Topic: Borderlands

Juliana de La Roche

Date: 2015-10-12 11:06 EST
August 31st, 1614

Life on the border between Francia and Coimbra was never a peaceful affair. Even when there was a truce between the opposing sides, there was never an end to the skirmishes and raids that plagued the villages and keeps that dotted the few miles of no-mans-land between one country and the other. Now, in the wake of the fearsome battle fought on Frankish ground - a battle that had claimed most of the Coimbran army and sent the rest running for the safety of their own borders - life had become decidedly unpredictable. Pursued by Frankish and Pomeran knights, the fleeing Coimbrans made a point of attacking those border towns as they passed by, and only the most remote of keeps and villages was left unmolested. And yet, even there, the skirmishes continued. In the heart of the Lady Forest, not far from the village of Dunfayre, a Coimbran ambush caught a patrol of Frankish knights unawares, leaving them to die amid the trees as they disappeared once again toward their own land.

It had been a small group of six knights assigned to patrol the borderlands between Francia and Coimbra for Coimbran raiders. Though the people who called that small stretch of land home were neither wholly Frankish or Coimbran, it was Francia who had taken to patrolling these lands and defending the people against raids from either side. And so, this small party of Frankish knights had been patrolling the borderlands when they had been ambushed by a party of Coimbrans, all of them killed and left for dead, but for one lone survivor, who would likely join them in death before long if he was not found in time.

Remote though that area was, there were still men and women working in the forest and the fields that bordered it, and the sound of battle had not gone unnoticed. When they were sure it was safe, a group of bordermen ventured into the clearing where the Franks lay dead and dying, to pick over the bodies and do what they could for the dead. To find one such body still alive was a shock, certainly, but it galvanized them into action. A boy was dispatched to tell the lady of the land what had happened, and the men were quick to put together a litter to carry the wounded survivor swiftly and quietly through the trees, to where Darroch Keep stood watch over the land.

The lady of the house was ready and waiting, the only member of her family still in residence at the keep at this time. Under her direction, the knight was taken to one of the guest chambers, and with some help from the servants, she relieved him of his armor and his clothing, turning her attention to examining his wounds.

"D'you think he'll survive?" one of the men who had brought him in asked as she concentrated.

Juliana Darroch, only daughter of Aidan Darroch, nodded thoughtfully. "With care and luck, he should be fine," she assured the man confidently. "Spread the word to keep his presence here a secret, though. The last thing we need is for the Coimbrans to come back and finish the job, and us along with it."

"Aye, mistress, we shall." He touched his forelock, knowing when he was no longer needed, and slipped from the chamber to do as he was bidden, leaving the medicinally minded young lady to her business.

As it happened, the wounded knight in her care had been the youngest of his party, though not lacking in skill or courage. It was only that skill and courage that had kept him alive as long as it did, though in the end, there had simply been too many of them. As he laid there, pale and bruised and bloodied, his life hung in the balance, dependent upon the the lady of the house to save him or let him join his companions in death. There was little to mark him or name him, but for an emblem on his tunic that marked him as a Knight of Lonnare.

Another person might not have recognized the emblem, but Juliana's mother had been Frankish, born a little way from the borderlands but very firmly in Francia. Juliana and her brothers had grown up educated in both Frankish and Coimbran customs, that very unique way of life that was the borderlands. As she worked on the unconscious young man, stitching some wounds, bandaging others, she talked and sang, filling the quiet with reassuring sound in case he found his way to waking while she was still busy with him. Even when she was done, and the servants had been dismissed about their usual duties, she stayed with him, keeping vigil in the hope that her intervention had saved a life.

The only other item that might identify him, other than his sword and shield, was a lady's handkerchief edged in lace and decorated with an array of delicately embroidered flowers. He was young, with a mop of blond curls that stubbornly fell across his brow making him look even younger than his twenty-something years.

As dusk turned to darkness and the lamps were lit, Juliana spent a long time examining that delicate handkerchief. It was fine work, clearly made with love, and given with love, too. She was envious that even a knight of Lonnare could make such a loving connection that he would have a wife waiting for him at home, and that knowledge only made her more determined to see him well and safely back across the border into his own lands. She folded the piece and left it on the table where he would see it when he woke, and settled in for a long wait, her own sewing in her hands. Only time would tell if the knight would wake up at all.

