Wooing Kate

Chapter: Twelve

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If an aching head could be an indication that one was most definitely alive, then Christiana was alive. She remained still, her eyes closed, attempting to recall what had happened. In slow degrees, the memories surfaced. There had been a storm, black rain clouds hurrying to cover the sky. Thunder had boomed, lighting playing about the clouds in a display that would have been beautiful if not for the danger of it. Rain had come down hard and furious, drenching them in seconds and raising the gentle creek beside the road into rampaging flood waters. Lightning had struck a tree, sending it crashing across the road. The horses had bolted and she'd been thrown from the wagon.

Christiana wondered if she really was alive. Her body ached, arcs of pain every time she attempted to move. What had happened to Roland and Germaine? She couldn't remember and that frightened her more than anything. The thought that she could be lying deeply injured in the middle of the road next to two dead men scared her. If it were so, there was no hope. Kate would not be rescued and Christiana would not be able to tell Roland that she still loved him.

With a hitching breath, she slipped once more into unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Germaine knelt and, with a gentle touch, laid Christiana's head in his lap, stroking her temples softly. Out of the three travelers, he was the only one uninjured. Roland was pinned under the wagon, one leg broken and twisted. Germaine had tried in vain to move the wagon, but his strength was, regrettably, not enough to budge it. The man had remained awake for a long while, gritting his teeth and calling out for updates on Christiana's condition until the pain became too much for him.

For moment, Germaine had been afraid the man had died. However, a glance showed Roland's chest still moving with breath. So, he'd turned to Christiana. Her only bad injury was a nasty cut on her brow. He'd done what he could for her and tried to make her comfortable. She'd woken briefly an hour earlier and he thanked God for that sign that she was living. He'd seen many people with bumps or cuts on the brow just slip away into death's arms without ever waking once. She'd woken, and to him, that meant there was hope.

Germaine had to have hope. Without it, he had nothing left. The horses were gone, even the one that pulled the wagon, run away in movements that were seamlessly choreographed, as though they lived in a play and it was simply time for the horses to go. He sighed, turning his tension filled face up towards to warm rays of the sun that broke through the clouds. There too is hope, he thought. The bright light after the storm.

He could not get the last moments out of his mind. He kept replaying them over and over. Roland had jumped down from his mount, reaching for Christiana, intending to help her from the wagon as it began sinking in the mud. Just as he caught her hand, the horses bolted, the wagon jerking, Christiana thrown to the ground and Roland unable to move as the heavy weight came down upon him. Germaine had also been thrown, his own mount coming close to trampling him before following the others in panicked flight.

Though he returned to the scene over and over, he couldn't find one thing he would have had a chance to do differently. Sometimes fate was cruel. For once in his life, Germaine didn't know what to do. There was no lord to tell him what to do, no one to give direction. Should he stay with the two or should he attempt to find help? Leaving didn't seem like the proper choice, but what could he do for them by staying that he'd not already done?

He cradled Christiana to him and began to pray silently for help.

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The manor was exactly what Kate had expected. Large and surrounded by a tall wall. Cottages dotted the land both inside and outside the wall. She was unsurprised still to find her expectations of their greeting party to be accurately fulfilled. Several guards, all rushing forward to greet their lord and escort them through the gates and into the courtyard, where a few ladies, girls and more guards waited. Kate assumed the ladies were either relatives or women his mother was instructing in the ways of the noble wife.

With a longer glance at the women, she decided they were most likely there because of his mother. Noble ladies sometimes tutored young women and girls in what a man expected from his wife. They learned sewing technique, how to run a large household and various other duties. The soft life, she thought. Noble women were little like peasant women in her opinion. A peasant woman had to do all those things and perform the duties of a servant for herself. She had to clean the home, to prepare the food, mend the clothes and do all the work that needed to be done in addition to whatever trade her husband worked or she worked if a widow.

