a glance, he calculated her descent into the wagon. Not too bad. Annelle and Germaine still argued. No progress was being made, so he took matters into his own hands. Striding forward the last few steps, he picked up the nearby axe and swung it at the rope. Christiana plummeted into the wagon, emerging a minute later coughing and choking from dust and straw. Climbing up, he perched on the wheel and rested his arms on the wagon side.

"I leave for a few hours and you get into mischief. Have you discovered anything from this escapade?"

She coughed, nodded her head. "I hate heights."

Adhemar laughed. "I would too if I dangled from that rope for too long. Come here." He held a hand out to her and set about helping her from the wagon. He was greatly interested in hearing the explanation for this. It wasn't long in coming and when she was finished, he was already regretful for what he had to do.

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The terror one feels when two stories up with nothing between you and the ground but plain air was indescribable. Christiana regretted her decision to jump for the rope the second she was swinging on it. Looking down made her queasy, looking up made her queasy and looking at Cheney made her queasy. There was nowhere to look and she didn't dare close her eyes.

So, she held on, twisting as best she could to keep Cheney from managing to grab at her clothes. If she thought she could overbalance him and he'd be the one to fall, she'd possibly let him grab her, but the thought crossed her mind that she couldn't be that lucky in a single day.

Below her, she heard Annelle screaming at her and then she couldn't hold on. For terrifying seconds, Christiana thought she was going to surely die. She didn't though, finding her grip just as she neared the end of the rope. Unfortunately, no sooner had she done so then she was falling again. There wasn't enough time to take a breath. She landed hard, sinking through the straw and banging the bottom of the wagon. Who knew straw could be so hard?

Dust billowed up and she inhaled some. Christiana coughed, fought her way to the top of the straw and broke out of it. She was in no mood for quips, but apparently her reply to Damien's question had humor to it, for he gave a long and irritating laugh before reaching to help her from the wagon.

She spit fragments of straw onto the ground and hurriedly explained the matter at hand. "Cheney received a letter." Christiana paused, patted her bodice rather energetically and removed the crumpled letter. "He's planning to have you killed. The letter was given to me by mistake and he chased me to get it."

He took the letter from her with an amused glance at her bodice. "Have you anything else in there I should know about?" All levity left him however as he read, his expression darkening.

Cheney was tossed hard into the courtyard, protesting his innocence of anything and everything possible. He landed roughly and Christiana hoped he'd sport black bruises from it. She placed herself behind her husband, not bothering to suppress her triumphant stare when Cheney looked her way. He'd been caught and that was that.

Adhemar strode to his brother, tossed the letter towards him, then crossed his arms.

The letter fell onto the ground, Cheney making no move to touch it.

"Pick it up, Cheney."

"No."

"Pick it up. Read it, then tell me if what my wife says is true."

The letter was kicked, rolling in the dust. "What do you think?"

"You tell me."

A cocky grin settled upon Cheney's features and he crossed his arms, imitating his elder brother. "All true. Every word."

"Have you no brain in your head? No sense that the simplest of animals carries?" Adhemar snorted. "Obviously not, or you wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake."

"I want you dead," Cheney said with a shrug. "At any price and if I had to kill your wife to retrieve my letter and cover my tracks...." Another shrug, shoulders lifting and falling. "So be it."

Christiana edged close to Annelle and Germaine.

Spreading his arms wide, Adhemar beckoned to Cheney with his fingers. "I'm right here, little brother, in open space. No guards at my back. Let's settle this, hmm? Once and for all. Choose your weapon."

Cheney turned his head to one side as Marian brought the ladies around the manor and into the area. She marched to Christiana, gave her a long stare, then turned her face to her sons and made not one remark. Her hand stretched out and grasped Christiana's tightly.

"No tricks, Damien."

"No tricks, Cheney. A fair fight. Skill against skill." As he spoke, he took off his jacket, tossing it down onto the ground and removing the dagger at his belt. He sniffed, took a few steps to one side. "Choose, or I will."

