Time Heals All

Chapter: Six

~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm quite capable of doing this myself," Adhemar snarled at Christiana, shoving her hands away. With an exasperated snort, she crossed her arms and waited. Infuriating woman. If he wanted to get out of bed, he'd do so, but no, she'd decided to bully him into getting up. She needed to wash the sheets, she claimed. The sheets were fine in his opinion. A little dirt wouldn't hurt him.

'Then do it. I don't have all day, Count."

She was peeved with him. What was new in that? As the days progressed, she'd become more and more waspish, demanding he speak or move or do something besides stare at the walls and ceiling. What was wrong with staring at those things? They were calming things that required little or no thought and he could remain blessedly numb.

Moving was a trial that required effort, a working of muscles that were frighteningly weak. Despite his claim of ability, he greatly doubted he could do this himself. However, he still held a stubborn streak within himself that wanted to prove to her that he could get out of bed and stand on his own two feet.

I'll show her, he thought. I may be ill, but I'm not helpless.

He gritted his teeth. He wasn't helpless. He'd never allow himself to be helpless again.

Adhemar swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. He turned a sulky glare up at her. "Clothes."

Christiana pointed to the chair set near the end of the bed. "There."

The trousers were dragged to him and he took his time drawing them on. It was difficult doing so with the sheet still wrapped about him, but he managed. The shirt was next, smelling faintly of wildflowers. He went to roll the sleeves up his arms a bit and stopped, holding his hands out before his eyes. The bones stood out sharply under skin that was sickly pale and he could not believe that those hands were his. They were though. They were attached to his wrists, his wrists to his arms and those arms to his torso. Those hands were his.

Sniffing, he went on with his task, trying to keep his thoughts on this woman and her unreasonable order that he move from the bed for awhile. Did she not realize that he'd rather sleep? He'd rather go down into the land of dreams where occasionally he could escape from the nightmares than to be awake with his memories scratching at the back of his mind.

Fingers snapped in front of his face and he started, throwing himself backward. "What?"

"Ready?"

She'd been talking to him apparently. That happened sometimes. She'd be talking to him and he wouldn't even notice. One part of his mind thought he should be alarmed at that, yet another couldn't muster the will to be bothered. Who cared? It wasn't like she actually cared for him anyway. She was simply doing a duty assigned to her by her lord. After all, Thatcher was nobility now. He'd been so for...three years, was it?

"Of course I'm ready."

"Then stand."

"Don't rush me."

"I'm not rushing you."

He glared at her. "You are."

Christiana sighed. "You can spend hours arguing this point, but when you're done, you are still going to get up from that bed and walk over to that chair by the window, with or without my help."

"I don't need your help. I can do this by myself."

Still, he didn't move, looking about the cottage as though he hadn't seen it before. He studied the fireplace, where a pot of water simmered. Then, he looked at the table still set with the remains of their noon meal. She had sewing sitting on top of the trunk by the door. Finally, he made an experimental shifting of his weight onto his feet, shoving upward with his arms.

It was harder than he'd thought. Weakened muscles didn't want to support his weight and he found Christiana there almost immediately, her shoulder sliding under his arm. She made no comment, simply gave him the support he needed to stumble across the room to the chair. By the time he collapsed into it, he was sweating, his legs shaking from the exertion.

She dipped a small cloth in the basin of water she'd set out and wrung it out, handing it to him. "Good." A small pile of books was set at his feet. "I borrowed these from Jocelyn. Her father enjoyed good tales and spent a small fortune to possess his favorites. I'll leave you to read."

She dragged the table close, her teeth worrying her lower lip during the task. Efficiently, she cleared it, leaving the cup and the wine. Then, Christiana went about her duties, taking the sheets from the bed and carrying them outside where she'd launder them.

Adhemar leaned back in the chair and turned his face into the shadows. The bright sun was hot on his skin, too hot. He didn't feel like reading. He didn't feel like doing anything. With a sigh, he turned his attention outside the cottage. He saw a world passing him by. Not that he cared. Children played in the distance, near a grouping of tiny houses, little more than huts really. Men worked and women went about their business. Beyond the houses, he could see the manor house.

Thatcher was there, and Jocelyn.

Why had Thatcher bothered to save him? Why not leave him to die? The question of the year. Was this Thatcher's form of revenge for that attempt Adhemar had made on his life? Or was it simply misguided human decency, a thing Adhemar had long ago given up on? There was little of decency in the world and if Thatcher's motivations stemmed from that, perhaps he should feel heartened at the state of the world. Someone bothered to save another man's life out of nothing but kindness.

