Turning of the Seasons

Chapter: Three

Notes: For those wanting Adhemar and Christiana romance, please be patient.

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Christiana was a vexing woman, Germaine decided once more, making his way to his lord's favorite spot on the defensive walls. He took a moment to admire Count Adhemar's care with the falcon, then continued up the stair. Falconry was one of his lord's favorite leisure pastimes. Usually, Christiana could be found out there with him, but for two days, she'd avoided his lord, unceasing in her wailing protestations to the marriage that was already arranged.

Really, what did she expect? Her guardian had seen this as a good match and the terms were quickly decided, the only tough negotiation being his lord's insistence on all the property and monies Christiana originally was supposed to come with or no marriage at all. It helped that Count Adhemar had loaned the man a sizeable sum of monies soon after his marriage to Lady Jocelyn. His lord was admirable in business, knowing just when and how to take payment from a man for a loan. Oh, he was human and had made mistakes, but for the most part, his business practices were exemplary. Money hadn't been on hand, but -- surprise -- the land that had been a part of Christiana's dowry originally would do in payment. Simply add it and erase the debt.

The girl should be grateful she wasn't being sent back to that family.

His lord glanced towards him and Germaine inclined his head in a respectful gesture. "My lord."

"So? Is your task completed?"

Germaine moved to him, nodding. "It is."

"And?"

"Her writings are filled with romantic longings, a larger explanation of what she told me the other day. Her romanticized view of you is what's causing most of her tears."

Adhemar snorted, rolled his eyes. "She's getting her idle daydream, plus a jump in her social status and she cries for an unrealistic image. Women. They're truly perplexing, are they not, Germaine?"

"Quite." He'd at least understood something of the Lady Jocelyn. Her temper tantrums had stemmed largely from being thwarted in her plans to marry William Thatcher. Plain temper was something Germaine could understand. Christiana's attitude of love though.... It was absurd. How many women were really allowed to marry for that emotion? He didn't know offhand of a single one. Women married to further the family coffers or gain allies and that was all.

Count Adhemar shook his head. "Speak with her again. Remind her of the reception Jocelyn's father always gave her. Then, I want you to stress just how decently life goes for her here, under my protection, and how much better it will be after I marry her. Play up that fondness chord you struck the other day and continue to be a friend to her, listen if she should choose to tell her secrets."

Germaine nodded. "Of course, my lord." He was dismissed with a toss of his lord's head, moving quickly down the stairs and back towards the manor. In a little while, he'd go and talk with Christiana again, try and make her see reason. He feared it a futile effort.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arms crossed over her breasts and a frown upon her lips, Christiana watched Germaine and Adhemar on the wall. She could only imagine what they spoke of. Undoubtedly her. She'd come to realize that Germaine was a spy for Adhemar and not her real friend.

Took me long enough, she thought darkly, turning from the window. Germaine had been so kind to her that she'd forgotten how he'd trailed Adhemar during tournament, eager to do that one's orders. Now, she was afraid that every thing she'd told him had reached Adhemar's ears.

She'd erred in admitting what she'd done. For that matter, she'd erred quite a bit recently in one way or another and look where it had gotten her. Her dream was coming true whether she wanted it to or not.

This house was going to be hers to manage, with Adhemar's approval of course. She'd peruse menus, plan celebrations, defend the walls if need be, and always remember to defer to him in everything. He is lord and a wife defers to her husband. She'd been taught that same as Jocelyn, though such a relationship had not seemed real to them at the time. A part of her longed to rebel as Jocelyn had, to put aside society's restrictions and defy him, but in reality -- of which she had plenty right now -- she knew herself incapable of that much rebellion.

At the first glimmer of displeasure along his brow, she'd cave in and do things his way if only to keep the peace. He'd been right about her in that regard. She would obey out of habit and stay silent from habit as well.

Going to the chest by the door, she opened it and dug deep among the clothes, drawing out one embroidered scarf. She ran a finger over the flowers and remembered Jocelyn laughing at how diligently Christiana had worked on the flowers. Hurry up, she'd said, or we'll be late to meet Will and Roland.

That meeting hadn't come about after all. Jocelyn had been summoned to her father right then and then it had been Christiana's lone task to run out into London to William Thatcher and tell of the news. During her frightening run to them, she'd thought that at least she and Roland could still be happy. Too bad she'd learned differently. She sat on the floor, skirts disrupting the rushes, and held the last scarf she'd worked on for Jocelyn. The flowers remained unfinished, the hem ragged, a reminder of what had been. Happy times deserted.

"So what do I do now," she whispered, the flimsy cloth spread over her lap. Jocelyn would have reacted vocally, but Christiana could not. She couldn't express the feelings inside her that turned and twisted in tumultuous waves. She was...silent. Adhemar had once called her a 'tactful maid' and she supposed it could be true.

She began to cry, once more opening the floodgates of emotion.

