The Trees They Do Grow High (part 3/4)

[Eienvine]

4xD, AU


Hey, all, second to last chapter up! This, right here, is my FAVORITE chapter, as it has almost all of the fic's fluff. It?s also kind of the climax- no, I guess it?s one of two climaxes. But there's definitely fluff.


Oh, and by the way, if you know the original song well and are getting excited for the verse about the haystack, I?m sorry; I?m going off a version that doesn?t have that verse- there will be no lemons in this story. Sorry. But please enjoy the rest of it!





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And one day as I was lookin? o?er my father?s castle wall
I spied the boys all a-playin? in the hall
My own true love was the flower of them all
For he?s young but he?s daily growin?






The day after Quatre left, the first snow of the season fell. Dorothy watched it from inside the house, sitting at the window in her bedroom. She?d spent the morning alternately wandering around the house and sitting in the library, trying to read. She felt too restless to concentrate on anything, though. As soon as the snow started she rushed to her room and sat in her window seat, staring at the falling flakes. She had no desire to go elsewhere. The castle and the surrounding grounds seemed bigger and emptier with Quatre gone. She was much happier to be holed up in her room with a fire going and a blanket around her shoulders.


At supper time she went to the table and ate quickly, feeling the oppressive silence around her grow heavier and heavier. Unable to finish her food, she went up to her room and lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep was a long time coming that night.





In the weeks that followed, Dorothy tried to trace the source of her melancholy. The feeling pervaded much of her time. She spent her days doing everything she had done in her youth, when her parents were dead and her grandfather had not invited her to the castle. She read what few books the castle had over and over again. She moved tables out of the way to practice sword fighting in the dining hall. She wrote letters to relatives and practiced her lute, which had been gathering dust since last summer. She even studied the Bible occasionally.


None of this, however, could afford her the contentment she had while felt doing the same things in her childhood. Then, to be allowed to do whatever she liked was all she could have asked for, and she had been happy in her time at Catalonia House and at Dermail Hall with her grandfather.


Or had she been happy? Looking back, she wasn?t so sure. As time passed, the more Dorothy thought about the subject, the more she became sure that in her childhood she had not been happy- she?d simply been content because that was the only life she knew. She knew this just as surely as she now knew that her present melancholy came because she missed Quatre.


It had been a complete shock to her when she realized that she longed for the company of her young pacifist husband. Looking for a reason, she decided that she had simply grown accustomed to having him there. She was accustomed to having human contact, and with Quatre gone she had none. She had no friends or acquaintances, and the servants worked all the day long. She had no one to talk to. To make matters worse, Quatre did not write her, probably afraid of angering her again. Yes, that was it, she told herself. She?d grown accustomed to having the fair-haired boy around, and it felt strange to have him gone. That answer seemed satisfactory . . . mostly.






In February, a letter arrived from the duke. Dorothy ripped it open, thrilled to see a friendly hand. He inquired after her health, then said that since her husband was gone, would she like to come spend Lent at Dermail Hall? Dorothy grinned and pulled out a sheet to respond. It sounded like a wonderful way to chase out the last of winter. After finishing her response to the duke, she hesitated a long moment before beginning a second letter, this one to tell her husband where she would be. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt that she wanted to appease any worry he might feel at arriving at Catalonia House to find her gone. Shaking her head at the thought, she went to give the letters to a servant.






Dorothy arrived at Dermail Hall just in time for the beginning of Lent. Many relatives were there as well, and Dorothy was delighted to see all of them. The weeks to come promised to be exciting. Dermail Hall was much larger than Catalonia House, and Dorothy found plenty in it to amuse herself. She read from the large library, talked to her relatives, helped tend to the horses, and spent time practicing with a sword.


She found talking to her relatives to be a mixed experience. Her uncles and cousins were all fighters by birth and interesting to talk to, and she spent many happy hours in their company. Her aunts, however, were not nearly as entertaining. They sat together in the solarium, their heads bent over their embroidery, and talked about nothing for hours. They would speak of their children and husbands, of friends and acquaintances, of who was to marry who and how much someone?s dress had cost. Dorothy found it to be very dull.


