Title: Time Heals All

Chapter: Five

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Count Adhemar tossed and turned in the narrow bed he'd been given, wrestling with the horrible nightmares that turned his dreams into a battlefield. It seemed he couldn't close his eyes now without some reminder of what had happened to him. No longer would his mind let him simply escape into numbness. There was a distressing clarity to his dreams that made him wonder once more if he had indeed died and found his way into hell.

But then Christiana would wake him, her gentle hand staying on him only long enough to check his forehead for heat and to make certain he'd woken fully and couldn't slide quickly back into dreams. She'd become a ministering angel of sorts, friendly and detached, all he ever could have hoped for in a nurse. Occasionally, Thatcher would slip in, give him a glance and ask Christiana to step outside. Adhemar found that if he stayed still enough, their conversations would sometimes filter in through the window and he could listen to entertain himself.

The things Thatcher wanted to discuss were mundane usually, boring matters dealing with the running of a manor house. He learned that Jocelyn was pregnant and that her parents had died. He heard all about the animals that died and the health problems that plagued the people. He even learned that Christiana had both married and buried a man since he'd last seen her. She gave counsel in a quiet tone and Adhemar couldn't quite find it within himself to sneer at the man taking a woman's advice in his duties. In fact, he couldn't find much to sneer at all any more.

Sneering took an effort he no longer wanted to make. Why bother when he could find no pleasure in it? That word. Pleasure. It was absent from his life now. Adhemar could find no pleasure or enjoyment in anything. His own tortured thoughts kept him prisoner. Christiana tried to entertain him. She read to him, told him stories and jokes and all he could do was stare at her.

Life was something to be tolerated and he wished another fever would take him and carry him to his grave. Death was preferable to this constant remembrance of what had occurred.

He rolled onto his side, watched the woman through the door. She was washing clothes, having placed herself in such a position that all she had to do was turn her head to see him. Every so often, she'd glance his way, then return to her task. A sigh left him, not too loud however. He didn't want her rushing in and demanding to know if he was fine. He wasn't fine. He was so far from fine that it was ridiculous to even ask that question.

Physically, he was healing, the slightest of the wounds on his body long faded away, including the bruises. The worst of the wounds were scabbing and Christiana had kept him from having too much trouble with infection, cleaning his wounds far better than any surgeon he'd ever had tend him. Yes, those wounds were going away, but what of the others?

The sheet was grasped by one hand, tugged higher upon his chest. Don't think about it. Forget it.

He couldn't forget it though!

He turned his thoughts to his family, forced himself to consider them. Did they know where he was? Had Thatcher thought to send them a message? Perhaps he'd venture to ask the man the next time he appeared here. Were his brothers well? It occurred to him that he hadn't the slightest idea how Simon, Stephen, Timothy and Raine were. He'd not seen them in long months. A frown pulled at his brow. Months? No, it was years. The last time he'd seen any of them had been before the tournament year and before his life was turned upside down by a peasant man.

God help me, he thought, closing his eyes and trying to rest.

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Kate cast a forlorn gaze about the space Will had provided her to work from. Optimistic, that one. Of course, she'd been so as well at first. Her armor had been well received and she had more work than she could keep up with. But then the novelty wore off. She faced the same problem she had after her husband died. No one wanted a woman blacksmith, not even one that revolutionized the way armor was made. Well, aside from Will. He still brought his business to her exclusively.

The people here didn't trust her. They still patronized that pig of a man Coris.

That's not entirely true, she thought to herself. If they need a farris, they might come by and peer in at me before going back to him.

She'd contemplated leaving a score of times at least. Triple the number if she was truthful, but she didn't really want to leave her friends. They'd become her family and Kate couldn't imagine life without all of them. It was hard enough without Roland there every day. The loss of that one should, in theory, have brought Kate and Christiana closer together as friends. It hadn't. Though Kate understood how the woman felt, Christiana seemed to want to keep the distance between them. That was fine, she guessed.

A sigh escaped her and she clasped her arms about her legs. The pings and gentle hisses of Coris working carried along the air. He kept suggesting she marry him and Kate couldn't suppress the great shudder that worked through her at the thought. She couldn't imagine marrying that man and being subjected to his cruel whims. They were cruel too. He'd marked up many a maid and threatened all around so they wouldn't go to Will about it. Will was liked, but Coris was feared and fear won out over like every day. Even Kate was not immune to the threats.

She slept in a tiny room off her work space, not in the manor, though Jocelyn had attempted to entice her to come to the manor when Christiana had asked for a cottage all her own. Kate had refused and now Coris could terrorize her all he liked in the night if he wished and no one would come to her aid. So, she gave him no reason to hurt her, minding her own business and praying until his regard turned to another woman, however briefly that time lasted.

Coris was an ugly man, with lank blond hair, greasy pockmarked skin and eyes so small that they nearly disappeared in the fleshy folds of his face. One arm was as big around as Kate's waist. He smelled of smoke, rancid grease and sour sweat, his tunic invariably stained with the remnants of his most recent meal. Rudeness was his way of life and his remarks were of a crudeness verging on sheer vulgarity. In short, not the sort of man Kate wanted to contemplate being shackled to for any period of time.

She rested her cheek on her knees. When had she become this way? When had her spirit slipped away and despondency crept into its place? There was no real time when Kate could pinpoint for this turn; no one thing that brought her to this place. She could gaze into the past all she liked. It wouldn't change the fact that she felt stifled and listless.

My hope has gone from me, she thought, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. How did this happen? I was happy a year ago, wasn't I? How did I come to this point?

