The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  “Take them away,” Jehan commanded, his voice gravelly and harsh. “I’ll not use them.”

  “You will if you want to eat,” Philippa retorted, “or piss. It’s a long crawl to the privy, Jehan.”

  He yelped in surprise. “You wouldn’t.”

  Her smile was all sweetness and light. “I just did. Oh, and don’t bother the servants with commands. They’ve been warned to pay you no heed. Now, I’m off to work. If you need help bringing yourself to your feet on the crutches, scream for me as only you know how.” Turning, she went to the stairs that led to the bedchamber.

  “Damn you!” he roared after her. “You’ll pay for this.”

  “I don’t think so,” she sang back. “I walk, while you are trapped where you sit.”

  Philippa hurried through her ablutions, counting to herself the chores she needed to finish before the day’s end. When she passed through the hall on her way to the kitchen, Jehan hadn’t moved, but neither did he curse her.

  By the second hour after midday, the meal was ready. When Philippa and Els came to set the table, they found Jehan asleep in his chair. The young man’s cheek was swollen and already purpling from the blow Temric struck him. Wonder grew in Philippa. That Temric could harness his violent nature to show her such gentleness was remarkable and precious.

  Where Els would have tread quietly, Philippa warned her against such coddling with a shake of her head. They set out the table’s trestles, then lifted the planking that served as its top. Holding it just above the braces, Philippa raised her brows and grinned in mischief. Els giggled. As one, they released the heavy wood. It met the trestles with a thunderous retort.

  Jehan started awake. Philippa only smiled at him. “It’s time to eat,” she said cheerfully.

  Crossing his arms, he stared at them in stubborn silence as he watched them lay the broad cloth over the table, then take the bowls, cups, spoons, and the salt box out of the cupboard. Thick slices of bread were set at each place and the servants called. With the house’s owners gone for the day, they would eat first.

  As they found their seats, Philippa quietly asked them to leave room at the table for Jehan. Once the prayer was said, the others set at their meal. Philippa toyed with the thick, rich broth in her bowl, then loudly sighed. “Too bad for you, Jehan. It’s duck brewet today. Since you’re not willing to share with me, I suppose I must eat your portion.”

  Jehan gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll eat when my mother returns. I don’t share my meal with whores and servants.”

  “I hope you’re not very hungry, then,” Philippa replied with a smile, “for Alwyna won’t be back until this evening.”

  Tensing, Jehan only stared at her. She shrugged and began to eat. After a few moments, she caught him eying the table. When he realized she watched him, he swiftly returned his gaze to his lap.

  A few more moments passed. Finally, he straightened. “Rob, come fetch me to the table,” he ordered none too politely.

  The servant only shook his head. “Pardon, Master Jehan. Mistress Philippa says we mustn’t.” There was enough grim satisfaction in his voice to suggest he was glad for what was being done to his employer’s son.

  Outrage darkened Jehan’s face. “When my mother returns, I’ll see you beaten for your refusal!”

  Philippa rolled her eyes in irritation. “Jehan, you’ll be fortunate if your mother doesn’t set you outside yon gate. The morrow could well find you with the other cripples, begging for alms at the abbey’s doorstep. Mayhap, she should do you so. At least, then you’d earn a living.”

  A muted rumble of laughter swept across the eating servants. Jehan stiffened, shame flickering in his gaze. “You presume much for a bastard’s whore,” he said in quiet fury.

  “Aye, I do,” Philippa agreed. “I presume to make myself of use to someone by whatever means I can, which is better than you do.”

  “Mistress,” said Tom, the man who’d traveled with Temric, “I pray you don’t judge this household by our young master’s actions. If old Master Peter yet lived, he’d have his son hided for the outrage of this morn. I swear it.”

  “Shut your mouth, you old fool!” Jehan roared.

  “Oh my,” Philippa cried in a breathy voice worthy of any mummer, “there he is again, that toothless dog, yapping and barking.”

  “Damn you,” Jehan cried now in frustration. “You’ve no right to insult me so! I can’t help that I’m crippled.” The last words were nearly a sob.