Cheney frowned, then grinned like a wolf ready to carry off a tender young lamb. "Swords. Swords, Damien. Your worst area."

Marian's hand tightened. Christiana yelped under the pressure, allowing herself to be brought closer to her. "Stop this," Marian whispered.

"I can't," Christiana returned. She didn't like the expression on Cheney's face, that superiority, nor did she like the glimmer of worry Damien shot towards her as he accepted his sword from one man. She'd never seen him uncertain of himself, that single quick glimpse frightening her more than her moments dangling in the air had.

This was going to end badly and there was nothing she could do about it.

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His Prince was safe at home, under the watchful care of an entire household and Will was free to go. At last.

Cut loose, with plenty of money in his purse and an itching to leave London, it was a further irritant to be waiting on Roland. His friend had claimed a need to see a final person before they left and Will had been waiting for three hours. He'd sat in this tavern and heard the cathedral bells ring three separate times and Roland still had not arrived.

They still had to stop and collect Will's father yet as well.

So what was keeping Roland?

Not a moment later, Roland came through the doors and made his way to him. Will met him, ignoring the apology on Roland's lips until they were walking outside.

"You could have sent a messenger," Will said, stalking along the crowded street. He was ready to shake the dust of London from his shoes and hurry on their way.

"I suppose you'd have me interrupt the Princess just to send word to you."

Will stopped walking. The Princess? "You were with Princess Joan?"

Taking his arm, Roland drew him to a doorway. "She needed to talk. I obliged her. You don't interrupt the Princess when she's talking with you, you know. You sit and give her your full attention."

"Why you?" Come to think of it, Roland had been disappearing an awful lot lately. Was there something between him and Joan? Will didn't think it as strange a thing as he once would have supposed, though it didn't seem likely. She was devoted to Edward. "Are you two --"

"No!" Roland glanced around, shaking his head. "No one tells her anything Will, not really. They prance about and claim everything is fine, but they won't talk to her like she's real. To them, she's just a wife. She's his wife and she needed someone to find out information for her."

"Princess Joan has a household of servants at her disposal, men and women loyal to her alone and she needed you?" Crossing his arms, Will waited Roland's answer.

Roland nodded, a defensive glint in his eyes. "Yes, she needed me."

"Oh." Will shrugged. "You could have said so from the start. I could have gotten father and been ready as soon as you arrived."

"No argument, Will?"

"Should there be one?" He continued walking, keeping up an air of nonchalance, when he really speculated at the depths of Joan's craftiness. Roland would have been able to tell her nearly anything she'd wanted to know. A wise move on her part and he wondered if she'd used tears to get him to agree, finally deciding that she had. The Princess was adept at manipulating men into the places she needed them in order to keep tabs on every aspect of her life. It had taken Will three or four meetings with her to realize that she wasn't what she appeared on the outside.

Beautiful? Yes. Intelligent? Amazingly. Sweet? It depended on the day and what her goal was in the meeting. He had no doubt she loved Edward. Everything she maneuvered into being during the journey and this period in London had been for the good of her marriage. Joan had taken charge now and heaven help the poor man who stood in her way.

"No, no reason for one. I assumed...." Roland sighed, keeping pace with him. "She cried, Will. What could I do but offer to help her?"

She cried. Suddenly, Will stopped, staring at Roland for a moment. A laugh choked from him, then another and he clapped Roland on the back. "Not a thing, Roland. You couldn't have done a thing different." It felt good to laugh and he let the chuckles keep coming until they died off. Roland's bemused expression only served to strengthen his amusement.

"What's so funny, William Thatcher?"

Will gasped for breath, struggling to sober. "Nothing. Nothing."

"You'll tell me, or I'll --"

"I swear, it's nothing, Roland. Now we've got to get father and leave this city."

The journey from London was easier than the journey to and with each step, Will's anticipation of seeing Kate once more lightened his heart.

It had been nearly ten months since he'd seen her.