Turning of the Seasons
Chapter: Five

~~~~~~~~~~

She couldn't tell Will, Wat or Roland. It simply wasn't an option, not when they hadn't heard Edward's command for her to come to him. Crossing her arms, she chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated the barred door. Though it pained her to be inactive, she'd not bothered to go down to work today. The chance of running into Edward or one of those other men was too great and Kate was weary of fighting them all off. It seemed that she only had to turn around to be bumping into another man propositioning her.

Where had her sudden popularity come from? She wasn't a ravishing beauty and knew it. Was it only the reality of few women traveling with the army? She was one of the younger of the women and the harshness of life had yet to be apparent upon her face and figure. Could that be the reason they all panted after her of late?

She hated not working. It wasn't in her to be idle. A gasp exploded from her lips and she fought angrily against the rush of helplessness and fear that surged up inside her.

He had no right!

Kate was not a slave to be ordered about. Prince or no, he couldn't make her betray Will like that, and going to Edward would be a betrayal. Kate was a one-man woman. Never had she been unfaithful to any man. Doing so wasn't her way. And now Edward ordered her to go against her nature.

Her legs began to carry her back and forth across the room.

Leaving was the only option she had. Staying would cause problems to escalate and telling Will and the others this latest would cause division among them. Irrational thoughts began circling in her mind, alarming things that brought her fears closer to the surface. What if they thought she was jealous? Or even that she lied?

There was a bang on the door, Kate swallowing a yelp as it was followed by two more and then the muffled sounds of Wat's cursing. Crossing to the door, she lifted off the heavy bar, stumbling backwards and falling to the floor when the panel flew open. Wat managed -- barely -- to stay on his feet.

Arms out for balance, he looked about with wide eyes. "What's happened? What's wrong?" At her silence, he came to her. "Kate?" Crouching down, he touched his fingertips gently to her cheek, then held them up. "You're crying."

Strange how she'd not realized that fact. Kate got to her feet, wiping her cheeks and sniffling. "I'm fine. Nothing's happened."

Wat gazed up at her, not moving from the position. "Which one of them needs pain and lots of it?"

With a sigh, Kate turned away. "None. Nothing happened, I told you."

"You don't bar the door for nothing." Emotion, strong and forceful, carried along the backs of his words. "Not you."

"I.... I fell asleep and had a nightmare. It lingered upon waking. That's all." Pretending her lie to be truth, she continued. "You came looking for me?"

Wat came around her, gave her a sidelong glance as he picked up her comb and turned it this way and that in his slender fingered hands. "You weren't working. I...Will worried you were ill."

She took the comb from him. "And you? What did you think?"

He took a deep breath and plunged on. "I thought one of those guards in the hallway got ideas. I don't like being dismissed as your guard, Kate. I think Roland and I did well protecting you."

"So," she interrupted him. Her thoughts on the guards were much like his, only she knew the real reason Edward had sent Wat and Roland elsewhere. One of them would insist on being with her should Edward ever come wanting to see her privately. They'd claim it was for propriety's sake and right now, that would irritate the Prince. "You came to rescue me?"

Wat ducked his head, his skin taking on a reddish hue. "I care for you Kate," he said in a quiet voice that wrapped a gentle dignity about the words. "I have for awhile, but I've accepted you don't feel the same for me as I do you. I've accepted that you're Will's. Mine or Will's, I'll still die if need be to protect you."

Kate's breath caught in her throat and it was a long moment before she could respond. "I pray to God it doesn't come to that."

He glanced up, lips curving in that mischievous familiar grin. "Me too. I'm rather attached to living."