The only instruction Kate had received growing up had been from her mother and her sisters and cousins and the rest of the women in the village. She'd learned everything she needed to learn and taken to the smith trade simply for the young man she'd been promised to. It hadn't been an interest of hers. Not at first. That came later, as she'd watched her future husband work, creating trinkets from metal in addition to his commissioned work. Kate had greatly anticipated the day she was to become a wife and longed to be a mother as well.

The first had come and passed and died a quick death before the second could come about. Sometimes she wondered why God had not let her have a child that looked like --

Raising a hand, she pressed her fingers across her eyes, attempting to hide the tears gathering there. It was not the time to cry; to become lost in memories, so she forced herself to pay attention.

No one gave her a second glance, giving her cause to wonder how often this arrogant man brought women to his home on the back of his horse. Probably makes a habit of it, she thought, crossing her arms and scuffing one foot along the ground. She wished she was a thousand miles away from him and his plans for her. Futile, futile hope. Her glance went to the heavens. She was beginning to think that God hated her.

Adhemar took her arm, but not roughly. His grip was gentle, guiding her from behind him so that she was put on display to those who stood there. "This is Kate," Adhemar said slowly, his hands gripping her shoulders, then tangling in her hair in a blatant, familiar sort of caress.

There was a flicker of wariness from face to face. Enlightenment dawned soon after, when Adhemar's fingertips slid along the side of her face. One by one, those present greeted her as though she was the highest of noble born ladies, something of an experience for Kate. The back of her hand was kissed, though her work-roughened hands must have told the men she was a peasant, and the women curtseyed.

Adhemar's arm settled heavily along her shoulders, his hand cupping her arm. Her glance was met with a smirk and a leering wink. "Shall we go in and meet my mother, Kate? She'll be waiting."

"My lord?" A young girl, no more than fourteen, Kate decided, took a cautious step forward.

"Yes?" He asked, turning his head to look at the girl.

"Lady Isobelle is not waiting in the Hall. She's in her bed. She's been told to rest." The girl glanced at Kate, then hurried on. "L-lady...Helene is in the Hall." She seemed almost afraid to mention this detail, stepping back by one tall guard.

Helene? Kate wondered who this 'Helene' was. She'd heard the name mentioned before, but not thought to ask. It hadn't seemed important at the time.

"Lady? Really?" There was something akin to pleasure in that second word, making it nearly a purr. "Well, Kate, let us meet Helene first."

She was pulled forward by his arm about her and when his long strides were too fast for her, he let his hold on her return to her arm. They went though the large door and into the great hall. It was like other great halls Kate had occasion to glimpse in her life, long and wide, with a fireplace taking up most of one wall. This was where the household took meals and where they relaxed in the evenings.

Waiting there was a tall blond woman. Kate studied her with a critical eye. The dress she wore was too sensational for her rather rounded figure. Only a woman as slim as the Lady Jocelyn would do it justice. Her face was long and Kate had the snickering thought that this woman's face greatly resembled the face of one of the horses that stood outside.

"My lord," the woman said in a low, throaty tone.

"Helene." Adhemar tugged on Kate's arm, moving her closer to the woman. "This is Kate."

Again, he made loving looking touches along her face and shoulders. As understanding became clear in this woman's eyes, Kate also realized what this display was about. Helene was his current mistress and Kate was to replace her. The insensitivity of his actions was astounding. To do this publicly was cruel and Kate felt a bit sorry for the poor woman. She couldn't imagine how it must feel to be cast aside like that, without an apparent second thought.

Helene quickly tried to cover her surprise and her anger, her expression settling into one of gentle displeasure rather than fury. "Where shall she be posted, my lord? The kitchens?" A disdainful gaze swept over Kate, noting the cut of her garments.

Adhemar, now alongside Kate, smiled thinly. "No posting, Helene. Kate is not here to work. See that a bath is prepared for her." A muscle in his jaw twitched, the body against Kate's side taut. He looked calm, but was not. Surprising.