Hours passed while the life of the young knight hung in the balance, waiting for the Goddess to decide his fate. It was deep into the night when, at last, it seemed the Goddess made her decision, and the young knight stirred a little, proving all the lady's efforts had not been in vain.

The keep was still by the time he began to stir, even the lady keeping vigil over him dozing where she sat. But her mother had raised her to be a healer, and with those skills came the unenviable instinct that woke her just as her patient stirred in the bed. She rose from where she sat, moving to perch on the edge of the bed as her hand sought to test the temperature of his head. "Shhh, be still," she told him, her soft voice lilting with the peculiar accent of the borderlands. "You're safe, for now. No one will harm you."

His eyelids felt like heavy weights, but somehow he managed to open them, blinking in the dim light to bring his sight into focus. He vaguely recognized the sound of a woman's voice, the decidedly feminine curve of lips and fall of hair, but that told him nothing. It was a struggle in those moments, just to keep his eyes open, and when he tried to move, pain lanced through his wounds forcing him to stillness, just as she'd warned. "W-where ..." he stammered in a voice thick with pain and confusion.

"Easy, sir knight," the soft voice warned him, gentle hands keeping him still before he could do himself any harm. "You're in Darroch Keep, just west of Dunfayre, in the borderlands. My people brought you to me when they found you."

In the borderlands, his mind echoed her words. Thank the Goddess. He was not a Coimbran prisoner then. At least, not yet. Whether she would turn him over to them if they came looking for him was another matter, but he knew that for now, he was at her mercy - not to mention, thankful for her help. But what of the others, he thought, his next thoughts going to his companions - his friends. He tried to remember what had happened to them, but he'd been knocked from his horse and didn't remember what had become of them all. "My-my friends ..." he stammered further, in an accent that was clearly Frankish.

"Shh ..." Juliana knew she would have to tell him the truth, but she knew the truth would cause him pain. He had called the patrol his friends. "You were the only one alive, and barely, at that. Your friends have been taken to the chapel. They'll be given every courtesy we can give them, but we must be careful. The Coimbrans have not yet left this area." She reached over to set a cloth from the bowl of clean water beside the bed, offering it to him to drink just a little and wet his throat. "You're badly injured, sir knight. Let me help you."

Juliana de La Roche

Date: 2015-10-12 11:08 EST
For a moment, he looked hopeful, but that hope quickly passed as he realized his friends had not survived but were all dead. Why else would they be taken to the chapel, but to be prayed over, while he was left to mourn their deaths. He turned his head away from her before he could accept the water she was offering him, not wanting her to see the grief and pain that he was feeling and did not have the strength to keep hidden. "I should have died with them," he murmured quietly, with a catch in his voice.

"And leave no one to tell their families what has happened to them?" she asked gently. "We don't know them here. We don't know who to tell, except your laird in Lonnare, and he is not likely to accept the word of the bordermen when it is his own men who lie dead. You should live, to return to your own and not leave them to grieve an unknown fate."

"You don't understand," he continued, his voice edged with grief and pain and weariness. "They were my brothers," he whispered, his voice so quiet she could hardly hear what he'd said. He did not mean brothers in the true sense of the word - there was no blood bond between them - but brothers in spirit, brothers in arms. He could not help the scalding tears that rolled down his cheeks, though he made not a sound, feeling broken in body and broken in spirit at the news of his friends' deaths.

"Aye, I understand," she said quietly, turning her own face away for a long moment. "We've all lost someone to this war. They'd not want you to give up, would they?" Squeezing the cloth over the bowl, since he wasn't going to drink, she began to bathe his face and neck with cool moisture, letting him cry his tears for the brothers he had lost that day without further comment.