The light tension surrounding them broke as a giggle built up in Kate's chest. She loosed it gladly, wiping away the last of her tears and giving a smile in return. "Well then, I don't want any of you to worry. I'll come down with you."

He gave her his arm and they left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gown and surcoat Christiana finally settled on were both a rich burgundy shade and had been Jocelyn's, though her lady had never once had a chance to wear either. Christiana went through Jocelyn's clothing, reluctantly seeing the need in doing so. Her future husband didn't seem interested in having her clothed properly for the station she was entering, so taking clothes that had been Jocelyn's and refitting them for her own frame was the best choice.

She tried each piece on, keeping a close ear out for any footsteps down the hallway, not wanting to be caught half naked by Count Adhemar, even if she was marrying him tomorrow.

The surcoats, it turned out, were not a problem. She liked most of them and they could be tied loosely. It was the gowns that gave her trouble. Her bosom was slightly more generous than Jocelyn's had been, very few of the gowns fitting her correctly. Most were too tight and pulled uncomfortably. Some of the sleeves were also restricting and Christiana knew she'd quickly split the seams on some of them if she tried to wear them. Wouldn't that be lovely? Then she could hear caustic remarks from Adhemar on it.

No thank you, she decided, smoothing the burgundy surcoat with one hand. This dress had been commissioned when Jocelyn first realized she was pregnant, but she'd quickly surpassed the measurements in the bust and put it away for after the birth. Christiana didn't feel as strange about taking the outfit as she did with some of the others and she became engrossed in her task, forgetting to listen for sounds of approach.

All in all, she managed to find two gowns to fit and nine surcoats of various fabrics. Luck was with her, for the other gown that fit was in a cream shade that would go well with the surcoats. She had clothes in her own trunk that would mix decently and with the proper choices in caps, jewels and scarves, no one would be able to tell she'd been a maid. Then, after some time had passed, she'd approach Adhemar about clothes. He'd not balked on having clothes for Jocelyn made. Of course, Jocelyn had taken his offering as a gift and refused it.

Christiana remembered that meeting clearly.

She'd been straightening the master's chambers, trying to keep an eye on Jocelyn, who'd been complaining about pains in her lower back. Adhemar had come in and told Jocelyn that he'd brought a woman in to measure her for clothes. Jocelyn had eased up into a sitting position, shoving pillows behind her back and asked him why he'd bothered doing so. Was she a disappointment for him in her dress? Too bad. There was no way she'd let him buy her clothes.

His lips had tightened and eyes narrowed, yet he'd only inclined his head before leaving.

She could imagine how he must have felt to find out that Jocelyn had then bartered some of the household goods she'd brought with her to pay for clothes. A slap in the face and intended as such. Christiana couldn't fault Jocelyn for being upset to begin with, but it had been carried way too far, until each day became a battle of wills between the two. It amazed her that Adhemar had kept a reign on his legendary temper.

The surcoat was untied and slipped off, Christiana stretching her arms above her head and turning first to one side and then the other, trying to ease away the tension that was gathering in her neck and shoulders.

She was startled by a voice behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~

How long did he stand there watching her, silent as she slipped on clothes and pulled them off? The sight was hypnotic, slender limbs moving in fluid motion. Adhemar crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, pleased he'd managed to come upon her silently. He had the feeling she was going to be cautious in what she let him see over the next few weeks, even months, so this glimpse was an unexpected treat. He was able to look his fill and wonder how she'd react upon seeing him when he did make his presence known.

He craved more fire from her and would take every opportunity to bring that about.