Sometimes, her aunts would include her in the conversation, but that was worse. They would ask constantly about Quatre, who they declared to be one of the handsomest men in the family. ?Those eyes!? declared Aunt Cecelya, one hand over her heart. ?None of my boys ever had eyes that bright.? This was tolerable, but often the questions were more personal. On more than one occasion, one of her aunts had grinned slyly and casually asked Dorothy how she enjoyed her nights with Quatre. Dorothy, inwardly seething, would simply smile and refuse to answer, letting her aunts believe what they chose. These exchanges annoyed her greatly, and she spent as little time as possible in her aunts? company.


She spent much of her time practicing with a sword, often under the tutelage of one of her uncles or cousins, or the hall?s man-at-arms. At first she practiced in unused rooms and hallways, but as the season went on and the weather grew warmer, she began taking her exertions outside, and ended up spending much of her time there.


In all this time, she hadn?t seen her grandfather much; he had spent much of the time away, and during the time he was there he was usually too busy for her. He spent several weeks in March on a business visit, arriving home just a few weeks before Easter. It wasn?t until he?d returned to Dermail Hall that Dorothy heard, from an aunt, that he?d been visiting Sandrock Hall, the ancestral home of the Raberba family. She wasn?t quite sure how that made her feel, so she simply shook off the feeling and concentrated on other things.






The first time Dorothy saw her grandfather after his return to Dermail Hall was a mere week before Easter and the end of Lent. She was outside, ostensibly to practice with her sword, but in truth she?d been spending most of the morning sitting on a sun-warmed rock and thinking. The topic of her thoughts was Quatre, as it had been often over the past few weeks; his voice was all around her, and the image of his face was always at the back of her mind. She?d tried to deny it at first, but she wasn?t stupid, and she could tell when she was fighting a losing battle. Now, resigned, she allowed the thoughts to come and tried her best to sort them out.


That she missed him she?d already conceded; that she didn?t hate him as she once had was a conclusion she?d reached sometime in March. But there was more to it than that. Such weak sentiments did not explain her frequent thoughts of him, or the way she subconsciously ran over in her mind every time they?d touched, however briefly or informally. As she sat on the rock, her sword hanging loosely from her hand, she tried to logically discern what it was she felt for him.


Physically, there was attraction, to be sure. He was a bit short and slender for her tastes, but their time spent in physical combat together had showed her that there was much more to his slender frame than met the eye. His fair skin and smooth blonde hair made him seem a bit too angelic- she?d always been more attracted to the dark, rugged type- but there was something alluring in those soft tresses and beautiful blue eyes.


As for compatibility of personality, she knew they were opposite ends of the spectrum, but somehow that only made them compliment each other. They rarely fought, and they rarely got bored with each other. Conversation always flowed easily, and they shared so many of the same interests that they always found something to occupy their time with.


All that, however, didn?t explain why she found herself longing for him in
unguarded moments, or why she once, while talking to her aunts, wondered to herself why she?d never shared his bed. There was something more about him, with his old-fashioned ideals and his delicate grace and his endless chivalry and charity. It drew her to him, as much as she tried to fight it. She was fond of him, she discovered, though not, she was sure, the way her mother had been of her father, or some of her aunts were of their husbands. She was just. . . fond of him.


Dorothy was pondering this in the courtyard, nudging a pebble about with the toe of her boot, when the duke strode out of the castle. She was a bit surprised to see him; usually, if they met, it was a planned rendezvous for which she got formally dressed. More than surprise, though, she felt happiness at seeing a man who she still loved, idolized and respected. Setting her wooden practice sword on the ground, she rose to meet him and curtsied deeply.


When she looked at him, he was looking down at her in a way that made her somewhat uncomfortable. The look was almost instantly gone, though, and he smiled at his granddaughter and seated himself on the same rock she had been sitting on. ?Grandfather,? Dorothy said, smiling. ?How have you been? How was your trip?? He waved her off. ?Same old,? he replied. ?Come here and have a seat by me. I want to see how you?ve been.?