He couldn't help but cry. What else was there to do' He felt empty and tired and heartsick, and yet, he knew she was right. He had been luckier than some where that was concerned, and though he knew he was being selfish, he couldn't help it - the pain of that loss was too fresh to deny. Despite that, the cool cloth felt refreshing and after a while, the silent tears subsided and he turned his head to face her again and look upon the face of this angel who'd saved him. It was hard to see her very well in the dim light, the lamp bathing her in a luminous glow, which only made her seem all the more like an angel. "Merci," he told her at last. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

She let him cry, merely getting on with washing his skin until he was more in control of himself, meeting his slightly unfocused gaze with a gentle inclination of her head. "As you wish, sir knight," she said quietly. "My name is Juliana Darroch. You are not a prisoner here, but we must keep you a secret. The Coimbrans will force us to give you up if they know you are here."

"I understand," he told her, and he did, more than she could possibly know. He had seen what the Coimbrans were capable of, and he did not wish any of that on this gentle lady or her people for helping him, nor did he wish to end up a Coimbran prisoner, knowing that would end badly for him. "I am sorry ....Juliana ....for bringing this upon you," he told her. Her name was a pretty one, he thought, but it was wholly improper for him to tell her so.

She shook her head with a rueful smile. "You didn't bring anything on us," she assured him in her soft way. "We've been neutral for generations, but the Coimbrans took my brothers into their army when they marched through. They brought this on us, and we'll see you safe if we can, sir knight. Safe and home."

He took all that in quietly, understanding her plight and wishing there was some way he could help, but there was nothing he could do for her brothers or for his own dead brothers in arms, not unless he recovered. He frowned up at her, secretly hoping he never had to meet her brothers in battle, for her sake - if he recovered. "Joslin," he murmured, as he struggled to remain conscious, his eyelids growing heavy and his vision blurring with weariness. "Joslin de Lonnare," he repeated, before surrendering once again to the darkness.

She smiled faintly as he gave her a name, finally, letting him slip away into unconsciousness. It was the best place for him right now, to lie still and easy and give his body a chance to begin the hard work of healing without his restlessness causing more harm than good. As dawn came, the housekeeper knocked softly on the door, dismissing the lady of the house with a stern word to go and sleep, and a promise to have her awakened should the knight need her.

Need her he did, perhaps more than ever, as over the next few days, he became feverish and delirious. When he did awake, it was only long enough to take brief sips of water before passing out again, succumbing to the fever that was raging inside him. The care he had during that time would likely determine whether he lived or died. Meanwhile, he drifted through feverish dreams that made little sense, unable to distinguish between reality and nightmare, sometimes calling a name in his sleep and muttering incoherently in his native tongue. The name he called was always the same - Justine - perhaps the name of the woman who had given him the handkerchief, but whether she was a sweetheart or someone else was uncertain.

For days, Juliana tended to him as he weathered his fever and the delirious dreams that came with it. A cot was set up in the room for her to sleep on while she tended him. After all, the lady of the house could go for days without being seen; if the Coimbrans noted any change in the movements of the servants, however, there would be trouble. Thus it was Juliana's hands that cleaned his wounds, redressed his bandages, changed his sheets, washed his skin; her voice that urged him to drink when he could; her ears that heard his calling for Justine. She assumed the name belonged to the wife left behind him, and each desperate wish for the woman to be there made her more determined to see him hale and well once more. But, as with any illness, all she could do was wait and hope for him to come out of the fever alive. His wounds would not kill him; the fever might.

All through his delirium, he was vaguely aware of her ministrations - the soft, gentle hands that tended his wounds and cooled the fever that seemed to be burning him up from the inside; the sweet sound of a female voice that soothed and calmed him; the vague scent of flowers and herbs that reminded him of summer - thyme, rosemary, lavender, sage. Some part of him remembered her name - Juliana - but in his fevered dreams Juliana became Justine, and he sometimes mistook one for the other.

Three days passed this way, until at last the fever broke, and Death released him from his grasp and decided to let him live. On the morning of the fourth day, when at last the young knight opened his eyes to the dawn, they were no longer clouded with fever and nightmares. He was awake and aware, the fever having abated, though disoriented and confused, with no sense of how much time might have passed while he lingered between life and death.

When the fever had finally broken, Juliana had allowed herself to relax, falling asleep herself in the small cot set near his bed. Thus, when Joslin's eyes opened, hers were closed. He got his first clear look at the angel he had imagined in his fever dreams, softly sleeping, burnt golden hair spread across the pillow, dark shadows beneath her eyes betraying how little she had slept in her care of him. But for all her exhaustion, she was peaceful, unafraid of losing him to his fever now it had broken and left him free to regain his strength as he healed.

