Trial By Fire

Chapter: Five

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"How is she?"

Wat looked up from the plate full of food he was working on alone at the central table in the kitchen. Roland was crossing to him with a pitcher and cup, a length of fabric tossed over his shoulder. Wat could see embroidery threads of various colors winking from on of the folds. Concern for Kate was etched upon Roland's features.

What could he say? That she was depressed, crying into her pillow and refusing to leave the room she'd been given? That she talked as though it was final and she'd never work her trade again? Should he tell Roland that the Kate they'd once enjoyed fellowship with was disappearing by the hour under a despair so thick that it made her room almost unbearable to be in?

Roland sat across from him on the bench, setting down the pitcher and cup and pouring milk into the cup. "Fresh," he mentioned, taking a long drink before spreading out his embroidery to begin working. "Now, don't be lying to me, Wat. Give it straight. What's her state?"

He took a drink from the cup, agreed with Roland on the milk. It was fresh and very good.

"Tell me about Kate." Roland's needle began to flash in and out of the cloth, a flower taking shape as Wat watched.

His friend had such patience to sit and embroider, while Wat himself could barely mend his own clothes. With Roland about, he'd never needed to hone that particular skill and now, with his business, he'd employed a girl to do the sewing chores. In the tavern, there was always something that needed mending, whether it was cloths for the tables that lords and ladies sat at or bedding for the rooms. Rose gladly mended anything he told her to, as long as she was paid for her efforts.

He took a bite of meat and when he'd swallowed, he shrugged. "She's not coping well."

"That's obvious. Anyone goes in to see her and she orders them away. Tell me something I don't know."

"She thinks she'll never work again and it's bothering her. She won't even consider rebuilding her strength once she's healed." He took another bite, chewing rather than continue speaking. He didn't want to give up the mumblings he'd heard from Kate in the night, when she thought he slumbered in that chair by her bed.

"We'll have to bring her out of it somehow." Roland paused in the middle of forming a leaf as though in thought, but he only shook his head and finished the stitch.

"If you have any ideas, I'm listening."

"None. We'll have to take each day as it comes. Kate will bounce back, Wat. She always has."

Wat wanted desperately to believe him, yet somehow, he was very afraid that on this point, Roland was wrong. "Do you," he began, then shook his head with a sigh.

Roland glanced up from his sewing, brows raised in question. "Go on?"

Sliding his food away, Wat leaned towards Roland. "Do you trust him?" No one was close to them, but he lowered his voice anyway. "Adhemar, I mean. Do you and Christiana trust him?"

The question was not answered for several long moments, where Roland tied off a thread and bit it. Then, he turned his eyes briefly to the open doorway as though half expecting someone to be standing there listening. "Jocelyn trusts him. Right now, that's enough for me."

Wat left his half finished meal there on the table and went up to see Kate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kate had never thought that the arrogance of Adhemar could actually push her into doing something she firmly didn't want to do. After weeks of keeping to herself, with Wat for occasional company, Nicholas Adhemar came to see her. He walked right in after a quick rap of his knuckles upon the door panel and took in her state with a cool stare. He ran that gaze over her in an appraising fashion, then directed her to stand from her chair.

The genial host was not in evidence and she was commanded as he would a peasant under his direction. Kate stood from reflex, not because she accepted him as her lord. He was not her lord. She was a free woman and had been for years, beholden to no noble for her life.

He looked at her arm. "You're healing well, my physician tells me."

Kate made no comment and the man stepped from her, casually walking about the room as though he'd never seen it before in his life. He studied the tapestry on the wall and picked up one embroidered pillow. Finally, he returned to her and something in his eyes made her straighten her back just a little more.

"It's time to work, Kate."

"I can't."

"You can't, or you won't?"

"Can you not see I'm hurt? I'm not fully healed and I can't lift a feather, much less --"

"You'll work."

She was picked up, care taken for her arm, and carried down the stairs, through the hall and out the door. With her good arm, she smacked at him. Wat was immediately behind them, as was Jocelyn, both running to keep up with Adhemar's quick strides. She was taken to the smith's cottage, set down before the door.

"Learn to work with your other arm."

Kate gaped at Adhemar. The man was daft, that had to be it. Did he not comprehend that she was injured?

"Nicholas," Jocelyn began, but he gave her a stern look and she closed her mouth without continuing.