  Pity stabbed through Philippa only to dissipate in the next instant. “Aye, that you cannot help, and there’s not man or woman here who bears you ill will for your injury. But Jehan, what have legs to do with your use in life? Find your purpose and your limbs won’t matter.”

  He tried to glare at her, but his eyes were overly bright, as if he fought tears. “What use? I can do nothing without my legs,” he said, reverting to his usual tantrum.

  Philippa roared to her feet, her arms akimbo. “Jehan,” she cried angrily, “are your brains in your legs? Use the crutches; crawl if you must, but do something. Give yourself purpose, but above all, stop this incessant complaining!”

  As she retreated to her seat on the bench, she glanced at Els. The young girl’s head was bowed, but a smile fluttered at the corners of her mouth. Down the table’s length some male servant whispered, “God be praised. I hope he listens.”

  Hours later, long after the table had been cleared away and the day was drawing to a close, Philippa returned to the hall. Jehan lifted his gaze from the empty hearth to look at her. He hadn’t energy enough to glare. “Come to gloat?” he asked in a low voice.

  Fighting her pity, Philippa shook her head. “Nay, I’ve come to see if I can help you to the privy.”

  “Go away,” he said morosely, turning his gaze back to the hearth.

  Philippa came nearer. “If you’d rather, I’ll bring a pot. That way you need only walk a little way at first. Jehan, I know the crutches will be hard to use until you learn to manage them, but you must try,” she said, stopping a few feet from his chair.

  Hope and stubborn refusal battled in his expression. The hope lost, contempt taking its place in his gaze. “Do you think to see me totter about on those things like some beggar? Well, I won’t.”

  Disappointment and confusion washed over Philippa. “Jehan, are you really so blind, or is it just that you refuse to accept your manhood? If you ask me, I think it’s not your useless legs that keeps Clarice’s father from refusing to let the two of you wed. Come now. Take up your life and be a man.”

  Anguish flashed in Jehan’s gaze, then his brow drew down in anger. “I am a man,” he said. “Doesn’t a beard cover my face?”

  Philippa drew a quick breath in understanding. “Poor Jehan,” she murmured, coming to kneel near his chair’s arm. “The world dropped heavily onto your shoulders with your father’s death and you weren’t ready to take it up. How hard it must be for you. Your father was a kind man, or so say the shopkeepers. Gifted in trade, the guild says of him. His wife adored him, his children loved him. He was a pillar of the community. I think it would be easier to be his good-for-nothing son than the one who must take up where Saint Peter the Wool Merchant left off.”

  “You understand,” Jehan breathed, his relief deep enough to make his eyes fill. “It’s better to leave me as I am, for I can never be him.”

  Philippa eased closer and laid her hand upon his arm. “Everyone knows that, Jehan. It’s enough for us that you be yourself.” Turning to the side, she caught up his crutches, leaning them against his chair. “Here. Take up your life, again.”

  “Nay,” he cried, catching her hand as he pleaded. “How can you ask that of me when I can have no hope of success?”

  Freeing herself of his grasp, Philippa came to her feet. “Jehan, you can’t know that until you’ve tried. Here”— she touched one crutch— “here are the tools you need to free yourself from this awful trap of yours. Come. You can do it.” As she spoke, she backed awa
y from him.

  “I won’t,” he cried, his voice rising in anxiety.

  Disappointment wracked Philippa. “Then, sit where you are.”

  Turning her back to him, she started toward the hall door. To her surprise, he waited until she left the room before one crutch, then its mate struck the wall. Shaking her head, she closed the hall door behind her.

  It was well past Compline when Temric returned with his mother and brother. The tiny first floor entryway was pitch-dark save for the circle of light thrown by Philippa’s lamp. In that little flame, the hollows beneath Alwyna’s eyes seemed darker still.

  Peter glanced at her, then looked at his mother. “I’m for bed,” he said, as he realized there were things to be said that he didn’t wish to hear.

  Philippa waited for him to climb the stairs before explaining what she’d done and what she expected from Alwyna. As she spoke, Temric came to stand behind her, encircling her with his arms. How it pleased Philippa to lean against him, especially after the tension of this day.

