Venus Revealed

Chapter: 4

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There was a warm body beside hers and a cold breeze along her naked back. Jocelyn struggled up to consciousness with as much difficulty as if she'd been drugged, her mind fuzzy, limbs uncooperative. For seconds, unable to reconcile the male presence beside her, she thought that perhaps Will was still alive and she'd had a little much to drink the night before. She could smell leather and soap and the scent beneath of a man; feel the heat of a male body and the firm muscles below the skin of the limbs twined with hers. Unmistakably male limbs. But then her ears tuned in on the outraged gasps and utterances from that cold place behind her.

Opening her eyes, she blinked several times, managing to focus her blurry gaze on Adhemar's face. She stared uncomprehendingly at him, noting his warning expression with a detached disinterest. His fingers gripped her chin, tilted her face a fraction, his lips touching hers with a hard quick brush.

Shaking her head to clear the fogginess away -- which didn't work --, she watched him slide from the warm covers and slip on his breeches. He was as naked as she was. What had happened? The last thing she could remember was lying back on the pillows and closing her eyes, Adhemar ensconced in the chair by the fire. Had he relented and she didn't remember?

Swallowing hard, she attempted to focus her sluggish attention to that harsh voice at her back. Thomas. Of course. Who else would be making such outraged noises as though Adhemar had defiled a virgin and not Thomas' widowed sister? Rolling onto her back, she clutched the sheet to her, one shaking hand pushing her hair from her face.

Thomas was nearly apoplectic in his fury, the words he hurled beginning to make sense to her befuddled mind. He wasn't angry with Adhemar. Oh no, he'd rightly assumed Jocelyn had come here with intent to seduce the man just to spite Thomas and make a fool out of him. He'd managed to grasp her intent with the sort of self-preservation conceited fools had in spades. Rude retorts leapt up from her mind, yet she could not get her tongue to toss them out. This was not normal for her. She never had trouble waking in the morning unless she'd taken a sleeping draught....

I am drugged, she thought. Adhemar drugged me. That utter bastard! It had to have been that wine, for she'd had nothing else. Slowly, she sat, her body trembling and shoulders bowed, fixing a jaundiced eye upon her brother as he hollered. His fury was amusing in a sort of gallows humor way. Hopefully, his heart would give out and he'd keel over, though she was sadly aware that this wasn't likely to happen. It never did. Unfortunately. God had yet to be so merciful.

"And here I'd thought that perhaps you'd gone out sulking when you didn't show up for mass. But no, you couldn't get here fast enough--"

"Jocelyn was most reluctant and rather angry I'd accepted your offer. An 'arrogant bastard' I believe she called me." Adhemar went around the end of the bed, bending to scoop up what looked like the dress Jocelyn had worn the day before. He held it up, considered it with a smirk and tossed it on the end of the bed. "She can be forceful in her words, I'm sure you're aware of that."

Spittle seemed to stick in her throat when she tried to swallow. 'Arrogant bastard' was a phrase that suited Adhemar rather fully, yet she didn't recall hurling that particular insult at him in recent time. And for that matter, how had her dress gotten here? Jocelyn licked her lips, returning her gaze to the two men. Her thoughts finally managed to get around the numb sensation, lighting upon what was actually happening. Adhemar was playing the game as only he could, being smug and hateful and...she really hated to admit it, brilliant. Thomas' stupidity didn't give him pause in the slightest.

Thomas' eyes narrowed, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. He didn't look as certain as he had a moment earlier. "Aye. She can be quite unfeminine in her speech at times."

"Yes." Now a lighter cloth was retrieved, held up and dropped back to the ground. "I may have played upon her grief for her dead husband and...persuaded her a bit."

Thomas, always quick on the uptake, stared at Adhemar with a confused expression until the meaning of his words sunk in. Jocelyn could almost hear him mentally repeating Adhemar's words, trying to make sense of what the man was saying. His mouth dropped open. "You seduced her? Not the other way around?"

"Anger doesn't last long against nature's helper. A drugged woman is a compliant one. She was very compliant after awhile. I let her yell and scream and rail, then gave her a drink and...violá. No protests." Adhemar gave an ugly sounding laugh, one filled with the smug satisfaction of a dark sort of beginning, intimating that it was unthinkable that he wouldn't drug her. Coming to the bedside, he stretched his hand out, touching her cheek with his fingertips.

Jocelyn obligingly jerked away, as she thought he'd want her to do for effect, drawing her knees up and huddling as though humiliated and frightened.

"You see?"