"The color suits you," he remarked, smiling a little when she whirled with a gasp and quickly crossed her arms. The neckline of the gown was a bit lower than she usually wore, nothing sensational or inappropriate really, simply something she was unused to. Of course, if he had his way, necklines would be far lower as a fashion. Unfortunately, no one asked him what he thought on the matter.

Clothes were strewn about every surface of the room. Immediately, Christiana began straightening, her voice hesitant. "You said I could look through Jocelyn's clothing."

"I remember. I trust you found some of them acceptable?" The color really did suit her, complementing her coloring better than the blue she usually wore.

In the act of placing several gowns in the trunk, she glanced at him. "Yes. Some fit me or need little alteration."

Standing tall, he strode to her and crouched down. "Do you want new clothes, Christiana?" She looked startled and inclined to lie, though the desire was there in her eyes, that hint of longing at the very mention. "You may commission up to four dresses, one for each season to complement what you have currently and...." He pretended to consider the matter, although he'd already decided what she needed. The expense of such a wardrobe didn't phase him in the slightest. He'd known he'd have to pay for proper clothing for her eventually, so why not begin with the best? "Shall we say eight surcoats, plus shoes and a few caps?"

Her lips parted, eyes going wide. "I...I don't know what to say."

"A reply to the question perhaps? Do you want them?"

The lid of the trunk was lowered, her teeth dragging along her lower lip. "Yes." A frown creased her brow and he thought she was going to say something more. She didn't, standing instead and moving to gather the clothes she'd left out.

Adhemar followed her, standing deliberately too close beside her, enjoying how flustered the contact was making her. Every time she shifted away, he followed, playing the game. A flush darkened her cheek and when her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, he wanted to take her chin, turn her and kiss her soundly. He didn't however. There'd be plenty of time to kiss her later. "Leave them," he said, indicating the clothes.

When she shook her head, his own lips parted. Was that defiance? Just a smidgen, but definitely, intriguingly there.

He plopped down onto the clothes she was trying to gather up, impeding her progress. "Leave them."

Christiana tugged on one green surcoat that was firmly under his hip. "No." A quick glance at him, then back to the fabric, her hands grasping and heaving.

She nearly managed to pull the cloth away and he leaned further onto it. "Why not?"

"I don't want to." She paused, then added, "My lord." Planting her feet firmly, her lips set in a thin line, Christiana gave one last hearty tug. The surcoat slipped free and she stumbled back, surprise on her lovely features before she fell, head hitting the chair back. A curse escaped her, a mild one, but one nonetheless.

Adhemar got to his feet and moved to her, kneeling beside her, examining the spot carefully. In all honesty, he'd not expected her to be able to budge the surcoat. "Where," he enquired softly, "did you learn that language?" Jerking the cloth free from the table, heedless of the objects that tipped and crashed to the floor, he used the linen to wipe the tears from her face.

"Jocelyn's brothers. They never cared who was about." Wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks, she began to edge away from him. "It's your fault."

Hooking a hand about her arm, he kept her there. The cloth slipped to the floor. "My fault?"

"If you hadn't sat on them, I wouldn't have pulled."

"Oh. If you'd not refused to leave them, I wouldn't have sat on them. Now whose fault is it?"

"I hate you," she murmured, wincing and gingerly touching the spot on the back of her head.

Adhemar chuckled. "I highly doubt that. I think it's the pain talking." He released her arm, hand moving up to the area she still touched. He threaded his fingers through hers and thought how charmingly vulnerable she was at that moment.

Right then, she was more attractive than Jocelyn had ever been at any moment in their acquaintance.