"But --" One of Helene's jewelry ladened hands raised as though to stop him from speaking.

"A bath. Make certain she has one and a change of clothes as well." Adhemar stepped away from Kate's side, turning his head to look at her. "Make it something...provocative, hmm?"

Kate crossed her arms over her breast once more. It didn't deter his devouring stare, merely diverting his attention to the swell of her hips. How could he treat this Helene like that? Would he one day treat her as cruelly?

"Then, put her in the chamber across from mine. See that her every material wish is granted." The tip of his tongue slipped out, wetting his lips.

Salivating in anticipation, Kate thought. Disgusting. She was a lamb and he a wolf stalking her.

"But my lord!" Helene gasped again, finally retrieving Adhemar's attention from Kate, preening slightly as his perusal turned from Kate to her.

"You object to something, Helene?" His tone was mild, deceiving, Kate realized. He'd noticed the look Helene had favored upon her and correctly interpreted it as jealousy. He was going to milk that jealousy all he could. It amused him.

"That's the best of the extra chambers."

"Your point?"

"Well, she's obviously only a peasant. She should be with the other peasants."

He crossed his arms, forefinger and thumb stroking his chin. "Tell me, are you lady of this household?"

"No." A dull flush colored the woman's cheeks.

"No. Then, does your opinion matter in the slightest?" His brows raised and when she didn't reply, he continued. "It doesn't. I am lord and master here and if I say Kate will have that room, then she shall have it without question or argument from any. Is that understood?" He turned his back to Helene, returning to cup Kate's face in his palms.

"Yes, my lord," Helene answered. If Kate had thought Adhemar would bear any of the woman's hatred, she was mistaken, for the look of contempt was tossed only at Kate. The fury glimpsed moments before was rising within the woman, a mottling of her cheeks and a tight clenching of her hands.

"I'm to have my own room? And here I assumed you planned to keep me naked in your chamber, chained to the bed." Kate spoke softly, but still the words carried, sharp intakes of breath in their wake from those who were waiting for their orders.

His grin was a lazy one, thumbs sweeping her cheeks. "Don't tempt me."

"God forbid."

She was released, nudged towards the woman who stood seething with anger. "Go with Helene. Have a bath, change clothes. Relax."

The last thing Kate wanted to do was relax and with Helene, she knew she'd never be able to put her guard down once. With steps that were falsely confident, Kate followed Helene up the stairs. If it came to a physical fight, she at least knew how to fight dirty. That information was courtesy of Wat, brawling expert of their group. He'd been delighted to tell her all the ways to bring bodily harm to another person. He'd be delighted were he to know Kate was likely going to have to put his teachings to good use. In the near future, too, if Helene's glare was anything to go by.

Beautiful, Kate thought. Just beautiful.

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Germaine had never thought that seeing any of Count Adhemar's relatives would put him in a rapturous mood. However, the sight of Lady Elizabeth crouching over him was enough to bring tears of joy. The youngest of all the siblings, she had a less than charitable view of her brother for the simple fact that he'd wed her to a man she despised. The last words she'd spoken to Alain Adhemar had been very clearly, 'You unbelievable bastard,' to which her future husband had smacked her upside the head quite soundly.

"And where, little toad, is my darling brother?"

Germaine struggled to sit, Lady Elizabeth's hand pressing him back to the ground.

"Rest. The physician hasn't seen you yet."

"My lord is..." He faltered over the best words to use. "Hunting me, my lady."

Her expression changed, some of the suspicion melting away. "Hunting? Whatever did you do that would anger him with you so very much?"

Germaine gave the barest bones of the story, somehow not surprised when the woman smiled.

"Well, wouldn't it be perfectly suitable for his own family to hide his quarry?" The smile upon her face became devious. "Very suitable."

Yes, he'd never though he'd be happy at all at this point, to see one of Adhemar's relatives.