It would take more than three days to heal his wounds, as he soon found out when he tried to stir, his body reminding him that he hadn't eaten or bathed or gotten out of bed since they'd found him and brought him here, and yet, when he tried to move, every muscle in his body seemed to scream in protest. He bit down on his lip so as not to make a sound as he eased himself back onto the pillows and was satisfied to quietly and patiently wait for her to wake. Once he looked around the room, there was little for him to do but study the woman who had nursed him through the fever and saved him from death. All he had was a name and little more than that to go on.

He knew she was taking a risk in helping him, in keeping him here. If the Coimbrans found out, there'd be hell to pay and worse. Who was this angel who'd decided to risk everything to save a stranger she knew nothing about' She was lovely, that much was certain - young, younger than he'd realized at first - and he became painfully aware that he was naked beneath the bedding that covered him. Was she the one who'd stripped him of his clothes and bathed his feverish body' Despite the fever having abated, he felt his face flame hotly with the thought of it.

Juliana de La Roche

Date: 2015-10-12 11:09 EST
In the end, it was nothing he did that woke her. It was the sound of hooves and voices outside the window that drew Juliana from her sleep - a sound that was obviously familiar and not to be concerned with, if her reaction was anything to go by. She simply stirred, yawning as she opened soft brown eyes to blink over at the larger bed for a long moment. As it became clear that her patient was not only awake, but looking at her, she smiled, relief and pleasure painted over her lovely features as she slipped from her cot, tugging a warm wrapper about herself to cover the less modest hang of her nightgown. "Good morning, Sir Joslin," she greeted him, the lilt of her voice as much as reassurance of where he was as any memory he might have. "How are you feeling?"

He startled a bit at the sound of hooves and voices outside the window, relaxing only when it seemed she did not seem disturbed by the sounds of the keep coming to life around them. Unfortunately for him, he paid the price for his reaction with painful protests from his body in places he didn't know could feel pain. "Sore," he muttered, with a painful wince, not wanting to complain after all she'd done for him. "Hungry and thirsty," he added, the fever having drained him of his strength. Despite all of that, he was alive, and that in itself was nothing short of a miracle.

"Good, that is good to hear." Her smile deepened as she moved to the bed. "Let me help you sit up a wee bit and get you comfortable, then you can drink. I'll call down for some breakfast once you've kept some water down."

He tensed a little as she came close, a little shy of her now that he was awake and aware, though he thought it foolish of him, presuming she'd already seen most of him. "Merci," he murmured, helping her as much as he could to raise himself up and get comfortably resettled. He was unable to help wincing, but he thankfully did not shame himself by groaning in pain.

Once he was settled against the pillows more comfortably, she sat herself on the edge of the bed, pouring him a cup of water from the jug beside him. It had a flat sort of taste, having been boiled and cooled to make it safe to drink, but it was deliciously cool on a dry mouth. "You've no broken bones," she told him. "But the cut in your side is deep, and you came close to losing your leg. The wounds are healing, but you'll be bedbound for a while yet."

He frowned at her news. Though relieved he had broken no bones, the thought of nearly losing a leg made him frown in alarm. It was the wound in his side that was giving him the most pain though, it seemed, and it was that wound that would have been the cause of his death, if her people had not found him in time and she had not tended to his care. "And my friends ..." he started, dimly remembering an earlier conversation, though it seemed like a long time ago - a faded memory before he'd succumbed to fevered dreams and nightmares that had sometimes seemed all too real. He wondered just how much had been dream and how much had been real. "They are all dead, oui"" he asked, though he already knew the answer, thinking of them before himself.

Her smile faded, sympathetic pain in her eyes for his loss. "They are," she told him gently. "We have not buried them, but burned them each separately. When you are well enough to travel home, we will make the decision whether to ask you to take them with you, or to send our own people with you to be certain your friends return home themselves, in some way."