"I've been waiting years to see her mastered. How beautiful. I should have insisted on her being forced to marry you ten years ago." Thomas withdrew a roll of parchment from his jacket. "I do see. Let's finish the terms, Count Adhemar. She's yours." His enthusiasm and glee was sickening. Jocelyn managed, only barely, to keep from retching in disgust, her lip curling. She swallowed hard to keep the bile down.

Adhemar pulled on a shirt and the two men went to the table, speaking in low tones until Thomas finally stood, his smile triumphant. "Well sister, I'll leave you here, since you're well in hand already. Seeing you like this, I don't even mind returning those lands to your brat."

Though Jocelyn had strained to hear their haggling, she hadn't been able to make out anything specific. She supposed Adhemar would tell her once Thomas had left. She stared at her brother, giving him the best downtrodden and beaten look she could manage. It delighted Thomas to think that she'd been cowed.

"I'll allow Christiana and Miles to stay a few days while arrangements for the wedding are made." How generous, she thought. In moments he was gone and Jocelyn felt months of tension ease from her back and shoulders, knots slipping into nothingness. The weight of Thomas arranging her life to suit him dropped away. Out-maneuvered and he didn't even know it. She was victor. Well, with Adhemar's help.

Adhemar closed and barred the door. Early morning light filtered in through the window, the cries of vendors selling their wares beginning. The one thing she and Thomas had in common, save their parents, was their habit of going to the earliest mass in the mornings. She went to get it over with. Thomas' motive was unknown to her. "Would you like a bath, Jocelyn?" Adhemar ran a hand along his jaw where heavy stubble had darkened it. "I could arrange one to be brought in."

She shook her head, casting a longing eye towards the dress at the end of the bed. She had no wish to have him standing over her as she bathed. That would come soon enough. Her mind still gently whirled from the after effects of the drug and she knew the control she usually maintained over herself was hindered by the last of the drug in her body. She'd not be able to give any scathing retorts until she could think clearly, which would hopefully be soon. Staying this way before him too long in a waking state was not desirous at all. In fact, it was rather like being a tender lamb caught alone by a ravenous wolf. She needed her full wits to deal with him. Jocelyn licked her lips, willing the wool encasing her thoughts to clear away. The endeavor was unsuccessful, mind and tongue remaining stubbornly sluggish.

He brought the surcoat to her and went around the bed, taking up a knife to prepare to shave. "Suit yourself. My daughters will be wanting to come in soon though, so you should rise."

With a cautious glance at him to make sure he wasn't watching her, she slipped on the dress and surcoat that had appeared sometime during the hours she'd slept, keeping her back to her companion. She took her time dressing, pausing whenever the dizziness increased. He must have used a strong dose on her for the after effects to be so strong. A mix of emotions raged through her. Relief that this was over and Thomas had fallen for their deception. Anger that she'd been drugged. There was also a shyness present, for his actions showed her that she didn't know him at all.

She ran her hands through her long, tangled hair in lieu of a comb. Nicholas Adhemar had taken her plan to embarrass Thomas and kicked it up a notch, making it his own. With a few well-chosen words, he'd managed to convince Thomas that she'd been an unwilling bed partner, thus saving her from a beating. Her brother expected women to be easily seduced and helpless against a determined male. Adhemar had given him his expectation and, in the process, re-affirmed Thomas' remembrances of the Adhemar reputation of a decade past. Thomas wouldn't beat her for being a weak-willed woman, but he would beat her if he thought she'd been intentionally free with herself. The contradiction of that didn't seem to be apparent to him. It never seemed to occur to Thomas that he wasn't nearly as smart as he thought himself to be. He mistakenly thought himself some prize specimen of manhood.

Crouching down, she picked up the nightdress she'd worn, heaving a disappointed sigh. Adhemar had removed it from her sleeping body and rent the front to give the impression he'd ripped it from her. Too bad. She'd really liked the delicate nightdress. Christiana had put a lot of work into it.

"I'll have another made for you. A regrettable loss -- tearing a woman's clothes is much more inefficient than simply removing them -- but it was necessary. I assumed Thomas would require some sort of proof. Torn underclothes were sufficient." He wiped his face with a cloth and sauntered back to her, taking the gown and folding it before setting it on the table.

"You drugged me. Why?" A frown pulled her brows down.

He rolled his eyes. "Your acting skills aren't quite as good as you think they are. I assumed you wouldn't want Thomas to have any suspicions. Without the drug, you would have been tempted to verbally spar with him, thus destroying any headway I'd make in bargaining with him. Don't deny you would have."