Her fascination with Count Adhemar had been a diversion, lifting her at first from the despair of the loss of Roland's affections. However, the diversion took on a life of it's own and now she was back where she'd begun, her thoughts moving in circles as the hours and days passed.

She ended up in the nursery five days after his announcement, holding the child close to her breast and staring out the window. Periodically, tears would trek down her cheeks and she'd let them. It was better to let all her emotion out than to hold it in and have it pried from her. She'd let herself feel until it all dried up and she could be calm once more. Then, she'd put aside childish things and go to him as he wanted, as was expected.

Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to be a man in this world. Men had the privileges and women had to take what they were given, like scraps tossed to a yapping dog to keep it quiet. Sighing, she sat in the nearby chair, crossing her legs and carefully adjusting her skirts so as not to wake the slumbering baby.

She'd almost accepted that she was marrying Adhemar, that she'd not fallen asleep and dreamed. The only difference in it was the man himself. She had to accept that he wasn't what she'd fantasized him to be. Oh, she knew it, but accepting was still another thing entirely.

Millicent, the wet nurse, came into the room and Christiana gave up Christopher to her, then began the short walk to the master's chambers, where she knew Adhemar was waiting. She'd heard him not too long before talking to Germaine, making plans for the wedding.

As though she wasn't even there.

Perhaps she wasn't there in his mind. Perhaps the fact that she'd spent five days avoiding him had made him treat her as though she was not present in the manor and she'd only arrive in his sight when she went to him in accepting and gracious manner. Well, she'd be accepting, but nowhere did it say she had to be gracious.

The door was open and he was plucking strings on a lute, fingers moving idly in a melody she recalled Jocelyn's grandmother saying had been popular in her time. She'd learned he favored slow tunes featuring only one instrument, usually a lute or flute. Faster tempos and several instruments seemed to give him a headache. Incomprehensible noise, he'd called it. Jocelyn had delighted in bringing in musicians to play, exhorting them to play faster and louder while he'd sat in his chair looking ill.

As she stepped into the room, he stopped playing, the lute across his lap, a nod of his head dismissing the man with him. Christiana took another step into the room and shut the door, leaning against it, her hands flat behind her on the panel. It was as far as she could make herself go.

He watched her for a long moment, then set the lute aside, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "I take it by ensuring privacy between us, you're consenting to the marriage?"

"Where was I given a choice?"

A nod of his head in acknowledgement of that. "You weren't, not really."

"Then does it matter if I consent or not?"

Adhemar sat back in his chair, resting his chin on his palm. "Yes, it does matter."

Surprisingly, his answer gave her the strength in her quivering legs to walk towards him. "How? How does it matter? I don't understand."

Stretching a leg out, he nudged her towards the chair beside him with his foot. He didn't speak until she had sat. "It matters a great deal, Christiana. That you have decided to come to me shows me that you're willing to accept it and work towards a harmonious wedded life. If you'd not come, I'd be fairly certain you'd fight me every step of the way like Jocelyn and that an overly firm hand would be necessary. You should be happy you chose the option you did."

Happy? "You'll pardon me I hope, my lord, if I don't jump for joy." The words were out of her lips before she even realized she'd thought them.

"This time, I suppose I'll be lenient." He glanced askance at her, amusement thankfully on those features. "We get along, Christiana. That doesn't have to end." Reasonable words, a tactic she suspected, intended to lull her into complacency.

She nodded, then licked her lips. "Am I allowed to know any of the arrangements or what time I'll need to be dressed?"

"Of course. Look through Jocelyn's clothing, if you like, for a dress."

They were being so very civilized and she had the urge to laugh. "I'd rather not."

"Suit yourself. I don't care what you wear as long as it's not obviously a servant's garment." That glance roamed over her dress, lingering so long upon her bosom that she had to steel herself to keep from crossing her arms. "There is an attraction between us. Don't bother denying it. An attraction is a lovely bonus. My parents were content for years with not even that between them."

Christiana looked away. "I deny nothing."

"We'll see." The sound of the lute reached her ears and she turned her head to see him once more holding it and plucking strings. "Do you play?"

"No." She'd never learned the lute. That had been Jocelyn's instrument. The flute had been Christiana's. It seemed so much simpler to her.

Hazel eyes met hers squarely, a question in those depths. "Would you care to learn?"

The word 'no' sprung to her lips and she pushed it back. When he chose to be kind, it was best to fall into his mood. It made his other moods bearable, knowing he could be gentle if he chose. It was moods such as this that had fueled her imaginings. "Yes."

He stopped playing and stood, taking his chair over by the bench and motioning her to him. "Come. Sit on the bench."

As soon as she did, the instrument was placed in her lap and he sat in the chair behind her. His arms went around her, hands maneuvering hers into the correct position for holding the instrument. His breath was hot upon her neck, arms a solid embrace as he taught her about the instrument.

It seemed they'd only begun when Germaine knocked at the door. The relief upon his face as he noted her presence was nearly comical and he excused himself quickly, closing the panel behind him. The spell was broken. She maneuvered herself from Adhemar's arms and stood, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. He put the lute to one side, watching her in return.