No. He held his hands up again, choosing to study them rather than ponder kindness and William Thatcher.

His hands were softer than they'd been in years. No working with a sword, a bow or any weapons had already softened him. It showed so clearly in his hands. He flexed his fingers, bent them and twisted his wrists back and forth. When the light fell one way, he could see the tiny scars he had from various fights throughout his life. When the light fell another way, the scars were gone.

Would that life could be like that. Turn one way and all scars are gone.

Adhemar wept.

~~~~~~~~~~

Roland was standing in the doorway.

Christiana shook her head, but the figure didn't disappear. He was becoming skeletal now, his cheeks sunken in and she hoped he'd fade from her dreams before he became a skeleton with bits of flesh hanging from his bones. "Go away," she whispered.

He stayed still, staring at her. Finally, he spoke. "Gotten yourself a handful, haven't you? He's not an easy man to nurse to health. Think he'll ever show you a kindness for the many kind things you do for him daily?"

She sat up. The fire had gone out in this dream and the ashes were stone cold. It was night, a dark hour that had no moon riding the back of the sky. Her ears heard no noises, not even her own breath. Turning her head, she looked towards the bed she'd given up for her patient.

Adhemar was there, sleeping on his side. He was silent and still. She could barely make out his form.

"What do you want," she asked her phantom husband.

"You needed to talk," he replied. "You called to me, so I came back"

"I didn't --"

"Don't lie to yourself, Christiana."

She closed her mouth.

"You can't stay with him every hour of every day. It's not healthy. You need to retain a bond with your friends. The next time Will comes down, have him sit with Adhemar and go visit Jocelyn. You haven't sat and talked with her in weeks. Or go see Kate."

She shook her head. "Kate's working now. She's working for Gilles. He's keeping her busy during the day and I've seen him about at dusk as well. Kate has no time to talk pleasantries. She's working hard to impress Gilles with the quality of her work."

"So talk with Gilles. He'll be interested in the past few years. There's a lot to catch up on."

Christiana sighed, drew her knees up and hugged them. "Adhemar's making progress. it's slow, but it's progress. He doesn't flinch away anymore when I help him walk the room." There was no flinching, only a tenseness to his muscles. "He's getting stronger. I have to bully him into moving though. I think he'd sit still as a lump on a log if I let him."

"Don't push him too hard, Christiana. The man has been through a horrible ordeal. Let him face it in his own time."

She looked up. Roland was gone and she was alone in the dream cottage with the dream Adhemar. The dream changed and Christiana let herself be drawn deeply into it.

~~~~~~~~~~

Gilles Fortier watched the delectable Kate while she worked. He admired her deft touch with the tools and her solid concentration on her task. She'd greeted him with a nod, yet spoken not one word. He was content to watch.

He crossed his arms. She was beginning to trust him, truly trust him and Gilles couldn't wait until she made her move. It would be soon, he thought. By now, Kate had weighed the pros and cons of becoming more intimately involved with him and would surely have come to the right conclusion. And why not? He adored women; adored her. He'd been nothing if not exemplary in his conduct towards her. He'd shown her he was interested and that it was up to her to carry through. Gilles would not force his attentions upon her.

A tiny smile turned up his lips. She responded well to blunt words of praise as long as he wasn't too flowery in the delivery. She liked it simple. He could cause a blush upon her fair cheeks in seconds.

He talked to her. Gilles liked talking with her. She was a smart woman, with a good business sense. She'd talk on any topic and ask questions when curious on a matter. He'd done the same, making discreet inquiries on Christiana and what kept her in her cottage all day every day. Kate had been a good source of information. A very good source. In fact, one might say she was admirable in her knowledge of what went on here. She'd been able to tell him not only who was there, but for how long the individual had stayed.

Most instructive, she was.

He should visit Christiana some day soon. Perhaps when she was outside he'd call her over for a conversation. He'd no desire to go into her cottage and meet her patient. Gilles drummed his fingers along his arm. No, to meet with John Adhemar was not a thing he was ready to do. Not just yet.

The thought of the man brought him a sense of urgency on a related matter and he decided he'd better take care of it before any more time had passed.

"I'll be back later, Kate," he called, turning and strolling along the dusty street. His sharp gaze took in the run-down air of the tiny cluster of cottages. Those thieves had certainly done their best to destroy this place. The livestock was depleted, many of the cottages further out had been burned down and the food stores raided.

