Wooing Kate

Chapter: Thirteen

Notes: Taking license with history on one Chaucer related detail. I sincerely hope he isn't spinning in his grave.

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Lady Elizabeth was happy to be home again and even happier her husband was not there. She'd spent a lovely three months visiting her sister Fleur and the new baby and had been dreading returning to Vachel. Vachel took every chance to remind her that she'd not been a dutiful wife and born him an heir yet. Privately, she hoped there never was an heir and that he'd get himself killed fighting for her brother in that army Alain led. With her luck though, Alain would wed her to another loathsome specimen of manhood for the sole purpose of expanding the family influence and coffers.

Brother dear, she thought. It served him right to be snubbed by a woman so soon after the Lady Jocelyn affair, by a peasant woman at that. She imagined the fact was shredding his gut right now. The thought made her happy in a strange way. He'd be wondering how the woman could resist him, big strong powerful man he was.

She snorted, crossing her arms and watching the surgeon set the man Roland's leg. Alain Adhemar had to be one of the most infuriating, selfish men Elizabeth had ever known and her family was full of selfish, infuriating men. Every one of her brothers had those qualities, but Alain was just a bit more insufferable than the rest, being the oldest and all.

You will marry Vachel, he'd told her. Why? Because I told you to. Yes, Alain had arranged the match and she hated him for it; hated him nearly as much as she hated Vachel. Why he had to choose Vachel out of all the men that had asked about her, she didn't know. Was it because Vachel was a staunch supporter of his? Likely. Alain always did like to have men around him who agreed with him without question. It was a fault of his and he'd be paying for it some day. She foresaw Alain coming across a situation where his supporters couldn't help him and he had to reach out to the least likely person for aid.

With a touch of malice, she hoped that person was her and that she could deny him aid with relish.

Still, she couldn't find it within her heart to hate him completely. He was her brother after all. He'd hugged her when she'd fallen as a child and kissed her forehead and said all sorts of comforting things. Elizabeth winced at the crack of Roland's bones sliding into place. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the setting of bones.

Germaine's tale had been fairly bare and she hoped the woman Christiana would wake soon. She had a feeling the maid would be able to flesh out the tale better and give her details. Elizabeth wanted details. She wanted to hear how this peasant woman Kate had taken Alain on a wild chase. It was wonderful to hear of a spirited woman who didn't want him, unlike the recent and most wretched, Helene.

There was a horrible creature if ever there was one. Of course, Fleur liked her. Fleur, she thought, didn't have the sense God gave an ant. She trusted and liked just about anyone who had a kind word to say to her and Helene was most flattering to those she thought would bring her closer to the goal of winning Alain Adhemar for her own. It seemed to escape Helen's notice that Alain couldn't marry a merchant's daughter, not unless the merchant was fairly wealthy, which Helen's father most certainly was not. Alain had to marry a noble woman, if he married at all.

Her lips turned up a bit with a cynical smile. He could always claim one of his illegitimate children as his heir and have that be perfectly legal if he went through the proper channels. Not that his women had given birth to anything but girls. Elizabeth pursed her lips.

Be nice and be fair. He only has three girls and they're being well taken care of. In all fairness, he had seen to that. He seemed to have little use for their mothers anymore, but the children were looked after. Alain was not shirking his responsibilities there. All three girls were being well fed and dressed and cared for as though they were legitimate. Alain had hired a nurse specifically for that task.

Roland groaned, the surgeon wrapping the leg with strips of linen. The break had been bad and it would be a miracle in her opinion if the man was able to walk without a limp once the bones healed. Elizabeth glanced at Germaine. He'd been silent since arriving at the small manor house, following her as though he'd now become her personal servant.

As much as she hated to admit it, she liked Germaine and always had. It was only his unquestioning obedience to Alain that had caused any animosity between them. Germaine had helped Alain carry her bodily out to travel to her wedding. He'd sat with her and explained in a low voice how her brother only wanted what was best for her. While Alain had laughed and joked with Vachel, Germaine had talked with her, attempted to ease her distress at the match.

And now Germaine was here with her. He'd disobeyed a direct order and run away from Alain with the peasant woman in tow. The situation was not quite as humorous as she'd have thought. Alain wouldn't be kind were he to find Germaine, not now. In a few long months perhaps, but not now. "You're lucky Vachel isn't here, Germaine."

He looked up at her, nodding. "I know, my lady."

"Vachel would send a letter to Alain straight away. However," She stepped around the bed to him, ignoring the physician who still worked. "Vachel is not here and won't be for a long while. My dear brother sent him to Italy of all places." Elizabeth crossed her arms, considered him a moment. "But you know that, don't you? You've always known most of my brother's plans."