"Germaine was the one following me, wasn't he?"

He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet on the bench and gave her a smirk. "Of course. Who else here would you trust?"

She took a few steps to the right, then the left and began to pace the floor, kicking up rushes as she did so. "I don't like being followed."

"And I don't like being surprised with a child not of my blood." His hands laced across his stomach and, while she should have been feeling more in control by standing, something in his pose reminded her of a king watching a peasant in a throne room. It was an uncomfortable sensation.

Turning, she spoke over her shoulder to him. "Perhaps Germaine is not an honorable guard --" His laugh was quick and genuine, hearty amusement in the sound.

"He's honorable, Christiana. His wife would castrate him if he played about. She's a jealous woman who adores having a husband in his position. So you see," there was the sound of wood scraping across the floor and then his hands were on her arms, roughly jerking her to face him. "You can't cast suspicion. I know for a fact that Germaine would not touch you and since he's watched you, I know you're untouched. Well...." A taunting light came into his eyes. "Untouched as far as my household goes. Somehow I doubt you kept yourself from your sweetheart in Thatcher's group since Jocelyn didn't see fit to guard her virtue. Birds of a feather."

It took her a second to realize what he meant by the remark. Birds of a feather.... He'd repeatedly called Jocelyn's meetings with Will her 'time of whoring about'. Therefore he meant.... Anger rushed forward within her and her hand raised to slap him. He didn't stop her, blinking for a few seconds after she'd lain her hand smartly across his cheek. Then, Adhemar grasped her face in his hands, eyes slightly narrowed.

"And there, sweet, is that temper I've wanted a glimpse of." His lips pressed to first one corner of her mouth, then the other. "More. Give me much, much more, hmmm?" Her jaw was explored with lips and hands, his fingers moving, sliding down her body, squeezing their way to her waist.

She yelped at the roughness of those touches, her own hands pushing at him. His chest was solid, unyielding against her palms. "Let me go." This embrace was much like the one in the valley save for one thing. In the valley he'd held an air of restraint about him, as though every movement he -- and she -- had made had been calculated. This embrace did not have that. It was unstructured and raw with desire, the concentration of passion nearly overpowering.

Teeth nipped the skin along her jaw. Not enough to hurt, but to startle. "Make me."

Christiana's eyes went wide. This wasn't a provocation. He really wanted her to react. He wanted her to fight him. It was at that moment that reality took a sharp turn.

His breaths were quick, as though he'd been running and Christiana twisted from him, uncaring that his grip to keep hold of her caused bruises. She simply wanted away from him. She needed time to think about what she'd just learned and if she remained in this room, she knew for a certainty that their encounter would progress quickly into an intimacy she wasn't prepared for. Her shin banged painfully against the bench and twice she nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to be away from him.

It wasn't until she was in the great hall surrounded by people that she could draw a breath without her lips trembling. Germaine had been right, it seemed. Adhemar did feel intensely. However, how messed up was it that her struggle, mild as it had been, had excited him? She didn't think that was normal, though her romantic experience with men was limited largely to Roland and Adhemar and those two were far different from one another. It could very well be normal and she simply wasn't aware of it.

Unfortunately, she'd no one to ask. She'd have to muddle through this all by herself.

~~~~~~~~~~

His hands were shaking like those of a stripling lad before his first encounter with a woman. Adhemar concentrated on breathing, on calming down. That glimpse of her temper had warmed him far quicker than any of Jocelyn's fits of temper had. Why? What was it about Christiana's fit that had roused him to such a degree and so quickly?

The fact that she strives to be even tempered, he thought. That's what it is. Christiana is a woman of even temper. She radiates calm from her body even as the world around her is in tatters and to see that tight reign upon her anger released is to see the magnificence that belongs only to a goddess.

A shaky laugh left him and he sank into the nearest chair. She wasn't the meek little thing he'd anticipated. Really, he'd not expected his goading words to elicit any response from her whatsoever, so her slap was incredibly unexpected and frankly enjoyable for it. He'd predicted her reaction to his news of their marriage, right down to her hunt for money to leave and the chat with Germaine, but the slap she'd turned his cheek with had not been expected. He couldn't predict her every movement as he'd thought, causing him to look at her a bit closer.

She wanted romance and a gentle passion -- longings written down by her own hand --, but she was a woman, so did she really know what she wanted? Not likely. Women never knew what they wanted. It was up to the man to tell them, to guide them in their desires. He'd have to do that; show her what she truly wanted deep down.

Adhemar watched a maid come into the room and begin straightening.

How would she react when he saw her next? He found himself imagining all sorts of possibilities. Would she keep her eyes lowered in embarrassment, or would there be some remnant of that ire in those depths? Perhaps something in-between those two?

He'd have to wait and see. With a shrug of his shoulders, he got up and went in search of his steward, putting all thought of Christiana from his mind.