Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Two

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The last of their meal had been packed up. Germaine gave an excuse that sounded rather feeble to Christiana's ears and left her alone with Count Adhemar. Though she'd been alone with him many times in the past weeks, there was a subtle change in the tension between them that kept her back ram-rod straight and her manner a bit more formal than it had been. He was planning something and she knew it with every fiber of her being, but she couldn't leave as Germaine had. He'd engineered that quite well. Germaine was leading the horses back to the manor and the plan was that she and the Count would walk back, taking the afternoon to note further things that needed fixing on the property.

Once the sounds of Germaine's passage through the woods faded away, Adhemar returned to the blanket and stretched out beside her. Resting on one forearm, he drew a finger slowly along the length of her thigh. She tried not to flinch away. This casual touch carried with it the symbolism of that change between them. He'd not touched her in a caressing manner before. Her breath stilled in her chest and she forced herself to slowly breathe in and out.

"You'll marry me in one week."

It was said in such a way as to be matter-of-fact; a happening she should have expected. Christiana felt her stomach tighten painfully. No words came to mind to say. What could she say anyway? So she sat still, staring at him.

Cold arrogance glittered in his eyes as he watched and enjoyed her shocked reaction to his blunt announcement. A slight smile graced his lips. "Jocelyn's father is glad to be rid of you," he added, "though the loss of your dowry pains him to a great extent. I believe he was still hoping to find some way to claim it as his own."

Christiana managed to swallow the lump that had grown in her throat, yet still she could not speak. A thousand images of the horrible things she knew him capable of flitted across her mind in the space of a few seconds and she carefully set her goblet down before she sloshed the liquid all over her skirts. Yes, she should have expected this development, she decided, thinking back over the past weeks. His attitude and the attitude of others had made her what she'd never been allowed to acknowledge before: a lady. She'd been enjoying that freedom, become used to it as she'd become used to him. Her lips parted.

"What, no comment? No words of protestation delivered in a hysterical tone?" His voice wrapped about the words almost lovingly, as though he relished saying each one. "Really Christiana, at least give me a scowl of anger or something besides blank surprise. I know you perfectly capable of both."

"I don't want to," she whispered and he leaned forward a little, cocking his head. The scents of leather and of horse drifted to her.

"Don't want to what? Change your expression or marry me? Doubtless the latter, but I'd like clarification on the matter." His hand flattened on her thigh, warm through the cloth of her dress.

"I don't want to marry you."

He nodded encouragingly. "Of course you don't. I never thought you did."

A mantle of numbness dropped over her and all she could do was sit and wonder if she'd slipped into sleep and this was all a dream. "Why me?" Tears prickled in the corners of her eyes and she blinked them back. It was true that she'd been sympathetic to him recently. He was lonely, he'd lost Jocelyn and was left with a baby that was not his to take care of. She'd been willing to be a companion; to talk and laugh and service those needs. That sort of relationship. By being a companion, she could still dream of him at night.

But not marriage and all that word implied. Strange how it had never occurred to her that he might see her as marriageable.

I should have, she thought. I should have seen what weapon I gave him that day.

Marriage loomed large in her mind, a cliff towering over her. There was fear and there was...desire. It wouldn't take him long to learn of her feelings for him if they married and once she was exposed, he could use that to his advantage. Perhaps she'd erred in fantasizing him as anything other than what he really was. This man was not the gentle, loving husband in her dreams, but rather a ruthless, selfish and domineering man who'd not hesitate to use anything to further his own cause. Her reasons for sympathy for him didn't change who he was really.

"You know when to be silent, for one. Two, you're orphaned nobility and available. You're right here and I don't have to waste any more time looking for a suitable woman. I've had you watched, so I know you've no lovers here. Any children you bear shall be mine. Since you're not used to behaving as a noblewoman, I can tell you exactly how I want you to behave and I'll be obeyed -- a beautiful effect of you having been trained as a servant. You've many advantages over other women, Christiana." He blinked, ran his gaze along her in an assessing fashion. "Your figure is adequate and I'll even allow that you're somewhat pretty." His fingers danced along her leg, as though he was anticipating touching her bare flesh, the cloth of her dress whetting his appetite.