Wat took a step forward, hand reaching out and grasping the man's arm. "Leave her alone, or I swear --"

"Take your hand from me." Adhemar jerked his arm from Wat's grasp. "You're coddling her. All of you."

Kate let out an outraged shriek, stomping her foot on the ground. "Coddling!"

Again, Wat grabbed his arm, but this time he ended flat on the ground. Adhemar had punched him. He got to his feet and before he could move forward, Roland was there, holding him back. "Easy Wat!"

Adhemar got right down into Kate's face, so close that their noses nearly touched. His words were slow and clear. "They're coddling you, Kate, letting you convalesce until you die from it. And you are letting them. You're letting them because you're afraid." His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "You're afraid."

She stepped back, giving him a glare that would have made other men flinch. Adhemar, however, smiled that bland, condescending smile that raised her irritation levels by miles. "I am not afraid!" However, if she could only admit it to herself, he was right. No, Kate thought. I'm afraid of nothing!

Oh, but you are, a voice in the back of her mind answered. You're so very afraid of failing that you're not even willing to try.

"Oh, of course not. Just what I expected from a woman." Now condescension dripped from his words and she gasped, shaking her head.

"I am not afraid," she repeated, left hand lifting, punctuating her reply.

Adhemar blinked. "Prove it."

Kate fairly snarled and stomped into the work area. The hell if she'd let him win on this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wat hated to go to Adhemar to thank him for helping Kate. It was a pain twisting in his chest that he had to do so. He'd much rather ignore that the man had done what Wat should have done to begin with.

He found Adhemar on the defensive wall, practicing shooting targets the were placed below. Miles was present as well and Wat couldn't help but swell with pride that the boy was doing just as well with the targets as Adhemar.

After awhile, Miles grew bored and ran off, leaving Wat with Adhemar. Wat stepped up to the wall, staring out at the scenery. "About Kate, my lord --"

"She's doing well, yes?"

"Well, yes. She's got a bit of her confidence back, though she says she'll not be as good with this arm as she was with the other." He placed his hands on the top of the wall, ran them along the rough surface. "My lord, I should thank --"

Once more, Adhemar cut him off. "My grandmother was the same sort of woman as Kate, I find. Very strong willed and stubborn. When she got an idea into her head, the only way to dispel it was with action. Talking did no good, as she'd ignore reason with ease and action was what made sense to her. Well, action coupled with some taunting words. Some women are like that." He set down his bow and also rested his hands on the wall top. "William Thatcher was wise in his choice of friends. He chose people of good character who remained loyal even after his death."

Wat nodded, more to show that he was listening than in reply.

"The past is best forgotten. People change and one day a man can wake up and despise what he had been."

He was left there alone, thinking about what Adhemar had said and wondering if he could even begin to adjust his opinion of the Count. He'd disliked Adhemar for so long that it was habit to despise him and spit at the name. It took a long while of rumination to decide that he might never fully believe that a man could change as much as Adhemar appeared to.

Perhaps Adhemar had changed for the good and perhaps not. Jocelyn seemed to think so and Roland and Christiana would not say clearly how they felt. As for Kate, she worked hard to strengthen her arm, yet kept mentioning to him privately that she'd like to leave soon. Where she was going to go, he didn't know.

He had a business to run and needed to return soon. Richard had been sending letters straight out asking if he needed to raise funds to buy out Wat's part of the business. It was time to leave. He was only a few days ride from here and it was a comfort to know he was close enough that if he was needed, they'd have no trouble finding him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Just how dense could one man be?

Kate cradled her arm and watched Wat wrestling with Miles on the floor of the hall. She'd given him hints several times, most blatant ones at that, that she wished to leave with him and be where he was. Maybe I should have just said it outright, she thought, but she'd become so used to Geoff, who tended to pick up on hints with ease, that it hadn't occurred to her that she'd need to say it plain. She should have known; have remembered. Wat needed blunt speech, nothing hinted at in words.

Well, tonight she'd tell him. She'd tell him the truth about her work and the conclusion she'd reached.

Her right arm ached constantly. Granted, it was still early, but she knew it hadn't healed as it should. The limb didn't look straight to her, not like it had been and any pressure upon it caused pain. She needed both her arms to work successfully. Without two strong arms, she honestly couldn't compete. Perhaps a man could work the trade with one arm good, but not her. She had to face that.