  “He needs to be forced into using his crutches. If he can’t bring himself to use them, he’ll never find what’s good within him, Alwyna,” she finished. “Know you, he’ll beg for your help, but if you intervene you’ll only make more of a cripple of him.”

  Alwyna sighed, then nibbled at her lip. “Are you sure what you do will help him?” There was a nervous tremor in her words.

  Philippa shrugged. “Well, it’s certain it can’t hurt him.”

  It was a lop-sided grin Alwyna offered her. “If I weaken, might I cry for your aid?”

  “Loudly and clearly,” Philippa assured her with a laugh.

  Alwyna nodded. “Then, I’ll honor what you’ve done. Now, I’m off to find my bed. The morning brings us another day, eh, Richard?”

  “Aye, Mama,” Temric replied.

  It startled Philippa to hear a touch of bitterness to his voice. She glanced over her shoulder to look at him. There was nothing to see in his face, save tiredness.

  Refusing the lamp, Alwyna made her way up the stairs toward the hall and the bedchamber above it. As they listened to her footsteps, Temric lowered his head to rest his cheek atop her crown. Once Philippa was certain they were private, she turned in his embrace to look at him.

  “How was your day?” she asked in the hope of prodding him to speak over what bothered him.

  “Incredibly long,” he sighed. “I never realized simply looking at things could be so exhausting.”

  “Poor love,” Philippa said with a quiet laugh to hide the prickle of concern that woke in her. Lifting a hand she touched his cheek. “Shall I take you to our bed and soothe you into sleep?”

  His answering laugh was a mere rumble in his chest. “Aye, that would please me well. I missed you every moment we were apart.”

  Philippa turned in his embrace to set her lamp upon a shelf, then put her arms about his neck. “And, I, you.”

  Rising to her toes, she touched her lips to his. As their mouths met, that wondrous fiery sensation again rushed through her, both stunning and glorious in its intensity, then he was ending the kiss, drawing away from her. His sigh was strained.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing much, except that my mother has great plans for me, all of which has us spending too much time apart. She’ll soon have me traveling with her to a Holyrood Day fair at England’s far end.”

  Philippa smiled at him. “Is that all?”

  His brows jerked upward. “I say I’m leaving and you ask if that is all?” he asked in surprised complaint.

  Lifting her head, she touched her mouth to the curve of his neck above his collar. It pleased her that he caught his breath against her caress. “So I do, and that because you’ll not be going to that fair,” she breathed against his skin. “Alwyna won’t depart for weeks yet and when she goes, she’ll be taking Jehan with her. Mark my words,” she finished, each word punctuated with a kiss.

  Groaning, he caught her to him in a tight embrace, lifting her toes from the floor. “Lord, to be left here alone with you, free from Jehan’s hate and my mother’s constant teaching. That would be joy, indeed. Aye, take me to bed and soothe my poor aching head, so I can face the morrow with fresh eyes.”

  After a swift kiss, he set her feet back on the floor, then took her hand. Philippa willingly followed him up the stairs, but his words troubled her. Weren’t they here because he’d discarded all desire for his knighthood to take on this life? His choice, not hers. Ah, well, if he found he couldn’t tolerate it here, they’d leave. She’d miss Alwyna, but where Temric went she would happily follow.

  In the bedchamber, he made his way through the draperies to their bed. Within moments, they were disrobed and beneath the bedclothes. When he gathered her into his arms and set his mouth to hers, she forgot all else to indulge herself in the pleasure of his touch.

  Philippa hummed a joyful tune to herself, its lilting melody a reflection of the completeness now within her. The brush in her hand flew as she cleaned the fur-lined garment stretched out before her. It was a winter cloak— Els said this one belonged to Jehan— just taken out of storage and her last chore for the day.