He nodded his head in painful acceptance and acknowledgment, but there were no tears this time. Those he would save for later, when he was alone with his grief. He would not subject her to seeing that from him again, if he could help it. He swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry, his heart heavy at the loss of his friends - some who he'd known since boyhood. He'd think on that later, along with the explanation he would give their loved ones when and if he was able to take their remains home. "I can't stay here," he told her after a long moment, though he wasn't sure where he would go. He wasn't fit to travel and wouldn't be for some weeks, but staying here put her and her people in grave danger.

"There is nowhere else for you to go," she reminded him. "Coimbrans may be rough, but they'll not trespass within our walls without reason to. If you were to go now, you wouldn't get further than the forest. You're safe here, for now. We'll make sure of it."

"I must send word to His Grace," he insisted, needing his liege lord to know what had become of him and his party. If they didn't report back or return home in a reasonable length of time, it would be assumed they were all dead, and he did not want to cause those who cared for him undue distress. And though he would rather have relayed news of his companions' deaths in person, their loved ones deserved to know what had become of them and that they had died courageously in battle.

"We will," she assured him, one hand resting on his arm to calm him. "When it's safe, I'll send word with one of the traders. No one will think anything of it; my father is in Lonnare himself, gone to petition for my brother's release. The Coimbrans will simply think I am sending word to my father at Arindale." She patted his hand gently. "You're not the first we've sheltered, and you'll not be the last. Trust us, we know what we're about." Rising to her feet, she moved to the door, drawing it open to speak quietly with the young servant girl sitting outside for a few moments. "And there will be breakfast sent up to us, when it's made."

He said nothing but quietly absorbed what she was telling him, more curious than concerned, waiting until she had finished giving instructions to whoever it was that was outside the door before letting his questions be known. "Your brother?" he asked. "Why is your brother being held in Lonnare?" He held his breath as he awaited her answer, hoping her brother was not suspected of aiding the Coimbrans.

"He was captured during the battle at Berynsford," she explained reluctantly. "An unwilling leader of men in the Coimbran army - both my brothers were forcibly recruited when they marched through here. Lachlan was killed in the battle; we don't know how or by who. Bryce was captured, given his life because of his rank. Our father is laird of these lands."

"Oh," he replied stupidly, feeling like a fool for asking. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I'm very sorry for your loss," he added, wishing he'd kept his big mouth shut. So that's what she'd meant when she'd hinted at the losses others had suffered because of the war. "We do not wish war with Coimbra," he felt obliged to explain. "But we must do what we can to protect our borders and our people." From what she'd already told him, he assumed she was more inclined to side with Francia, than Coimbra, even if those who lived in the borderlands had tried to remain neutral.

"I know," she nodded. "I'm a border lass, we know the ways. Most times there's peace, but when war's been brewing, life gets a wee bit exciting around here. It'll settle, it always does. But my father has gone to Arindale to vouch for my brother and ask for his release. Will your laird allow that, do you think?"

"My laird ..." Joslin started, wincing at a stitch in his side as he tried to get comfortable, but there was no real way to accomplish that. "....is a commoner who was proclaimed Duke of Lonnare by the king when the previous duke died. I do not know him well, but were I to judge, I would say your brother has a far better chance with Charles than he would have with Guy."

Her brow rose at his words. "You think less of your laird for his being born below you?" she asked curiously. Rank wasn't really anything but words in the borderlands; words that the Coimbrans and Franks respected, but the bordermen rarely set much store by.

"No, lady," he replied, tipping his chin a bit higher as if it was a matter of pride with him. "I think more of him for it. He has had to prove his worth, rather than have it given him simply because of his bloodline."

"Aye, that makes more sense," she nodded with a faint smile. "I'd have more respect for a man who has worked up from the ground than simply been born in the right house. Still, my father will not have reached Arindale yet; t'will be a week or more before he does so, and that is all well and good. I might hope to have you strong and hale before his return."

"Would that I were in Arindale, I could have ..." he trailed off as a thought came to mind. "Is there a courier who you can trust?" he asked abruptly, an idea brewing in his head. He had to write to His Grace anyway with news of what had happened; what if he merely added something about Juliana's predicament' A courier could easily reach Arindale well before her father, or even accompany him.