Dorothy complied, seating herself carefully next to him on the large rock. She didn?t know what she would say to him when he asked how she enjoyed married life, because she didn?t know herself. He looked her up and down, then said, to her surprise, ?You?re a pretty girl, Dorothy. It?s a pity we had to throw you away on that useless Raberba lad.?


Surprised, Dorothy almost opened her mouth to retort, then quickly calmed herself. She would never talk back to her grandfather. Instead, she simply shrugged and said carefully, ?It hasn?t been so bad. He?s kind.? She was going to leave it at that, but something in her grandfather?s look said he was disappointed in her softness. Before she could stop it, she found herself saying, ?And he?s too cowardly to get in the way of me doing things I want to do.? Her grandfather grinned in reply, but Dorothy felt somewhat repulsed with herself for betraying her husband that way.


Then the duke?s face turned serious. ?You asked about my visit to Sandrock Hall. Truth be known, I was not quite pleased with it.? Dorothy raised her eyebrows, her conflicting emotions quickly forgotten. ?Why?? she asked, her shrewdly political side surfacing with sudden interest.


The duke sighed. ?The baron has grown more greedy,? he said heavily. ?He daily encroaches on our claim, moving his men onto lands that are rightfully ours and mining the gold that should have gone to us. I tried to speak with him about it, but he refuses to hear reason, so enamored of the gold is he. I fear this will lead to war.? As she took all of the information in, Dorothy looked at the ground in concentration. With her eyes fixed on the dirt, she didn?t see the small, malicious smile that found its way onto her grandfather?s face.


?Does Quatre know about this?? she asked. The duke raised his eyebrows. ?But of course. He was there when I visited, wasn?t he?? The old man placed a hand on the young woman?s shoulder. ?That?s why I?m so sorry to have had to force you to wed him. He is a part of that family in every aspect, and he is a part of this effort to rob of us our own gains. He is as grasping and covetous as the rest of them, and any attention he has payed you in the past months is an attempt to get information from you.?


Surprised, Dorothy looked up, her brows furrowed in consternation. ?I don?t think he would-?


Then she stopped. She could remember, clearly, hints he?d dropped about things he disliked about Dermail and the duke; she could especially remember the time he?d all but said her grandfather was a tyrant.


She looked up at her grandfather with a newfound understanding of his words. It all made sense now. She?d been wondering, in a hidden recess of her heart, why Quatre seemed to be so kind to her. Previously she?d thought that he might be in love with her, but now, looking back on the past in light of this new revelation, it seemed apparent that it was all an act. She should have realized that someone like him would never have fallen in love with someone like her. She was too coarse, too unkind, too proud and too stubborn, especially for a man like Quatre; moreover, she certainly did not, she felt, have the looks to attract Quatre or any other man. It all made sense now. Quatre was only using her.


The duke left a few moments later, after bidding her goodbye. Dorothy sat very still on the rock for a long time after he?d gone. She couldn?t believe that she?d been so taken in by Quatre?s lies; she couldn?t believe that less than an hour before she?d admitted to herself any kind of affection for the man- no, the boy. The undeserving creature deserved no respect from her. Dorothy scowled, picking up her sword and wondering why this new view of Quatre made her so upset. Shaking off the feeling, she turned and walked back to the castle, thinking seething thoughts toward her husband.


It never occurred to her that the duke might be lying.






Dorothy left Dermail Hall the Friday after Easter, still stiff with indignation over Quatre?s apparent fiendishness. She was to go with her cousins as far as the crossroads at Lampton, where Quatre would meet her on his way back from Sandrock Hall and take her the remaining hour to Catalonia House.


After what seemed like the longest coach ride of her life, Dorothy found herself at Lampton, waiting for Quatre with an undue amount of consternation. How would she react to him? How could she best display her anger to him? Will he be happy to see me? asked a vexing voice in the back of her mind. She shook the voice off and stepped toward Quatre?s coach, which had just pulled into the yard of the inn.