And she had faced it. In the mornings when she rose and found herself crying out from the stiffness that had crept into her overnight, she faced the fact that she was not the same and never would be. She was changed. It was a difficult decision to put away something she loved and had worked so hard to become good at.

There was still a chance, everyone kept telling her and she could tell herself that as well, if she didn't know her arm was not healed right. Kate had to find another way to make ends meet and support herself. There had to be something she could do that didn't require two strong arms and going home with Wat was a good place to start. She was certain she could convince him to hire her. She couldn't stay here with Jocelyn, that was for sure.

She'd seen much evidence that Count Adhemar had become a different man, but she didn't really wish to remain and test that for herself. She'd seen enough to know that Jocelyn and Miles would be fine with him even if he did turn out to be showing them masks. Wat felt the same way and that was another reason she'd decided to go with him when he left. He didn't trust Adhemar any further than he could throw him either. Not, she thought wryly, that I can throw him that far with my arm like this anyway.

Getting up, Kate crossed to where Wat and Miles were declaring a truce and waited until Wat looked up at her before asking him to walk with her outside.

~~~~~~~~~~

She wanted to go home with him.

How was that for a wish being granted? Wat nearly jumped for joy until she went on, asking him to help her find some form of work in his tavern. Kate wanted to work for him? Wat shook his head. "No, Kate. No. I won't hire you." Before she had a chance to fully misunderstand what he said, he took her shoulders in his hands. "You don't have to work for me."

"I have to work for someone, Wat. I can't very well beg in the streets. I won't go that low. I'd rather work for you and know I'm treated fairly --"

He cut her off with a hand over her mouth. "Stop. Just stop. We'll do a trade if you really want, but I won't hire you."

Suspicion crept into her eyes and she pulled his hand away. "What sort of trade?"

"Keep my house, manage the housekeeping of the inn and you can have food and lodging and anything you desire."

"What else?"

"What el--" He laughed, hand rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture he'd not used in a very long time. There was just something about her though, that made him a boy all over again. "Nothing else, Kate. Nothing else. Unless you decide so."

She pulled back from him, giving him a curious stare. "You're propositioning me again, aren't you?" Her lips turned upwards, not quite a grin, but close. "You are, aren't you?"

Was he? Hell yes. He'd love to have her close every day, where he could see her and hear her and smell her and have her at his side. Wat nodded. Might as well admit it. "Yes. Guess I am." He looked around the courtyard, then held out his hand, a replay of that night long years earlier in London.

This time, Kate had no bag with pastries hidden in it. There was nothing there around her to distract him and she had to look at the situation. She bit her lower lip in a gesture he found charming. "Nothing else unless I wish it? Simply...business? A wife, so to speak, without the wifely duties?"

"Yes."

"I keep my independence?"

"I'd not have you with me otherwise." That was the definite truth. One of the things he loved about her was that independent spirit. He'd not stifle that if he could help it.

Kate stared at his hand now, then reached out and placed her hand in his. "We'll see what develops."

She'd taken his hand. For the first time, Kate reached out and slid her hand into his. Whether anything more came from this besides their arrangement or not, it didn't matter. She'd be with him.

Lovely, in the most beautiful sense of the word. Perhaps there was love for a man such as he after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Some things could not be rectified, Nicholas thought, watching two of Jocelyn's friends take their leave. Those two didn't trust him, nor, he suspected, would they ever. Wat and Kate held themselves apart and the ghost of William Thatcher at his side simply shrugged and told him that he couldn't win all the time and he ought to know that by now.

The ghost was less frequent with him now, after weeks had gone by with Nicholas' efforts towards Thatcher's friends. He'd done his best, but still the ghost lingered and he hadn't a clue what to do about it. Would he always have Thatcher beside him? How inconvenient and irksome to not be able to exorcise the ghost completely.

He rode out by himself to think and ended up beside the small pond on the southern stretch of his property. Nicholas walked around the edge, finding the stepping stones that his father had placed along the muddy bank and took his time balancing upon each then leaping to the next. Twice, he nearly toppled over into the water, but was able to regain his balance. This area was a place he always came to when he was home when he wanted peace to think. Many an afternoon was spent here while Rochelle was alive.