"Oh." Her lips began to tremble, the emotions she'd managed to hold in check for hours washing over her. Jocelyn blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry, not to show how scared she really was. Not even when Will had been in the gaol had she been this frightened of the future. It was one thing to give in to her fears when alone and a whole other to let that crack widen enough for Adhemar to see her weakness. She was on the edge though, that damn drug hampering her control over her emotions. She couldn't think clear enough, fast enough to keep it all back and hidden.

Her face was cupped by his palms, turned to the right and the left. "You're convincing for the most part, I'll give you that. I lived with Rochelle though. You are a mere amateur in dramatics compared to her. It took me a long while to be able to tell when she was lying, so I know what to look for better than most men."

A tear trickled down her cheek, Adhemar wiping it away with a flick of his thumb.

"Don't cry Jocelyn. What reason have you to weep?"

"What reason have I to not," she countered, raising her gaze to meet his.

If she expected some sarcastic quip, she was to be disappointed. This man was different from the one she'd known. He'd grown and changed. He'd matured. "I'll give you several reasons. William Thatcher's son. Your health. Reprieve from your brother's malice. A friend who risked being caught and punished to bring your clothes here." He guided her to a chair, pulled her onto his knees and took up his brush, applying it to her hair with gentle strokes. He didn't yank or pull, slowly working the tangles from the raven tresses. "Yes, Christiana did that. She was here knocking right at dawn, your clothes in a bundle, asking for you. I let her in to reassure her you were alive and well, if sleeping the sleep of the drugged. She took one look at you and asked outright how I planned to deal with Thomas. I told her."

"She worries for me." Jocelyn clasped her hands together on her thighs. It was an odd feeling to have a man who was not Will brushing her hair. Nostalgia rose within her. She'd always loved having her hair brushed. As a small child her mother had sat brushing Jocelyn's hair for long minutes each night. As an adult, first Christiana, then Will had brushed her hair for her. Now Adhemar took up the task, making short work of snarls among the strands with the air of a man quite used to brushing a woman's hair.

"Obviously. It was actually her suggestion to rip the cloth. I'd only thought to remove it from you. She helped strategically place your clothing about the room." Setting the brush down, he placed his arms about her waist, resting his cheek against her shoulder. "She's loyal to you. I believe Christiana would walk through the fires in hell for you if you needed her to. She couldn't disguise her dislike for me and I didn't expect her to. She also didn't bother covering her surprise at my addition to your plan."

There was quiet between them. Christiana would have been surprised. The maid refused to forgive Adhemar for his sins in the past. She claimed him to be the most abhorrent of men. That he would help her lady to deceive Thomas would greatly astonish her.

Jocelyn could hear their breath, almost in sync. He kept her in his embrace, a touch she was finding was no different than when Will had held her that way. If she closed her eyes, she could become lost in memories. It felt good to be held again. She'd always liked the feel of a mans arms about her and these past months without a gentle embrace had left her feeling bereft of affection.

Biting her lip, Jocelyn debated on speaking She was hesitant to do so, to disrupt the calm that had settled over them. However, it was a good idea to know what had been agreed upon so she had no surprises later. "What now?" It wasn't what she'd intended to say, yet it reflected her thoughts perfectly.

Adhemar's arms tightened about her, anchoring her there. "You remain here with me. Your things will be brought over, along with the deeds Thomas appropriated from your son. Those will revert back to Miles and I'll assign an overseer to those lands to care for them until Miles is of age to run them himself. Those are his inheritance. He will not inherit much from me upon my eventual death. If you bear me a son, then he will inherit the lion's share." He paused. "Christiana and Miles will stay where they are until the end of the week, when you and I will be wed in the cathedral. Directly following the ceremony, we'll attend mass and those two will come here prepared to leave for my...our home in Anjou."

The cathedral. Jocelyn had fond memories of that place. She remembered Will riding a horse into the building after her. He'd enquired as to her name and been shooed out by the clergy there. How very ironic that she'd marry Adhemar in that place. "What of the tournament?" she enquired, glancing down at where his hands rested, one on her hip, the other on her thigh. He had capable hands, a steely strength in those long and slender digits. She didn't think she'd mind those hands on her flesh after all. "You're competing."

"I'd see you settled at home before returning to finish the circuit."

"I wish to stay and watch." She didn't really want to watch the tournament. No, it was a tiresome bore. What she wanted, was to watch the people enjoying the games, to maybe recapture the excitement with a new husband at her side. In a way, she wanted to reminisce the past. She wanted to return to a happier, more carefree time, though she knew it wasn't possible to do so. The pain of it would eclipse any of the pleasure and she'd be more miserable than she started out.