To hear her attributes as he saw them laid out so mercenarily, Christiana found that she couldn't take it any longer. With a gasp, she rolled up onto her knees, her back to him, intending to stand and walk the long way back to the manor. That was as far as she got. His arms went about her hips, jerking her back to him, and though she pried at his hands with her own, he would not release her. She struggled until she could not do so any longer, relaxing back against him in an exhausted slump.

The Count chuckled, his hold on her easing slightly, just enough so she could breathe easily. "Have I offended you, Christiana? You did ask why. And here I'd thought we were getting on well, moving steadily towards a more physical relationship. Would you rather be a mistress than a wife?" His voice was husky and melodious to her ears.

When she refused to answer, he turned her in his embrace to face him. Her left arm was caught between them, held fast to his chest in an awkward and painful angle. Her hair fell over her face, a small annoyance, but she didn't push it away. Why should she when all it would do was bring him into closer focus? She remembered Jocelyn raging at the thought of intimate relations with the man; her certainty that he'd be as inept in the bedroom as he was at giving flowery complements.

Strangely, Christiana suspected otherwise. He may not have a silver tongue for the sort of complements Jocelyn had favored, but there was a magnetism to him that hinted at deeper talents not as easily seen in polite company. In fact, she could imagine him as Pan with remarkable ease, the satyr of all satyrs.

"My christened name is Damien. You may begin using it today." His hand pushed her hair from her face before his fingers curved about her neck. Bending his head, he brushed his lips to hers. "Relax."

The kiss was not gentle, yet neither was it rough. He feathered his lips across hers and took what he wanted, teased and tasted how he wanted. Christiana's heart threatened to burst from her chest with it's fast pounding and she couldn't seem to make the decision to push him away or not. Her indecision gave her a long preview of what awaited her in a week.

He excited her, this kiss holding the thrill of something previously forbidden to her. It occurred to her that she could return the kiss. She could enjoy the caress and give in return and claim she was accepting his plan. He'd think her dutiful, just as he'd expected her to be.

She could and yet.... She couldn't.

Christiana wrenched away, surprised when he didn't grab at her a second time. She got to her feet and began to run back to the manor.

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Adhemar remained on the blanket, listening to her flight from him and basking in the satisfaction of a plan well completed. He sank down onto his back and placed his hands laced together behind his head. The canopy of leaves above him was studied in an absent-minded way. He enjoyed the shifting path of the sunlight through the gently swaying treetops.

For the first time in well over a year, he felt like himself again. The decision first on the child and then on Christiana had turned something inside him back into what he'd been before he'd glimpsed Jocelyn in the stands.

Once more, he had a definite purpose that was not obsessive, for now he was aware of just how strangely his behavior had become. He'd let a desire for a woman rule him, take over every aspect of his life. No more. No woman would cause him to lose himself as Jocelyn had. He was done with such women as she had been.

Marrying Christiana was a stroke of pure genius, solving far more current problems than problems he anticipated coming about. She was all that he'd told her and then some. She was silent in a watchful and wise manner, cautious, and beautiful in a serene fashion that would long outlast a beauty such as Jocelyn's had been. He expected handsome children from her.

Best of all, she'd not interrupt his life like another woman would by grace of the fact that she was already settled within it.

Genius.