Juliana de La Roche

Date: 2015-10-12 11:10 EST
She stared at him for a long moment. "There are Coimbrans in the area," she reminded him. "If I do anything out of the ordinary, they'll take a closer look at us. Any message I send will have to go with a merchant, and they travel slow. I'll send a message to my father with the next trader, but I dare not send a courier into Francia with Coimbran deserters so close to my people. I've a duty to protect them, if I can."

"You need only get someone close to the border. Once they are within Francia's borders, they should be safe to travel at speed," he pointed out. It was risky, but he thought perhaps this way he could not only repay her for her kindness by having her brother freed, but send word to his liege lord of what had happened here.

"It'd have to be someone they wouldn't suspect," she considered thoughtfully. "One of the lads, maybe. The blacksmith's boy could, I suppose. I'll have to find a way of asking him, and get money together for him to buy a good horse in Francia ....It is something we could do," she agreed, glancing up at the knock on the door. Breakfast had arrived.

He was about to reply, when he heard the knock at the door and kept his thoughts to himself. He did not know the people here well enough to trust them just yet, though he trusted their lady well enough. He didn't think she would not have gone to the trouble to help him only to turn him over to the Coimbrans.

Calling for the servants to come in, Juliana rose to step out of the way as a very young girl with a ruddy complexion and a cheeky smile entered the room weighed down with a heavy tray on which was set half a loaf of brown bread, and two steaming bowls of meaty-smelling broth, not to mention the jug of small beer and cups to drink it from. "Thank you, Laurel," Juliana smiled to the girl, who bobbed an excited curtsy and all but ran from the room as her mistress laughed softly. "She's the housekeeper's daughter, started working at the keep last week. It's all very exciting for her."

Joslin drew the blankets up higher as he seemed to belatedly realize he was completely naked beneath them, but for his bandages. "She's barely old enough to be away from her mother's ..." he trailed off again before saying something she might consider vulgar. "Excuse-moi," he muttered. "I have spent too much time around soldiers." His stomach grumbled, not only reminding him that he hadn't eaten in several days, but that he was half starved from his fever.

Juliana laughed again, shaking her head. "She's grown enough, and I'd rather have her working at the keep than in the fields when there are unfriendly eyes about," she assured him. "She'll learn, well enough. Young enough to learn to be a ladies-maid, if she applies herself." As she spoke, she was drawing the table closer to the bed, within reach for him to eat comfortably without showing anything of himself off. "Your clothes were beyond saving, I'm afraid. We'll fetch you up something to wear in a wee bit."

As she drew the table closer, his gaze fell upon the handkerchief she had laid there - the only thing he had left there that was his own, it seemed - and he reached for it with a trembling hand. "I thought I lost it," he mused aloud, clutching hold of the bit of cloth and lace and holding it close to his chest, as if it was very dear to him.

"I didn't think you'd want it destroyed," she said gently, smiling a little enviously at the way he handled the handkerchief. "Your Justine must be very dear to you. You've been worrying over her even in your sleep." Pouring the beer into the cups, she drew a chair close to begin eating herself, soaking a hunk of the bread in her broth before taking a bite.

"Oui," he replied softly, closing his eyes for a moment while he clutched the handkerchief close, forcing himself to hold back fresh tears he didn't want her to see. "As dear as your Bryce is to you, I suspect," he said after a long moment, not realizing she might have thought Justine was a wife or a sweetheart, when in truth, she was his sister.

She looked surprised for a moment, but set the odd response down as a miscommunication. "Aye, I love my brother dearly," she nodded. "And hope for his return. T'will pain my father should he be kept a prisoner for actions he never agreed to." She shrugged gently, taking a sip from her cup. "I'll have to leave you for a wee while when we've eaten. I'll send a man up to help you bathe and dress comfortable."

"As I love my sister," he replied quietly, clutching the cloth tightly in his hand, as if he was reluctant to let go of it, but ultimately, his hunger and thirst won the battle over his emotions, and he set the handkerchief reverently aside, but still close at hand. "I think your father will find the duke a fair man," he said, remembering himself at last and reaching first for the cup of beer to slake his thirst. He knew he should not go too quickly, lest he make himself sick, but it was difficult to resist even such a simple meal as this.