A deep frown creased his brow and Gilles mounted his horse. He rode slowly along the road and into the woods where he picked up the pace. A little ways along, he stopped, whistled, then continued on. He repeated the routine several times, cocking his head to one side and listening closely before continuing on. After a short ride of turns and guiding his mount through the forest itself, he came upon a lone man.

The man was dressed in rags, his clothing muddy and bloodied. "My lord."

Gilles dismounted. "Kelso." He gave a tight smile. "It seems you're alone."

"We were caught."

There was dread in the man's eyes and Gilles nodded sympathetically. "Yes. You were caught. Miraculously, though, you yourself survived the slaughter. How did that happen, Kelso?" He took several strides towards the man until he was a little less than arms length from him.

"I ran, my lord."

"You left your men to die without their commander? Kelso, that is low of you."

"I know, my lord, but --"

Gilles drew back his fist, slamming it hard and fast in the younger man's face. He watched him fall, then drew his dagger and crouched down, the tip of the blade to Kelso's throat. "I told you to ambush Adhemar and kill him, not plunder my lands and keep him alive."

"He was dying when we left camp."

Gilles grabbed a handful of the greasy, dirty hair, dragging Kelso's face up, punctuating his words with motion's of the knife. "Was, being the operative word, you cretin. My daughter has graciously nursed him back to health."

"I'm sorry, my lord," the man gasped, clutching at Gilles' wrist.

"Sorry," he snorted. Quickly, Gilles twisted the man around so that his back was to him. With a disgusted sigh, he ran the knife along the exposed flesh of the throat and released the man. "I'll have to kill Adhemar myself. How though, with Christiana hovering over him?" He wiped the knife on Kelso's cloak then stood, ignoring the death gurgles of his soldier.

The Adhemar problem had plagued him for two years now. It seemed that man would not die no matter what Gilles caused to happen. An arrow through the chest and he managed to live. Tossed into a lake when drunk and he managed not to drown. This effort had been just one of many. Knowing Adhemar would take this route home, he'd sent a few men to wait for him. They had specific instructions to stay low. No raping, no stealing and no killing save Adhemar and Adhemar's men. Gilles had ordered them to separate Adhemar from his men and kill him or ambush the entire garrison and kill them all. He didn't care either way as long as Adhemar was dead in the end. Then, he could get paid and they could get paid and all would be happy.

He hadn't trusted his men to complete their task and his misgivings had been well founded. Not only did they botch their job, they'd plundered his lands, hurt his people and far overstepped their bounds. William had done him a great favor in killing them all and saved him the trouble of doing it. He should thank him for that, but then he'd have to admit that this bunch of thieves had been his fault.

Fat chance of doing that.

Gilles mounted his horse and returned to his home.

~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Gilles was gone, Kate set down her prongs and collapsed into a nearby chair. I have to get a grip on myself, she thought. Being around Gilles constantly was like nothing she'd ever felt. Her longing to touch him, to kiss him and lay her body close to his was overwhelming. She must be more starved for romantic male attention than she'd realized.

She raised a shaking hand to her brow, wiping away the sweat that had gathered as she'd worked. She needed another opinion on him, that was sure. Kate wasn't about to do any of those things she'd fantasized in the past few weeks without speaking to someone who knew the man well. But who? There was Jocelyn, yet Kate hesitated to go to her to discuss the practical view of the man.

Getting up, she went to the doorway and looked out. Christiana was outside, washing sheets, it looked like. The woman was busy at her task, and Kate caught a glimpse of movement in the window of the cottage. Adhemar. It had to be him, sitting in that same chair Christiana occasionally coaxed him into moving to, watching the world pass him by. Kate gave little thought to Adhemar usually, save to acknowledge that he was there and had been gravely injured by thieves some time ago. Christiana's gentle nature had induced her to nurse the man back to health.

All of which she'd discussed with Gilles, seeing no reason not to mention what she knew when he'd asked. Neither Will nor Christiana had said the details known couldn't be mentioned. Of course, Kate suspected something more than the basic injury they'd given in explanation. There was something strange in the way Adhemar seemed reluctant to leave the cottage; in the malaise that had settled upon him. It was almost as though he'd been shattered emotionally and spiritually as well as physically.

Taking a deep breath, Kate walked towards Christiana. It would have to be her she talked with.

The maid could obviously keep a secret. After all, she'd not let the story of Jocelyn and Will slip from her tongue three years earlier. Kate would talk with her and see what Christiana had to give as counsel. Perhaps then she could decide what to do about her attraction to Gilles.