With a satisfied sigh, Adhemar got to his feet. It would take her awhile to reach the manor on foot and he had to return to lay out the path for her to come to him before their wedding day.

~~~~~~~~~~

"It's gone."

She whirled. Germaine stood in the doorway to her tiny room, the one on the corridor, a kind expression on his face. "Gone where?" She'd searched everywhere for the monies she'd been paid for her services and found nothing in her belongings.

"As soon as he returned, my lord took your funds and put them in a locked box in his chamber."

The knowledge that he'd been there in her room and somehow returned before her was like a punch in the stomach, taking all of her breath with it. "He's here," she managed weakly.

Apology crept into his eyes. "Your reaction was expected, Christiana. He knew you'd protest and suspected your first inclination would be to leave. So," he crossed his arms, "he had a horse waiting not far from your picnic. He arrived back long before you did."

Christiana sank onto her low bed. To the end, there were always going to be men making her life decisions for her. First Jocelyn's father and now Count Adhemar. The former must be chuckling in glee over deciding who she'd marry, likely assuming she hated the man as Jocelyn had. As for the latter, he was getting his way far easier than he had with Jocelyn. There was no man to fight him over her.

That thought brought tears into her eyes. There was no man to fight for her. Her girlish fantasies of the kind, gentle and misunderstood Adhemar had popped most rudely to the pinprick that was this reality.

"I have to leave, Germaine. I can't marry...him."

Germaine crossed to her and knelt before her, gently taking her hands in his. "Have you ever wondered why so many of us stay with my lord and work as hard as we can to please him?" At her nod, he continued. "The reason, is that while my lord is a harsh and demanding man, he also takes care of what he considers his. You'll want for nothing, Christiana."

"Nothing monetary. What of love, of emotion?"

His hands squeezed hers reassuringly. "My lord is also a man of intense emotion. When he feels, he does so in a way few can. Sadness slides into funereal proportions, joy is pure giddiness and anger can easily become hate. He feels so intensely, Christiana...." Germaine broke off, seemed to weigh his next words before giving them voice. "He chose you not because you were here -- please don't believe anything of the sort -- but because you're good for him. You don't hesitate to spend time with him, to share his interests. That is significant. I believe that my lord has become as close to...to...loving you as he can love anyone."

She shook her head. Adhemar didn't love her, he wanted her. Two very different things. "He loved Jocelyn."

"He loved the challenge of her, not her. With you, I've seen him behave with a tenderness he rarely shows."

"But I can't marry him." Her protestation was vehement and heart-felt.

"Why? Why can't you? Your guardian has given his permission, negotiated the terms. My lord has made certain that what he knew was yours comes to this house. Even some of the original land from your dowry has been retained. He's being extremely generous. I'm frankly impressed that you've reached such high regard in his eyes. He'd not be so mercenary in terms for something he cared little for, Christiana. So why can't you marry him?"

How could she explain her feelings in a way that didn't sound silly? How could she tell Germaine that she'd built an imaginary world with Damien Adhemar in her mind and marrying him would take the safety of that away? She'd be set adrift in a boat with him upon a cruel and contrary ocean. Her safe dreams were gone and reality was not what she imagined it to be. The truth of Adhemar was far different from that fantasy she'd cultivated. "He's real."

"Of course he is. We all are." His brow furrowed.

"No. I mean he's real, not the safe image I've had in my mind. Before today, I could pretend and twist his character to suit myself. I could have him kind and gentle and everything I've ever wanted in a man. Now, that's gone. A pretend game that I've played with myself falls away and the real man is there before me. I...." She took a couple deep breaths in an effort to steady herself. "I romanticized him, Germaine, and I knew I was, but it was safe because he was married to Jocelyn and it was only pretend. I had no chance to have him mine...."

"Ahh." He nodded and sighed. "You've been creating romances in your head."

"Yes!"

Germaine released her and stood. "The reality frightens you."

She nodded, grateful that he understood. At least she didn't sound like a raving lunatic. What she tried to explain did make sense.

"My lord Adhemar will not abuse you, Christiana. You'll be taken care of."

Standing, she went to the curtain that separated her tiny room from the master's chambers and peered through. "I've seen how he cares for his squires, punching them when they displease him."

"He's gentler with women. My lord has a softer regard for ladies."

She whirled, letting the curtain fall closed. "So he seeks to compromise me in the valley by the forest? Some regard."

A lopsided smile quirked his lips. "I said he was gentler and had a softer regard. I didn't say he wasn't a man with a man's natural inclinations towards a pretty woman."

"I want to leave."

"You can't." Germaine shrugged.

"Why not?"

"He's ordered it. You can't take a horse or carriage or leave the walls surrounding the manor unless he escorts you. You'll be stopped and any helping you publicly flogged for disobedience."

"Flogged?" Now she returned to sit on her bed. "He can't care if I go."

"Have you not listened?" Exasperation colored his words and she sensed that Germaine was beginning to think she was protesting too much. "With the offer accepted and marriage pending, you're his now. He's concerned with everything he sees as his. If you do manage to leave, he'll find you, for you're his."

"A possession," she scoffed.

"Yes, but treasured." Germaine went to the door and glanced back at her. "Lady Jocelyn was once treasured, but then she made a decision. I'd advise you not to make the same one she did."