~~~~~~~~~~

What had gotten into her recently? What had possessed her to be defiant? Christiana had no answer for an action that had led her to be injured. Granted, it wasn't a bad injury, only a bump on the head that would not stop hurting, but still. And what was he doing, sitting beside her as though he had every intention of staying there all day? His hand clasped hers in a firm grip, keeping her arm raised in an awkward position by her ear. She turned her head slightly, the scent of his specially made soap drifting to her. It was a woodsy scent, reminding her of dark, isolated clearings and fresh rain.

"Let go," she whispered, lips remaining parted after the words.

Adhemar leaned closer, head tilting a fraction to his left. In his eyes was a query, one he left unspoken.

Christiana gave her head a sharp turn to the right, hoping to deter him, but his left hand lifted, caressing her jaw and urging her to look back at him. She did, despite her best judgment.

His tongue snaked out to wet his lips and a pleasant tension coiled in her belly, bringing with it a flickering heat. So close were their faces that she could see his pulse tapping in the column of his throat, not slow and calm as she'd expected, but rather a wild racing, though his chest rose and fell evenly. Somehow, that indicator he was not as calm as he appeared reassured her.

"Why should I?" His question was as soft as her plea had been, a roughness underlying the words that sent pleasure skittering over her skin.

In her mind, the fantasy man she'd created in his image woke and smiled.

Christiana blinked, lips beginning to tremble for a wanting of either physical contact or release from his hold. They were paused in a delicious moment in time, the sounds of the household around them slightly muffled to her ears.

"B-because I ask it?" The statement came out a question, certainly not as she intended. She'd wanted to say it with a force that would have made Jocelyn proud of her, yet all she could muster was that weak tone.

Adhemar leaned a fraction closer, his breath now upon her skin. The wait for whatever his action would be was sweet torture. In her mind, she pictured the next step and so forth, until she could take it no more. He was deliberately taking his time, a contradiction of both the day in the valley and the day before in that very chamber.

Kiss him or pull away, her mind yelled out, but don't just sit there waiting! Take action!

"I won't let you go," he said in a voice loud and arrogant.

Waiting was no longer an option.

His lips were upon hers and Christiana didn't flinch back. She met him this time, her left hand working it's way to his back and resting there. She half held him to her, caught in the whirling of desire. There was not a sane thought left in her mind.

One kiss slid into two, then three, each one adding to the passion, becoming more frantic with needs formerly suppressed. Christiana's hands found their way up into his thick hair. When she yanked back to take a couple gasping breathes, they'd managed to crawl to the bedside. He took advantage of the moment. His arms went around her hips and heaved her upward as he pushed to his feet. They landed in an ungraceful heap on the surcoats she'd left out. Christiana shoved at them, but their combined weight frustrated her efforts.

The hem of her dress was grasped and dragged upward, Adhemar tossing the dress away as soon as she was free of it. Christiana lay panting, her body unbelievably hot. She felt as though a fire had been lit inside of her and she was never going to be able to douse it. Arousal was a tightening need in her belly. All these months of wanting him, of dreaming about him, shoved aside any lingering seconds of caution. Christiana didn't think she had it in her to refuse now.

He removed his coat, then pulled off his shirt, an action that left his hair tousled in a delightful manner. Raising up onto her hands, Christiana pressed her lips to his chest. Adhemar paused in undoing his breeches, momentarily devoting his attention to the fragile fabric of her shift. Reaching between them, he grabbed the neckline and tugged. Old, worn fabric tore easily, freeing her breasts to his eager hands.

She was laid back, his lips treading a hot path down her body. Christiana arched her back. Her dream man merged slowly with the real man and she shook her head, fighting the crossing over of her worlds even as she let repressed passion guide her responses.

She was swept along on a current of frighteningly intense passion, as though he was barely holding in check an impulse to ravish her fully. His caresses were both rough and velvet, coaxing an eager response from her body. Christiana couldn't lie emotionless beside him. It wasn't in her nature to do so. She was a physically demonstrative person and his mouth and hands upon her flesh didn't touch just flesh, but also something deep inside her that craved physical touch from another.

His tongue flicked her nipples, swirled about them until they were tight, hard points before he continued down her body, stripping the torn shift from her.

Her eyes closed, cool air bathing her body, and he was back against her, his thighs parting hers. A gasp left her at the bold press of him inside her, her hands sliding over his ribs and back, enjoying the feel of the muscles moving beneath the skin. Their movements were a fluid dance of togetherness, bodies straining, racing towards completion.

Ecstasy hit her with all the force of a wave crashing over her. She was tumbled upon it and washed ashore to lie limp and sated beneath his heavy weight. His cry was loud in her ear, his lips traveling along her neck and shoulder. Christiana kept her eyes closed, her hands kneading the flesh along his ribs.

Reality rudely interrupted the tender moment with the sound of the door slamming and a voice shouting apology. Adhemar looked to the door and moved from her, one arm snagging the sheet half trapped beneath her body and working it free before tossing it up over her.

Voices came from the hallway outside the room, one entreating another to 'not open the door if they valued anything at all about their life'.

