RESOLVING DIFFERENCES
The morning was cold, the ground hard with frost, the sky leaden. The fields were bare and Blaine rode as if the horsemen of Apocalypse – death, famine, pestilence and war – were after him. He felt almost as bad as if they had been.
“What have I done wrong?”
He sighed. Chrissie's ignoring of him that night had cut him deeply. As had their quarreling. They had never quarreled before.
It was the worst part of a day that went wrong from shortly after he woke up. First of all, he had quarreled with Duncan – something about the supplies of weapons being more important than the supplies of grain, a view that he still held. Really, though, he suspected Duncan resented his questioning Alina's health. His only answer had been that she was well.
Blaine snorted as he recalled that answer. He did not need to be a surgeon to know she was far from well.
Well, Duncan. Now I am in a quandary too. Are you pleased?
He could not stop blaming Duncan for the fact that he quarreled with his own wife. He snorted, knowing it was ridiculous. He simply could not let the idea rest. He had never quarreled with his wife before, and now they had.
“Off with you, Duncan MacConnoway.”
He sighed. Being angry with Duncan was not going to help his case. He had caused this. He should have stayed in bed that morning. He ought to have talked to Chrissie, found out what was wrong. He had been foolish, and had left before they could talk properly, prioritizing his work with the men and his training – riding, as he was doing now – over resolving their difference.
It was cowardly, he knew. It was an excuse. He didn't need to rush off like this. He could ride this evening, not now in the morning before he had even broken his fast indoors. However, he couldn't face her.
We've not argued before...not like this. I don't know what to do, how to fix things between us.
Blaine had no experience of married couples – raised by his grandfather, a hard old man by all accounts – he had not seen people quarrel and what they did to resolve it. For all he knew, it was impossible. For all he knew, it was only him who quarreled with his wife like this. Perhaps he was a bad man.
“Chrissie?”
He wished he could reason with her, but didn't even know how to start. Why had he been so stupid last night? He had never been cold with her before, never pushed his rights as a husband in that way as he had done last night.
“I should know better.”
He hadn't. He thought about what had gone before, and fixed on her talk of pilgrimages.
“Why's she going?”
His first guess was Alina. He knew how Chrissie loved her cousin. He was also not blind. He knew how ill her cousin was.
His horse was cantering, heading towards a stand of oak trees. He slewed sharply left, hissing with relief as they missed narrowly. He shook his head at himself. What was he thinking? He would surely kill himself if he tried to do this with a mind full of questions. He sighed. His brow was wet with perspiration, despite the chill morning, and his horse was already straining, probably winded.
“I'm an idiot.”
He shook his head, feeling sad. He slowed his horse to a walk – not Bert, but a new battle-trained stallion called Grey Cloud whom he had been gifted when he arrived.
He sighed. He patted his horse's side, feeling bad. Of everyone, the horse had done him no harm. He whispered to it.
“I am sorry. When we get back, I'll make sure Seamus gives you bran. You like bran mash, don't you?”
The horse moved his ears, clearly listening to him, and Blaine felt mollified. At least someone liked him!
He reached the stables two hours before the midday meal. Leaving his horse to a meal of bran, he headed indoors.
He found Duncan in the upper hallway, coming out of the solar, a piece of carved wood in his hands.
“Duncan!” he hailed him. “I wanted to talk.”
“Blaine,” Duncan said quietly. He did not look his cheerful self, but he stood at the railing overlooking the practice ground below, where two dedicated guards still practiced their sword craft together, and patted the spot beside him.
Blaine came to join him and together they leaned over to watch.
“Alec should practice back swings more.” Duncan said at length. Blaine nodded.
“I'll tell him.”
He paused, lip between his teeth, thoughtfully. He hadn't come here to discuss swords or training with Duncan. He was fairly sure Duncan knew that. The silence stretched out.
“Duncan?”
“Yes?” the tawny eyes were cool. Blaine swallowed.
“I'm...I'm sorry I offended you,” he said quietly. “Chrissie's my life, and she loves her cousin and...” he trailed off, raising his shoulders in a shrug. “I wasn't being interfering. Well, I was. I apologize.”
Duncan made a strange noise. When Blaine looked at him, he saw he smiled, and realized it was laughter.
“What?”