The door opened quickly and Quatre stepped out, looking at her in a mix of quiet uncertainty and hope. Remembering the argument they?d had the last time they saw each other, Dorothy thought she could understand why he- No, she told herself firmly. Don?t sympathize with him. Quatre looked around to see that her trunk was being loaded on, then held his hand out to help her up inside. Head lifted proudly, she brushed past him, refusing the offered hand, and sat down regally on one of the benches. Her husband followed uncertainly after her, obviously wondering what had triggered this change in her attitude.


As they rumbled into motion, he spoke to her earnestly. ?Dorothy, what?s the matter?? he asked. ?Is it- I?m sorry about what I said to you in January. It was unkind of me to think you couldn?t take care of yourself.? Dorothy refused to answer, refused to listen to his sweet tones that sounded so sincere.


They sat in silence a few moments until Quatre spoke again, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him over the clopping of the horses? hooves. ?Please say something,? he pleaded quietly, and part of her heart went out to him in response. She forced herself to brush it off, however, and rode the rest of the way home in silence.


They were within a few minutes of Catalonia House when Quatre spoke again, timidly, not meeting her eyes. ?Some friends, plus my uncle and a few cousins, follow close behind us on a trip south. They will be eating an early dinner with us, then continue on to reach the inn at Rampton Hill before dark.? Dorothy, tired of not talking, snorted in reply. ?Will be eating an early dinner with you,? she retorted, before turning again to look out the window.


There was a moment of silence in the carriage, then before Dorothy had time to look back from the window, Quatre had fairly lunged across the coach and taken one of her hands in both of his own. She stifled a gasp and looked back at him. His pleading eyes were fixed on hers. Dorothy tried hard to ignore those eyes, to ignore the tingling sensations in the hand that was enclosed by his. His hands were large, warm and dry, and more chapped and roughened than she?d expected. She forced herself not to dwell on it, the way she was forcing herself not to dwell on his words. ?Dorothy, what?s the matter? I thought we were getting along before I left, but now- please talk to me. Please tell me what?s wrong so I can try to make it right.?


It?s a lie, she told herself. He?s just using me. Taking a quick breath, she pulled her hand away from his. ?Please stop that,? she said angrily. ?I know all about your family?s plot. My grandfather told me all about the way you?ve been taking our lands and our gold.? Quatre?s surprise seemed very genuine. ?What can you mean? We?ve done no such thing! If anything, your grandfather?s men have been taking our gold.?


He immediately looked sorry for what he?d said. ?I didn?t mean to imply you?ve done anything wrong. And the gold isn?t important anyway-? Dorothy laughed skeptically and turned her gaze back to the window. Catalonia House was just a few turns in the road away. ?No, the gold isn?t important,? she said, wondering at the shaking in her voice. ?But my grandfather told me about other things, too.?


?Dorothy!? Quatre cut in with a desperate edge to his voice, something she?d never heard from him before. ?I know you love your grandfather, and I don?t mean to offend you, but has it ever occurred to you that maybe he could be lying??


Dorothy continued on as though he hadn?t spoken. ?My grandfather told me a lot of things I hadn?t realized before,? she said, finding herself twisting a piece of her skirt into an angry bunch. The coach had pulled up in front of Catalonia house, and a servant was moving to open the door. ?He told me about how you?ve been using me just to get information to use in your little conquest.?


Quatre looked as though he?d been struck, and Dorothy used the opportunity to get out of the coach. ?Take this to my room,? she ordered a servant, gesturing at her trunk as she passed it on her way inside.


There were footsteps running up behind her; apparently Quatre hadn?t been struck speechless too long. She ignored him, then suddenly felt his hand on her upper arm, turning her to face him. The touch was very non-intimate, but it sent shivers up and down her spine, making her scowl angrily. She hated herself for feeling that way, and she hated him for the way he had come to affect her lately, especially as it was apparently all a ruse.


Quatre was speaking in pleading tones. ?Please, Dorothy, you can?t believe that. I would never use you like that.? His other hand was moving unconsciously toward her face, to caress her cheek, but then he realized what he was doing and froze, leaving his arm out in mid-air. He shook his head and looked earnestly into her eyes, soft aquamarine meeting icy blue. ?Dorothy, I wouldn?t- it?s actually just the opposite- Dorothy, I-?