That caused Adhemar to chuckle as he slipped from the bed and to the washbasin in one corner. Quickly, he washed and dressed, not casting a single glance in her direction.

Christiana rolled onto her side, watching him. The pillow her head laid on carried his scent and she breathed deeply, smoothing her hand over the soft sheet he'd tossed over her. She was a wife a day early, the deed done a full day before the ceremony was scheduled. A sigh left her. Emotionally, she felt like she'd been whacked with a lance three or four times. She thought she should be more upset about this than she was. Truthfully, she was almost relieved to have this first time together finished.

Coming to the bedside, he crouched down. Satisfaction flickered in his eyes and bled outward onto his face and the lean, strong line of his body. One hand tangled in her hair, his lips turned up in the slightest of smirks. "So, Christiana, does the living man pale to those workings of your fertile imagination you scratched down onto paper?"

She jerked away, wincing when her hair caught in his ring. How like him to spoil loveliness with an inappropriate comment. It was more than tempting to give him the answer he didn't expect. Instead, she settled on no answer at all, the realization that he knew what was in her journal zinging through her. She jerked the sheet around her with agitated sniffs of displeasure, becoming genuinely speechless in her irritation with him.

His smirk widened into a grin, his laugh stretching her nerves taut. "I told you we get along."

When he was gone, Christiana turned her face into one pillow and screamed into it. Was nothing private in this house? "Lord, give me patience," she murmured, "or I may be tempted to slit his throat one of these days." Getting up from the bed, she washed and dressed, then gathered the clothes she could salvage and sought out a quiet corner to begin alterations.

~~~~~~~~~~

She didn't come down to the hall to eat. By that, he concluded she was still vexed with him. She'd taken quite an exception to his mention of her imagination. It didn't occur to him until after the meal that she hadn't known he knew about her inner longings.

Rather than send Germaine to find her, he set out looking for her himself. Perhaps he should make certain she'd not found some way to flee into the night without being detected by the guards. After searching all about the house and grounds, he found her sitting on the defensive wall. She didn't move away when he joined her. That was encouraging. At least she wasn't hurrying away from him.

"You've read my journal then?" Christiana stared at the courtyard below them. The light from the torches didn't quite give enough illumination to see her expression clearly, but by the sound of her voice, he rather thought it was one of those exasperated frowns.

Should he lie and deny it? No. There was no need. She had to have suspected by now. "Yes." Another man might feel some shame at having first commanded a servant to read her thoughts and report them to him and then reading them himself. He didn't. He'd needed to have the upper hand with her; to know just how to move with her.

"All of it?"

"Every word, save a few I could not make out. Your handwriting is illegible at times."

"You don't even try and deny it?" Incredulity dripped from the words.

"Why should I?" He shrugged.

"If I speak frankly, will I be punished for it?"

"No."

"I want a promise, for I know you keep those."

He cocked a brow at the slur in her words. "Fine. I promise you'll not be punished for speaking your mind. Go to it then."

Christiana shifted her position so that she was facing him. Shadows danced across her face with each sway of the torch flames under the breeze. "You had no right to read my thoughts."

"Germaine read them first."

A noise of protest from her lips and then she was standing. "I don't believe you, my lord. You've such absolute arrogance that you cannot even see your action was wrong. You rationalize it to be acceptable by first placing blame on Germaine when he had to be doing your orders to begin with. Those were my private thoughts. I don't read your journal."

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "With good reason," he drawled. "I don't write one. Silly women's habit in my opinion."

"My point is, that it should have been kept private. You know everything you read about me and I don't --"

She broke off abruptly, Adhemar glancing up at her. "You don't what? Finish your sentence girl. It's annoying when you don't complete it."

Christiana's legs seemed to give out beneath her and she settled on the walkway with a thump. "I don't know about you," she finished in a whisper so low that he had to strain to hear it.

A laugh escaped him. "What's to know, Christiana? I'm a man like any other. I was born, I live and someday I'll die."