“Blaine, my brother-in-arms. That was the clumsiest apology. Nevertheless, I love you for it. Thank you.” He grinned, clasping his friend's hand.
Blaine swallowed hard. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Well, it wasn't easy, I grant you. Not when you stutter and falter like that. But I appreciate it, really I do.”
“Thanks,” Blaine said, a grin on his face. “And you can watch who you call clumsy.”
Duncan roared with laughter. He clapped him on the shoulder. “We'll try that out on the ground down there, eh?” he asked. “See whose reflexes are better.”
“Challenge accepted.”
They were quiet for a while. Blaine was still worried, though, so he cleared his throat, trying to think how to ask Duncan what he wished.
“You're thinking, aren't you?” Duncan said, amused.
“Why?”
“Man, I can almost smell wood smoke! You'll wear your brain out, so you will!” he laughed, cuffing his friend on the ear. Blaine winced, and then hit him on the back, making him cough. They wrestled together a moment, then both ended up collapsed on the wall overlooking the courtyard, shoulders shaking with laughter, hanging onto one another in support.
“You are worried about something,” Duncan observed after a while. “Tell me. I'll do what I can to help.”
“It's my wife. Chrissie.”
“Yes?” Duncan asked, brow lowering in a frown.
“She's...she's not herself at the moment. And she's angry with me. I feel it. And she wants to go off alone somewhere. For a pilgrimage, she says. I don't know...” he shook his head. He didn't like it. He was sure Duncan understood him. He was proved right a moment later, when he nodded.
“She's been ill?” Duncan asked slowly.
Blaine bit his lip. “Not as far as I know,” he said quietly. “I don't know if the pilgrimage is for her, or someone else, or...” he sighed, not wanting to say anything more, lest he guessed what he was suggesting there and was angry with him again.
“You could ask her,” Duncan said gently. “Trust,” he added.
“Sorry?” Blaine asked.
“Trust. If you don't trust each other, you won't get far.”
Blaine bit his lip, knowing it was true. “True,” he said.
“Indeed. So,” Duncan sighed. “What I propose is that you take the morning off – after you've got that lot through some rudimentary archery tutorship – and go and find your lady. Take her on a ride in the woods. Take whatever you need from the kitchens to make her feel spoiled. Ask her what is going on. You'll certain be surprised by what you find out.”
“Thanks, brother,” Blaine sighed. He felt as if Duncan was a brother sometimes, a wise, older brother, the sort he could have done with on many occasions in his life, he realized.
“Of course,” Duncan grinned. “And thank you.”
“Thank me?” Blaine was surprised.
“For your concern. About Alina. I appreciate it. Truly I do. I just...” he sighed, a harsh out breath that made it clear how tormented he actually was. “It's so hard, Blaine. She's so ill, and I...I don't know what to do. Nothing I do can help her and...and it feels like it's my fault. I don't know why, it just does.” He covered his face, his elbows planted on the rail over the colonnade.
Blaine sighed. He did not know what ailed Alina, but he was sure Duncan was not the cause. He patted his shoulder.
“Listen, Duncan. It's not your fault,” he sighed. “All blaming yourself is going to do is make it impossible for you to see what's really happening. I know. Trust me.”
Duncan blinked. They were silent for quite some time. Down in the courtyard, the men took turns taking swings at a straw sack on a pole. Blaine winced as he heard good blades grate on wood and decided he had to tell them a few things about caring for their blades.
“Blaine?”
“Mm?”
“You know, sometimes I wonder where you come from. That was insightful. Truly. You are right.”
Blaine blinked at him, and then grinned. “Dunno,” he said fondly. “Just my innate natural intelligence, sir.”
Duncan blinked at him, a huge grin splitting his face.
“Listen, you scoundrel! I'll not have you getting ahead of yourself...” he was still smiling, shaking his head, laughing. Blaine laughed too. “So. We're going down there and you can see if you can take me on with swords. Best of three strikes.”
“Challenge accepted.”
“And we can see if your innate intelligence can keep you upright against Silversteel,” he said, tapping his blade where it hung in the scabbard behind him.
“Silversteel, eh?” Blaine said, brow raised.
“What?”
“Right silly name for a blade, that, I reckon.”
“We'll see about that!” Duncan said hotly. “Silly name she might have, but her bite's as nasty as your sword's, whatever daft name you gave it.”