A chuckle left him, one of his hands sliding back and up to lift her hair over her right shoulder, exposing the slim column of her neck. "You'd watch the joust? Somehow, I doubt you'd enjoy it as you did before." He kissed the left side of her neck, a brief caress.

She wrenched herself forward and off his lap, turning to stare at him with arms crossed over her breasts. "What's that mean? 'You doubt I'd enjoy it as before?'" Some of the fuzziness about her mind started to lift.

A snort. He leaned back, casually splaying a leg out straight while the other remained bent, also crossing his arms. "It means that Thatcher isn't alive for you to watch, so I doubt that you'd find any true enjoyment in the joust."

Her eyes widened. She didn't say anything, however.

"It would pain you to stay," he clarified, "when you still mourn for him. You'd watch me joust and dredge up old hatreds. That's not a place we need to revisit, Jocelyn. Believe it or not, I would spare you any excess pain. It's bad enough I know you'll likely cry into your pillow every night missing him, I'd rather not have you return to hating me no matter how mercenary our bargain was."

Jocelyn swallowed hard. He knew she wanted the past. How? How did he know? Was she so transparent to this man that he could know her so quickly? He looked beyond what he saw to what was beneath. She wasn't certain she liked that ability. It had the potential to make her extremely vulnerable before him. Not an enviable position. "I'm not still grieving for Will." She laughed to show how ridiculous the notion was, but that laugh had a horrible hollow sound to it. "I have come out of mourning."

The sadness that had encased her since Will had succumbed to the fever Death had brought returned full force as she stood watching this man she was to marry. She'd managed to push it away for a few hours, but that anguish of her loss came back. It always came back no matter how strongly she decided to push it away. It made her cry at the strangest moments, sucking the joy out of life and keeping her on the edge of actually living her life in full. It wouldn't let go of her. Taking those steps back into life, those few tiny steps, were far more difficult than she dreamed they could be.

"I'm not mourning him. I'm not." Her voice was petulant, that of a spoiled child refusing to believe a truth that was blindingly obvious. Denial. She could keep denying and never completely accepting. The fairy tale dream didn't end. This was the dream. This was a wondering on her part.

No, it's not. It's reality and you damn well know it.

He leaned forward now, resting his forearms on his thighs and weaving his fingers together. "That's right, keep telling yourself that. Tell yourself long enough and you'll start to believe it. You can probably convince Christiana and perhaps even your son that you are done with grief. They are almost too close to you to see that you do still mourn. Friends often can't see what needs to be seen or say what needs to be said."

Jocelyn turned away. Why did he care anyway? She didn't have to love or care for this man to bear his children. She didn't even have to be happy. Jocelyn hugged herself, shoulders hunching. No, that wasn't right. She'd promised to show the world a happy face in regards to being his wife. It wasn't possible to do that day after day unless she could move into acceptance. She needed to accept the end of the old and the beginning of the new and it seemed she wasn't going to be able to do it by herself.

Another of Wat's favorite rude retorts hovered on her lips. Why couldn't life just be simple? She'd maneuvered herself just where she'd planned and now her own mind was tripping her up. Blast it all.

"I'm not your friend and I'm telling you to let him go to his grave. Tell me how many months William Thatcher has been buried." He spit out Will's name, not in a malicious way, but rather a deliberately hard and strangely understanding way. It was almost as though he understood what she needed. She didn't need to tell him to help her do this. Part of her was ready and willing and reaching out to him. Another part was shrinking back, refusing to take this last step.

Jocelyn flinched, gulping in a breath. She would hold herself together and tamp down that eager part of her that was being traitorous to Will. She would calmly turn back to Adhemar and give him the answer and not let him intrude upon the most private place inside her. He would not push her. She'd give him arrogance to match his own, refute his charge that she grieved. How could she still mourn? Her will was strong....Her Will. Oh William. One tear tread a silent course down her cheek, another close upon it's heels. No. I won't fall apart in front of Adhemar.

Those two parts inside her argued back and forth, both wanting their own way. Out with the old. Let the new come in. It's life.

"How many months," Adhemar repeated, the chair creaking as he stood and came to her, whirling her around with tight hands on her arms. "Tell me." He shook her.

"Almost twelve." She could barely get the whisper out.

"Nearly a year. Have you cried at all? Have you given more than these pretty token tears?"