"But who are you?"

"Not the man you dream of. That's a man I don't even recognize and one I could never be."

Her laugh was low and throaty and tinged with bitterness. "Do you think I don't know that? A fantasy is only a fantasy, a wondering of what might be and is never intended to be thought as real. I erred in getting caught up in my imaginings, but you should not have pried into my private thoughts behind my back. If you wish to know my thoughts, then ask me, my lord. Simply ask for them, but please, please, leave me the one privacy."

An impassioned plea and obviously a thing she cared greatly for. Ever mindful of her maid's true station, Jocelyn had indulged Christiana in the luxury of privacy, something Adhemar had never really had himself. There is little privacy available in a manor house filled to bursting with family and servants. Jocelyn had given Christiana the expensive gift of bound pages to write on and encouraged her written efforts. To keep writing knowing there was continued privacy would be a joyous thing to Christiana.

If ever he desired to give her a gift that would engender her undying thanks, then this was it. Waters could be smoothed between them with the simple gesture. It seemed strange to him that their afternoon together was not the thing that inspired outrage from her.

"You wouldn't share them if I did," he said, conscious of a petulance that crept into his words. The tone made him frown.

Christiana swung her legs over the edge of the walkway, skirts swishing with the movement. "You've never bothered asking, so how could you know if that is truth?"

Joining her, he grunted in acknowledgement of his inaction on that count. "I assumed, Christiana that you'd not be willing to share your secrets with me."

After a moment, her shoulder bumped against his, an almost playful gesture. "Thoughts and secrets are not always one and the same, my lord. I have no secrets."

"Oh really?" He turned his gaze up to the sky, contemplated the twinkling of the stars in the dark heavens. She had more secrets than she herself was even aware of. Everything about her was a secret from him, those age-old differences that made women alien from men and vice-versa. "Tell me why you left that man you thought you loved."

She was silent so long that he was tempted to make his request an order, when her voice came, hesitant and soft. "It wasn't I left him. He told me he'd found another woman who wasn't caught up in noblewoman's doings, one who could be there with him day by day. I'd just told them about...." Christiana trailed off, took in a sharp breath and continued. "I'd told them that Jocelyn was marrying you and when I said to him that I'd stay and we two could be happy...."

There came a choking cry and suddenly, Adhemar was transported back to the day Jocelyn had died and Christiana's anguished sobs had mingled with the cries of the baby. She was about to cry such a way now, he could hear it in the catching of her words, sense it in the shaking of her body beside his. His lips formed a curse word that he didn't give voice to. He'd no desire to hear more of her sobbing wails.

"He trod on my heart and then cut it to pieces."

In the dark, her hand covered his and it occurred to him that she was reaching out to him for some sort of comfort, some reassurance. The thought made him uncomfortable, yet he didn't move from her, not even when she succeeded in slipping her fingers about so that he was grasping her hand loosely.

"All I had left were my imaginings. They were a place where I could forget him and how much those words hurt me. I knew the image I created was not you and I never meant it to be you, not really, but rather an ideal of perfection that I so desperately wanted and had not found." She jerked her hand away, sniffling. "And now I've been too forward. I've told everything about me and still know naught of you. I should go."

Reaching out, he caught her hand before she could rise. "Stay." The torchlight which had kept him from clearly seeing her expression also kept his own confusion masked from her. She couldn't see that he didn't understand his own urge to keep her there right then. She couldn't know that her emotion had wrung an answering feeling from him, one he couldn't honestly identify. Adhemar gently directed her back beside him, releasing her hand in order to slip his arm about her slender shoulders in an anchoring weight.

"My lord --"

"There are so many stars in the sky, Christiana. Stay. Look at them with me. There's no need to go in so soon."

He expected an answer, some refusal from her lips. There was none. Gradually, she relaxed against him, the sobs she'd tried to stifle bursting forth, then fading away as they were purged from her.

And when that happened....

She also stared at the stars, a companionable silence between them.