Since Jocelyn had come back into his life, he'd not come out here until today. He'd had no reason to escape the manor, as Jocelyn was far more agreeable than Rochelle had ever been. She respected his need for privacy and didn't try and insinuate herself into his business dealings. Unless, of course she was curious on a matter and then she was polite in her questions and sensible in her suggestions. Jocelyn seemed as eager as he to rebuild the Adhemar fortune and he had to admit, her suggestions had helped in a few areas.

He was rethinking their agreement now. Perhaps he should give her more equality than he was inclined to. She was not a bit like Rochelle and had kept her end of their bargain quite well. The few arguments they'd had had never been displayed publicly. She would argue with a passion, declare her feelings hurt and her person abused, then turn around and behave before others as though she was the most blissful of women.

She was trying and what was he doing aside from chasing Thatcher's ghost away?

He paused on one of the stones, raising his gaze to stare at the bushes directly before him.

Nicholas had limited Jocelyn as much as he thought he could get away with without her crying their agreement foul. He'd put restrictions upon her that his mother would have whipped him for. His mother had, in her lifetime, been given free reign over the household as long as what she wanted didn't clash with what his father preferred.

Lowering his gaze back down to the stones, Nicholas hopped to the next one. Could he risk giving Jocelyn such power? Something told him that he could. At one time, that might not have been the case, yet now, she was no longer a girl. She was a woman and one with definite opinions on everything. He'd discuss with her the ideas she had for their home and they'd work from there.

The ghost sat on the bank and watched him and Nicholas sighed. "What do I have to do to get rid of you, though?"

The apparition watched him solemnly.

"Do I have to say I'm sorry; that I was young and utterly stupid? Well then, let it be said, though I don't blame my behavior all upon that. I was not a good man and there were many reasons for that. Can I not change, Thatcher? Can I not atone for my sins? Is it even possible to set you from me? I regret that I tried to kill you and I regret those things I did during the course of our rivalry. What now must be done? Have I not taken care of everything you held dear? Your friends and family? Why do you continue to plague me?"

Now, the ghost stood.

"You won fair that day. You were the better man, the noble man. I have paid ten fold and then some for all I did. There is nothing more I can do or say. This is it. Each day begins anew and our rivalry faded away long ago. It cannot be changed, only regretted and set away. I've done what I can in repentance and forgiven myself...."

That was it. He had done everything he could, except honestly forgive himself for the man he'd been and those things he'd done.

Oh dear God. How simple was that?

He laughed, the sound shaky with emotion, wiping one hand across his face. He'd been holding on to Thatcher all this time. The ghost didn't have hold of him, but rather, he of the ghost. Crouching down, he stared at the water.

"You were a good man, Thatcher and I hope someday to find the peace you have now."

Nicholas looked up and over at the bank, tension slipping from his shoulders as he stood.

The ghost had gone.

He was alone.

From behind him, he heard the sounds of a body moving through the brush. Miles appeared. He was in a sorry state, mud and grass smeared all over him and his hair liberally adorned with leaves and burrs. "Who are you talking to?"

Nicholas wave him over. "I had some things to work out aloud. It's best to do it in privacy."

Miles hopped onto the rock beside him and peered into the water. "Oh." His features scrunched with thought, then he turned his gaze up to Nicholas. "Did you...really know my dad?"

"Yes," came the honest reply. He couldn't very well lie to the boy, could he? "I knew your father before you were born."

"Like Wat and them? Were you friends too?"

Nicholas crouched back down. "I didn't know your father that well. But let me tell you a story. I'm not as good at storytelling as Master Chaucer was, so bear with me." They both settled comfortably on the rocks. "Years ago, there was a fair maiden by the name of Jocelyn and there were two men who adored her...."

And so Jocelyn found them hours later, both playing in the water and telling friendly tales of the departed William Thatcher. Nicholas left Miles playing in the water and went to greet her, planting a kiss on her cheek. She drew him back a few paces. "You were talking of Will?"

Draping one arm about her shoulders, he gave a nod. "Should we not? The boy needs to remember his father."

"What sort of tales were you telling?"

There was worry in her eyes and he cupped her cheek in his hand. "Not the sort that would have you anxious. I told him how we all met at tournament and how we fought for your favor. Don't worry, Jocelyn. I'll not slander William Thatcher. Breathe easy."

They stood watching Miles for a long while. All ghosts had gone from them both and their life, from now on, was theirs.