Now Juliana was sure they were having some communication difficulties. Why would he refer to his wife as his sister, otherwise? She was a little relieved by his reassurance, though. "We've never interfered in the war before now, we've always been neutral," she nodded. "Your laird - your duke, even - will have to take it on faith and trust my father's word, though. It is a lot to ask."

"All the more reason to send word ahead of your father," he pointed out, once he'd taken his first swallow of beer. "Goddess, that's good," he added, a burp escaping him followed by a faint smile. "My pardon, lady," he said, apologizing for his rudeness.

She giggled quietly. "I think we can overlook a wee bit of rudeness in favor of getting you fed and comfortable, Sir Knight," she teased him gently, taking up her spoon to eat her broth. "I see what you mean by sending word ahead, though. I'll have one of the men talk to the blacksmith and his lad, see what we can work out."

He frowned a little at her insistence she be so formal, and yet, he was being just as formal himself. "Please, my name is Joslin, or even Jos, if you will." He had a point - it would never do for any Coimbrans to overhear her referring to him in such a way. Both their lives depended on complete secrecy. "He would have a reward when he reaches Arindale, I am sure. Or at the very least, a good meal and a roof over his head while he rested until he was ready to return."

"Aye then, Joslin, you should call me Juliana," she countered easily enough. "My brothers call me Jules, but I won't expect it of you." Raising her bowl, she drank the last of her broth with a quiet slurp, wiping her mouth with a faint blush for the unladylike sound. "I'll give him instruction to wait and return with my father. I'll not put him more danger than is necessary."

He couldn't help but smile a little at her slurp, though he said nothing of it, eying her discreetly before dunking a hunk of bread into his own broth and taking a bite. Though famished, he was trying to force himself not to gorge himself on the first meal he'd had since arriving here. "Of course not," he replied, eying the handkerchief again, wondering if he should send it along as proof that he was alive, though a simple handkerchief proved nothing.

"We can add a note with the message," she told him, glancing at the handkerchief as he eyed it. "For your Justine. I would assume that, even if she isn't near Arindale, your laird will be able to pass on the news that you live and will be returning to her."

"Oui, that would be well," he agreed, with a thoughtful and slightly distracted frown. He did not want his sister to worry needlessly when he failed to return home, though there were other families who would not be seeing their loved ones alive again or at all, but he didn't want to think about that right now. There would be plenty of time to think on that later.

Juliana de La Roche

Date: 2015-10-12 11:12 EST
"Then that's what we shall do," she nodded to him. It was a shame, a part of her pointed out, that he was already spoken for. He was handsome and strong, had fine manners, and an intelligence in his eyes that suggested he would not be a boring man to spend time with. But he was also a taken man, and she would never allow another woman to be cuckolded. "If you'll excuse me, I've to dress and see to the keep a wee while. I'll have someone come and help you get settled here while I'm away."

His expression faltered, as though he was disappointed that she was leaving him so soon, and yet, he understood her reluctance. He was, after all, not only a dangerous man for her to spend time with, given he was a Frankish knight, but she was the lady of the keep, with far more important matters at hand than babysitting him. "Of course," he replied, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice. "Thank you again, lady," he told her. "I am in your debt." He inclined his head respectfully, as he was unable to bow.

"Juliana," she reminded him with a smile. "I'll return, but I've my people to see to and I've neglected them these past days. You'll be in no danger, I swear to you." Rising to her feet, she inclined her head to him in farewell. "I'll bring parchment and ink with me when I come back."

"Merci," he replied again, both grateful and polite. Whether he had started life as a commoner or not, he had clearly been ingrained with the social mores of a knight in high standing.

"Rest well, Joslin," she told him, tucking her wrapper about herself as she left the room. The work of the keep would not go on easily without her input on a few matters, and she wanted him to feel comfortable, sending one of the men up to help him wash and dress in the clothing they had set aside for their guest. With any luck, Joslin would feel a little more normal before the midday meal came. And with a lot of luck, the Coimbrans would never know he was there.

((Back to the courts! And back in time a little ....this scene takes places shortly after Stephan and Marianne's wedding, and roughly the same time Charles and Alys arrive in Arindale to take up their Duke and Duchess-ship of Lonnare. Hope that helps!))