"No. Not really. There was Miles to put a brave face for, and Roland, Wat and Kate. Christiana. Mostly Miles." It was the honest truth. She'd not let herself feel the entirety of her loss, though she'd spent months in mourning. Each day was survival, moving from one thing to the next, having no enjoyment of life. A sob escaped her and she choked it back.

He studied her face with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. What was he looking for, those hazel eyes staring probingly into hers? She turned her head, only to have him twist her until he could again look at her face. "You still think he's coming back." It wasn't a question. He stated what he saw reflected in her eyes.

She was thrust from him, her legs hitting the edge of the mattress. Jocelyn could say nothing. Deep down inside her, there had been a tiny spark of hope that she was dreaming; that Will hadn't died. Rationally, she knew it wasn't truth. She knew he was dead and rotting in a grave outside of London. A part of her didn't want to accept it. The two sides continued to argue within her mind. She collapsed onto the bed she'd only just left a little while earlier.

Adhemar went to the door and opened it. "Germaine!" He called out. Presumably, the man appeared, for she heard him give an order. "Send us some food. I'm going to be awhile here. I want you to take my daughters about the streets. Buy them a trinket or two and tell them I'll see them at the noon meal. Lady Jocelyn and I will inform them then of our upcoming wedding. Send for Christiana and Miles to join us at that time. Those two should be present as well."

"My lord?"

"Jocelyn and I still have a matter to discuss."

The gritted announcement didn't bode well in her mind. Why did he care?

~~~~~~~~~~

Of all the stubborn women Adhemar had been in contact with over the years, Lady Jocelyn was taking the honored place as the most tenacious. He believed she'd still be loudly proclaiming herself as being free of grief upon the day of judgment if he didn't shake her from it. A more persistent case of denial he'd not seen in years.

The last case had been when his sister-in-law Abigail had been widowed. She'd kept a place at the table for Henry, had his clothes laid out daily and even took to muttering out loud to him. Adhemar remembered his mother, a woman who'd had her share of grief in her lifetime with all the babies she'd lost and the two husbands she'd buried before marrying his father, slapping Abigail in exasperation at her behavior. She'd made Abigail face the loss by repeatedly telling her Henry wasn't coming back. Finally, the girl had realized it and gone on with her life, now happily remarried.

Drugging Jocelyn was turning out to be the wisest decision he'd made in a long time. He'd been almost dreading the process of dragging her from mourning, but here was his chance to make her face the loss. They'd both be much happier on Friday with the past firmly behind them. He didn't doubt his ability to be cruel enough to cause her to breakdown. She needed to cry and yell and scream at God and fate and, as he'd said, he wasn't her friend. She'd likely call him a horrid beast or some such name before he was through, perhaps another one of those lovely rude retorts she'd uttered earlier.

He could do this. If he could torture a man to death, as he'd done in the Free Companies several times, he could be utterly relentless in making Jocelyn face her loss. Adhemar figured he could have her torn apart emotionally and on the mend by mid-afternoon at the latest. He shut the door behind the men who'd brought their food and moved to look at what was on the trays. His stomach growled in appreciation for the tantalizing smells drifting up and he began filling a plate.

"What do you care?"

He glanced up. Jocelyn had perched herself on the edge of the bed, looking thoroughly miserable. "Come and eat." The plate was set on the opposite side of the table. "The food here is quite palatable." Adhemar set one of the two spoons provided beside the plate and held up his knife, giving her a considering stare before setting it with the spoon. "I suppose I'll trust you not to stick this in me."

"You're not listening to me."

"I hear you, Jocelyn. I simply don't choose to answer the question." His own plate was set across from hers and he moved her cloak off the chair before sitting. "Now come and eat. It's getting colder every second you sit over there." The plan was to feed her, give her the energy to move through this step and into acceptance. He took a few bites. The ham was good, if a bit salty, and the bread was fresh. "Well, if you don't want it," he started, reaching for the plate.

She was there in seconds, grabbing the edge to keep him from taking it.

"Oh, so you are hungry then?"

"You know I am." She began to eat, slowly at first, but with a growing enthusiasm. After the first few bites, she piled eggs, ham, and several slices of the different cheeses on the bread and ate it that way.

Adhemar couldn't suppress a smile. He only ate like that when traveling. Much of the meals could then be eaten while riding, taking little time at all. She caught his grin and frowned before taking a huge, almost defiant bite. "Eat how you wish in private. I don't particularly care if you sandwich all of your meals when we dine alone."

When they'd finished, he set the tray outside the door, closed and barred that door. Then, he turned to her. "Let's discuss grief, Jocelyn, and what it means to you right at this moment."

Resentment flickered in her eyes. Good. She was on her way.