  The thought of Jehan brought a wry grin to Philippa’s lips. Two months time had accomplished quite a change in that poor creature, except to make him more fond of her. Jehan claimed she’d come between him and his mother, all because Alwyna had kept her promise to allow Philippa to do as she pleased with her middle son. Now, because of what Jehan claimed was Philippa’s incessant torment, he walked again, although clumsily so and only with his crutches. Still, he was mobile, even managing the stairs on his own.

  So, too, was Jehan again supervising the men in their day-to-day chores. At first, only fear of Philippa’s retribution kept his tongue civil, but this only lasted until he became absorbed by his activities and forgot to be angry. He’d even come to Peter’s counting table, revealing he’d already learned from his father what Peter and Alwyna had thought to teach him.

  Aye, slowly, steadily, and not always gently, Philippa drove him where he couldn’t drive himself. Jehan had been stunned to discover that his crutches bothered no one in the marketplace, or in the guildhall, and thank heavens for that. Only the acceptance by those merchants he sought to emulate had given Jehan the courage to attempt riding a horse to the Holyrood fair. Just as Philippa predicted to Temric two months before, it had been Jehan, not he, who two weeks ago had ridden off to attend that event.

  Most importantly, Jehan hadn’t ridden off alone with Alwyna. When Clarice’s father, Gerard, learned his future son-by-marriage intended to make the journey, that auspicious merchant decided to travel with them. Although Philippa suspected only she saw it, it seemed clear to her that Gerard meant to assess Jehan’s progress. If all went well, she fully expected Gerard to set the day for his daughter and Jehan’s wedding after the travelers’ expected return to Stanrudde on the morrow.

  At this reminder of their homecoming, Philippa leaned back from her brushing and sighed in something that was nearly disappointment. These past weeks and the privacy it offered her and Temric had been heaven. For that short time, it was as if she’d been mistress of the house and Temric, its master. Would that they might someday have a home of their own.

  Irritation followed that thought. If they did, it’d best be some far flung manor where Temric could be what he truly was and not the merchant he pretended. Did Temric think she couldn’t see how heavily this life of Alwyna’s weighed on him? Aye, no matter how he tried to hide it, he was the same powerful knight who’d so awed her in the first moment she’d seen him. Thank the Lord Alwyna’s absence freed him to work with the town’s guard, teaching swordplay and drilling the rotating ranks of apprentices and journeymen who made up the guard. Such familiar activity eased his depression some.

  Sprinkling more cleaning compound onto the fur, she began to brush again, her strokes vigorous as if the motion might sweep away her own growing fear. What if they stayed here
and his dislike for this place hardened into hate for her, who kept him trapped in it?

  To make matter’s worse, Temric received a missive from Lord Graistan this morn. He hadn’t opened it. To Philippa that seemed a sign that he expected the news it brought him to be something he didn’t wish to hear. What if his noble brother were demanding his return? Would Temric leave her to reclaim the life he loved?

  At least, if he did abandon her, she wouldn’t be left without family. Just as it’d done sporadically all through this day, joy again rushed through her. Philippa paused to lay a hand to her abdomen and cradle the new life growing in her. Michaelmas at September’s end brought with it the second month without her woman’s flow.

  It was such a miracle that Philippa couldn’t find it in herself to worry that the child might be like her and never know its father. Instead, she drew an ecstatic breath. She, who had believed herself barren, was carrying a child.

  Nay, it was no miracle. She smiled again, understanding now what she would never have known if she’d remained with Roger. It was Roger’s fault, not hers, that he had no son, or rather Margaret’s. Margaret’s fondling had destroyed her son’s manhood, leaving Roger capable of only fumbling, seedless thrusts.

  Even as the desire to crow over her achievement filled Philippa she swallowed it. No one must know she was with child, especially Temric. In his present unhappiness, he might resent her for proving fertile when she’d assured him she was barren. This was all the more true because tonight was their final night alone before Alwyna and Jehan’s returned. She intended to spend their last few private hours sharing pleasure and sweet words with the man she loved.

  Temric eased from the bed, moving carefully so as not to awaken Philippa. During their two months of living as man and wife, she’d become all too astute at prying beneath his concealing layers to read his depression. He didn’t wish her to see how much what needed doing just now might upset him.