He never finished his statement, for Dorothy?s free hand suddenly came up to strike him across the face, turning his head away from her. While he was thus distracted, Dorothy twisted away from him and picked up her skirts. ?Never come near me again,? she said in a deceptively calm voice, then turned and ran toward the stables. Apparently Quatre had learned his lesson, because he did not follow her.


Flinging herself into Hecate?s stall, Dorothy readied the horse quickly and mounted, not caring that she was on a regular saddle in a long dress. Hiking the skirt up to her knees so that she could face forward, she urged Hecate out of the stable and headed for the hills, eager to be away from Catalonia House and Quatre.






She rode for nearly an hour without a single thought passing through her mind. Horse and rider cantered over all the paths in the woods round about the castle, some of them several times. Finally, as she came out on a hill in front of the castle and just above the kirk, she came back to herself and pulled the horse to a halt. It was not yet dusk, and she could see with perfect clarity the group of riders pulling up to the front door of the house. Quatre?s guests, she thought to herself, and remembered her declaration that she would not dine with them.


Instead, she moved back out of sight on the far side of the hill, looped Hecate?s reigns around a tree and sat in the long grass. On the outside she was perfectly still and composed, but on the inside she was in turmoil. A hundred different feelings and voices were pulling her in all different directions. All the days and memories of her youth, all her affection for her relatives, joined in a loud cry, telling her that Quatre was a liar. All her pride in herself as an independent person was smirking that she was better off without him. And above it all, in a quiet, earnest tone, Quatre?s voice was repeating, ?I would never use you like that.?


Dorothy mulled it all over until she thought her head would burst. Finally, when she saw the sun sinking toward the horizon and the storm clouds that were gathering above it, she realized it was time to go back home and face whatever came.






When she reached Catalonia House, Dorothy brought Hecate back to stables and crept to the servants? door. She snuck in through the kitchen, figuring that Quatre wouldn?t be in there with his guests present. Her luck held out, and she snuck a slice of bread out of a basket and crept out of the kitchen and up the stairs without being seen. On the second floor were two passages that led to a landing above the dining room. Through these passages Dorothy could see the flickering light of torches and hear men?s voices. Among the cacophony she heard her own name mentioned several times.


She hesitated at the mouth of the passages a moment, but then her curiosity overcame her and she crept down one of the passages, far enough to hear clearly but not far enough to be seen.


?-too much free reign. You can?t trust them on their own. They are, after all, the weaker vessel.?


A reply, too low to hear.

?Quatre, trust me, you?re thinking too hard about this. There?s only one thing they?re good for. You don?t need to spend so much time trying to win her over or some such nonsense.?


The same voice replying, again inaudible, and this time she was sure it was her husband?s.


A new voice replied. ?All women seem special at first, but in the end they?re all same.?


A louder, rougher voice jeered, ?Yes, they?re all the same with the lights out!? There was laughter from some of the men. Yet another voice spoke up, slurred from too much drink: ?Even your Miss Dorothy is, I?d wager, if you?d give her a try. If you don?t feel up to the job, I wouldn?t mind giving the wench a tumble myself!?


Amid the laughter that followed, Dorothy?s fist closed around what remained of her bread, mashing it into a lump. Before she could react, though, there was the sound of a chair scraping back. ?Gentlemen, I believe the evening is over.? This was definitely Quatre, using a tight, controlled tone she?d never heard from him before. She dared a quick glance into the hall below and saw him standing stiffly at the table, seeming to tower over the men around him despite his smaller size. ?But Quat-? started one of the men who?d been speaking before. Quatre cut him off. ?No, Peter, the evening is over. You have insulted the honor of my wife and I must ask you to leave.?


Dorothy scarcely heard the rest of the conversations as the men stood up to leave. She was leaning against the wall, her face flushed. Quatre had stood up for her, even though he didn?t know she was listening. What could this mean? Before she could think more on it, though, she heard more voices and froze again. There seemed to be two people still in the room, Quatre and an older gentleman.