Blaine grinned. “Rule number one: never fight angry. So you said to your men yesterday. Forgetful?”
Duncan groaned and clenched his teeth, then swung his hand at Blaine's head. Blaine ducked.
“I'll see you in the practice ground,” he shouted, racing towards the stairs.
Duncan laughed and raced along behind him, the two of them like boys as they pelted to the practice ground, racing to be the first on the lines, where they could choose their position – facing the sun or with their backs to it, the place of great advantage.
They fought, first with swords. Blaine won, if by a hand's breadth of steel. Then they wrestled. Duncan won, proving, as he said, the advantage of a few years' age and being tall. They raced to the stables, to the bemusement of their guardsmen, who were waiting for their own training to begin
Blaine enjoyed the morning but, he found sadly, it did little to thaw the ice in his heart. Chrissie was angry with him and she was going away without a clear reason, and there was nothing he could do.
Wincing, rolling his shoulder from where Duncan had hit it hard with his blade and then again, later, in the wrestling, he limped towards the kitchens to follow his friend's advice.
Perhaps all Chrissie needed was time to herself, to think. Think and trust. To trust him and to know he trusted her. It was worth a try.
They went riding. Chrissie was coolly courteous.
“The hills look pretty, don't they?” Blaine asked, reaching for some topic – anything – to break the frosty silence that had grown between them.
“Very pretty,” Chrissie agreed quietly.
They were riding side by side, he on his new battle-mount and her on her horse. She wore yellow brocade and her hair was in blue ribbons, the scent of roses reaching him even here where he rode beside her. He breathed in, feeling like a man on the wrong side of the gates of some enchanted place.
“Chrissie?”
“Yes?”
She turned to face him, blue eyes guileless. She was so beautiful, he thought wistfully, like a carving, or a figurine of porcelain in a church somewhere. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her everywhere.
“I'm sorry,” he sighed.
“Don't be,” she said quietly. “You were in your rights to say that.” Her voice was tight.
“In my rights..? Chrissie!” he protested. “You know we're not like that. You know I would never think of you like that.”
“You did,” she said in a small voice. “Oh, look! Is that Joanna and her nurse there?” She pointed to where a woman and a child walked on the grassy hillside. Blaine bit his lip as she rode towards the pair. She was willfully avoiding him, still angry.
He waited while Chrissie dismounted, sharing kind words with the nurse and lifting the child, laughing merrily, into the air. She looked so well thus, he thought. Chrissie would be a lovely mother.
“Oh, there you are,” she said lightly. She came back to her horse a few minutes later. Blaine had dismounted and held both the bridles, waiting for her to return. He had raided the kitchens for cold ham and all the things he knew she liked best, packed into a bag tied to his saddle.
“Chrissie,” he said urgently. “Could we...”
“I think perhaps we should return now,” she said, her voice casual. “I told Gylas that I'd spend some time with the child before her bedtime. And I'm a little tired myself, now that I think of it.”
Blaine swallowed hard. “But, Chrissie! You said we could go riding!” he said, frustrated. “Now you're changing your mind again...”
Chrissie looked hard at him. “As you are my husband, I suppose I should obey you,” she said quietly. She looked at the ground and then up at him. Her eyes were sapphires, cold and hard. He felt something in his chest wither.
“We should go back to the house,” he said, his voice bitter.
“Very well,” Chrissie agreed.
They rode back in silence with nothing resolved, and when they were in their chamber, she ignored him as well.
That night, when he came up to bed later than her, he found her already tucked beneath the covers.
“I think I will leave for my journey in the morning,” she said in a small voice.
Blaine felt his heart sink.
“As you wish, dear,” he said.
The bed was very wide, he found, when she had her back to him. He could take up as much room as he liked. He rolled up on his side, his heart aching, and tried, valiantly, to find some rest.
That morning, she woke early and he did, too, hoping to be able to make some reconciliation. She summoned Ambeal and dressed, then packed some gowns. He dressed himself and, wretchedly, waited to see if she would say something, anything, to bring them solace.
“Goodbye, dear,” she said at the door. Her eyes met his briefly, then slid quickly away.
“Goodbye,” he whispered.
She turned very quickly and hurried from the room, leaving him standing behind her, bereft, his fingers gripping the lintel. He did not think he had ever felt so lost.