A shadow fell across her and she looked up.

Framed in the doorway was a man. For one second, she thought it was Coris, but then her mind registered that this man was far too slim to be Coris. This man was tall, his build lean. His hair framed a somewhat craggy face. A neat beard accentuated the firm line of his jaw and his nose was Patrician. The face was not unhandsome though and Kate gave him one last appreciative glance before standing to make her presence known.

His stare found her and the smile he favored upon her was warm without being leering, a welcome difference from Coris' offensive grins. This man seemed delighted to see her. "Mistress Kate?" His voice was the sort that slid sensuously over the skin and curled about the limbs; one that she could easily listen to for hours.

She swallowed with a mouth that had gone strangely dry in seconds. "I'm Kate, yes." Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and Kate tried to make sense of her awareness of this man. He'd only walked in the door and she was feeling.... The word whispered in her mind. Attracted.

The man sauntered to her, lifted one of her hands and pressed a kiss to it's back. His beard tickled her skin just a little and Kate had the urge to snatch her hand back so he wouldn't note her bitten nails or the calluses on her palms. "Duke Gilles Fortier. Very pleased to make your acquaintance at last." Pinpricks of pleasure tingled where his lips had touched.

If charm was water, this man had bathed in it thoroughly. Kate managed a confused smile as she extricated her hand from his much larger one. "Pleased, my lord?"

"Yes." He perused her appreciatively. "I saw you in the courtyard the other day. William suggested I return when my household had settled and meet you."

She froze. Will was inviting men to meet her? What was he thinking? He'd better not be thinking about marrying her off. If he was, he was going to get an earful. Kate may not have kept a man's company in years, but she wasn't going to be pressed into doing so. "Really." What on earth was the point of this man meeting her?

Fortier took a few steps to the right, his attention straying about the work area. His steps continued forward around her and in less than a minute, he'd given himself a tour of her home and work place. "Yes." Returning before her, he put his hands on his hips and grinned good naturedly. "Does that make you angry?"

Kate gaped, struggling to keep her mouth from falling open at such directness. "Should it?"

His grin widened. "Not at all."

She crossed her arms. "I'm sorry my lord, did you say you needed a farris or a blacksmith?"

"I didn't, but I like a woman who knows where to lead a conversation." He glanced at the ground as though gathering his thought and when he looked back at her, his gaze had gone serious. "I'm in a position to need armor for my men and myself. I've been gone for a long while and the rumor of a woman smith intrigued me. Even more intriguing was that light armor that woman created. William assures me you are that woman smith. I'd like to acquire your services, Mistress Kate. I'll pay you well and if your work is as good as William claims, I'll have other work for you as well."

Kate looked at her dusty tools, then back at him. "What sort of other work?" In her experience, when men said 'other work' they didn't mean smith work, but rather work on her back in their bedchambers. She wasn't a prostitute and was hardly going to start that line of work now, even if this man did make her insides melt with one word.

"Smith work. Swords. The like." That grin returned. "I won't proposition you, Mistress Kate." A raised brow. "Unless, of course, you proposition me first. Then, all bets are off."

Should she jump at this offer? That was her first inclination. Taking this job would mean being away from Coris. It would mean money to live on. She wouldn't have to feel she was living on Will's charity any longer. She could pay him back for the kindness he'd shown her. However, a prudent move would be to discuss the offer with Will first. After all, everyone thought she was his farris, not friend. She would be expected to talk with him on the offer. Besides, his counsel was always welcome. "I'll need to discuss it with Sir Will."

Fortier nodded. "I'll be back for your answer in a few days, then."

Kate expected him to go, but he only stood there, watching her. "What?" she blurted out.

He didn't speak for a moment, his eyes narrowing a tiny bit and head tilting to the right. He seemed to be considering something. "Although.... Would you care to walk with me for a bit? You don't seem to have much in the way of work at the moment. We could walk up to the manor, stroll the garden. I need to be visiting Jocelyn this afternoon anyway. You could have your meeting with William while I see Jocelyn." He licked his lips, a slow draw of his tongue.

Kate found her gaze following that movement. What would it hurt to take a stroll with him? As he'd pointed out, she didn't have any work to occupy her time and she could get to know him; begin to understand why she was instantly attracted to him.

"We could have it all settled in a few hours and you could begin work tomorrow."

"If --" she began.

"If it's agreed upon," he amended, stretching his hand out to her in invitation. "Please. I would enjoy your company."

His fingers were lean and long, a well shaped hand and Kate placed her own on top of it. She didn't think about it anymore, she just did it. There'd be time enough later to analyze her motives and time later to wonder why he was even interested in her at all.

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Christiana was not surprised to see Gilles Fortier on the property. He'd been a long time friend of Jocelyn's parents and had often visited over the years. She watched as he and Kate strolled towards the manor house. It seemed that some things hadn't changed. He still managed to charm a woman into walking with him.

She smiled. She'd lived with the Fortier family until old enough to be trained to serve Jocelyn, an orphan they'd graciously taken in. Gilles had always treated her like family, despite his father's constant belittling of her. Though young at the time, she still remembered those two arguing about her status. Gilles had carried her about, snuck her sweets and played games with her and the other children. He'd taken her to see Jocelyn and gently instructed her to remain there and learn all that she could.

He'd played the father role she'd never truly had.

When would he come to see her? He'd know, through his many sources, that she was acting as a nurse and wouldn't want to bother her. Perhaps she'd send word that she'd like to see him again.

Taking the dry linens off the rope they hung on, Christiana took them inside her cottage and carried on with her chores.