?So where is she tonight?? the old man asked. Quatre?s sigh floated up to where Dorothy was listening. ?We got in an argument. That grandfather of hers has been starting rumors.?


?Rumors??


?He told her that not only are we infringing on their claim in the islands, but that I have been using her all this while to get information to send back to you.?


The old man sighed. ?Dermail seems to be up to his old tricks. He probably hopes that if he starts a war he can legally take more of our claim. I suspected as much when he came to visit me.? So the old man was the baron, Richard, Dorothy realized. He, too, was speaking without knowing she was there, so he had no reason to lie. He had no reason to lie, and Quatre had no reason to lie. The only person who had a reason to lie was her grandfather.


Quatre and his uncle were still talking, and Dorothy turned her confused attention back to their words. ?-bothers you, nephew?? Quatre let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh, and Dorothy felt a wrenching in her chest. ?Yes, uncle. I love her.?


Dorothy didn?t hear the baron?s reply, because she was running away from that room as fast as she could, through the halls, down the stairs, out the door and across the side lawn toward the woods. From her vantage spot, she could see Quatre at the front door, waving his guests goodbye as they rode away.


She fought her way through the tangled trees, off of any beaten path, unaware of any destination. It was hard to see because of the dusky twilight and the clouds nearly covering the sky and the tears that were welling up in her eyes and pouring in hot streams down her cheeks.


When she finally burst out of the undergrowth, she realized that her feet had taken her to the graveyard at the kirk. The kirk was up on a hill, in front and to the left of Catalonia House, and from the graveyard she could see the front door. Quatre was no longer there. Dorothy stumbled over to her favorite spot, a large tree next to the gate which led toward the castle. There, surrounded by the graves of her ancestors, she wrapped her arms around herself and began to cry in earnest.


Within a few moments, it began to rain, the droplets pouring down her face and mingling with her salty tears. The tree branches lacing over her head gave only minimal protection, and her fine dress, already dirty and slightly torn from her ride on Hecate earlier, was beginning to get sodden. The air was warm, though, so Dorothy made no move to get under shelter. She deserved this, she felt. She deserved to remain out in the steadily worsening storm.


After what seemed like both seconds and hours, Dorothy heard the gate swinging open. She didn?t have to look up to know that it was Quatre, his fair hair plastered to his forehead, his long, plain tunic covered with dark splotches from the rain. ?Dorothy, where have you been? I was so worried; the groom said you?d brought your horse back, but you weren?t in the house. I?ve been looking everywhere-? She turned her head to look at him, and his brow furrowed as he saw her red-rimmed eyes.


?Dorothy?? he asked uncertainly, then sighed a little. ?Look, I know you?re not sure about my-? ?I heard what you said to your uncle,? she blurted out, her voice shaky from crying, her gaze fixed on the ground. Quatre stiffened, but Dorothy pressed on, tears still running down her face. ?And I?m so sorry. I?ve been so terrible to you- the way I?ve treated you- and with my uncle . . .? She took a deep, unsteady breath. ?You deserve so much better than me.? At this Quatre reached out, somewhat tentatively, and placed his hand on her lower arm. Dorothy froze and looked up into his eyes, which looked nearly as unsure as she was sure her own did.


The two stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, tension palpable in the air between them. Then something changed, and Quatre was giving her a nervous smile, leaning in toward her, drawing her near to encircle her waist with his arm. She was trembling, but she stood still and allowed him, finally, to kiss her.


He pulled away almost immediately, waiting for her reaction. There was a moment of silence in which she stared at her husband, feeling a warmth spread throughout her trembling body. Then she leaned in to kiss him back. He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, and the two lovers clung to each other as the rain fell around them.






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Yay for sap in the rain! This is the scene I?ve been waiting to write since the beginning, and I rather like it. Unfortunately, from here on out the song gets very depressing, so the next chapter (which is the last) will be sadder. Sorry.

PS I?m not Catholic- although I think they?re very cool people- so I?ve never celebrated Lent, especially not Lent in the Middle Ages. So if I screwed up the date of the season, I?m really sorry. Anyhow, please review!