Germaine nodded again. He seemed uncertain and she really couldn't blame him. He probably thought that any wrong word and she'd have him sent back to Alain. Elizabeth couldn't tell him outright that she wouldn't do that, not with the physician still in the room. Perhaps later, she'd reassure him she was wholly sympathetic to his plight. She knew Alain was not an easy man to work for. "My lady, about Christiana --"

The physician cleared his throat. "He'll heal. Let him rest." The old man said nothing more and Germaine and Elizabeth watched him leave the room.

"I'll be speaking with Christiana when she wakes. I assume you'll still wish to rescue this 'Kate'?"

"Yes. I feel guilty enough for leaving her in that clearing, but to leave her in his home without any attempt at all..." He trailed off, his gaze meeting hers, begging for understanding.

She did understand. Elizabeth could understand completely. It must be nice, she thought, to be the sort of woman who has friends who care what happens to you; friends that are willing to mount a rescue party to save you. She'd never had such friends. Her friends had been her sisters and her maid Alice. None of her family would think of rescuing her from Vachel since she'd been given to him by law in accordance to Alain's position in the family, and Alice had come here with her.

This Kate must be extraordinary, she decided. "I may be able to aid all of you. I don't speak to Alain if I can help it, but mother is in need of a companion. She's been ill, you know. Christiana may be perfect for that position, but I won't know until I speak with her."

He glanced at Roland, then shrugged and looked at her. "My lady....I didn't agree with my lord's decision in wedding you to that man. It wasn't my place to speak up though. If I could have, I would have. You do understand that?"

Elizabeth gave him a hard stare and did not reply.

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"Leave."

The venomously flung word made Kate heave a long sigh, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose. Did this woman not grasp that she'd leave if she could? For ten minutes, Kate had been trying to explain to her that she was a prisoner, but the woman was as dense as they came. She was developing a headache to rival all headaches and if this kept up, she'd be in bed with the covers pulled over her head within an hour, praying for relief.

"I've told you," she began, struggling to maintain a patient air, "I can't leave because your lord is holding me prisoner."

The words sounded a bit ridiculous when he wasn't physically holding on to her and no guard was hovering over her, but Kate said them once more, unsurprised when Helene sniffed and dumped half the contents of a perfume vial into the bath she'd had prepared. The cloying violet scent that wafted upward in the steam was sickening enough to make Kate's stomach rebel. She couldn't imagine getting in the water. On the upside however, Adhemar likely wouldn't enjoy her smelling so sickeningly sweet, as he'd mentioned before her 'light lavender fragrance'. There was no way he could mistake violet for lavender.

"My lord," Helene replied, "Has no need to keep unwilling women in his household. Don't deny that you want him. What woman wouldn't?"

Kate seriously considered smacking the woman upside the head just on the off chance it would smack some sense into her, but she refrained, her palms itching to slap. She couldn't deny wanting Count Adhemar. She could deny she was willing. She was only half-willing really, if truth be told. But that was still half-unwilling, so it wasn't a lie. "This one. This woman doesn't want him and would give anything to be free of him."

Helene's eyes narrowed. "You lie. I see it in your eyes. You want him."

Suddenly, Kate had had enough. She wanted a bath and a change of clothes, even if the change of clothes was something Adhemar found, heaven forbid, provocative. "Fine. Have it your way. I want him. I need him. Now can I have a bathe in peace?"

The woman flinched as though struck. "I will make this difficult for you. You won't get rid of me easily. I know what my lord likes. I can give him what he needs and you won't last long." Still, the woman didn't leave, going to the bed and lifting the clothes she'd had brought. The shift was so sheer as to be almost non-existent and the surcoat and dress were obviously going to be too big on her. Kate didn't care at this point. They were clothes and they were cleaner than what she was wearing.

Quickly, she undressed and stepped into the water. "So, what would you have done if he'd come back with a wife?"

Helene turned her head, her lips turned up in a tiny sly grin. "Pushed her down the stairs. Poisoned her. Been rid of her. She wouldn't have lasted long either."

Kate shook her head. How could that man stand such attention? Surely he'd noticed how unbalanced this woman was. "And why would those be acceptable actions?"

Helene came to her, crouched down so they were eye to eye. "Haven't you ever loved a man so much that you'd be willing to do anything for him? I pity you if you haven't. I adore Alain more than anything." With that, she left.

Kate didn't know if she was disappointed or not that the woman failed to try to drown her in the water.

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The wedding of Sir Will and Lady Jocelyn nearly a month later was simpler than Jocelyn truly would have liked, just vows spoken together before the priest. There was no dower given, as Will couldn't afford such at present with little in the way of materialistic wealth. That didn't bother Jocelyn. What bothered her was her dowry, the money and land given to Will. It was diminished somewhat from it's original sum and, by the smug look on her stepmother's face, Jocelyn knew exactly what had happened.

That opportunistic, scheming witch had convinced Jocelyn's father that Will was young and strong and so in favor with Prince Edward, that he'd likely have too much wealth to even count before long. Why, he'd done so well at tournament! Jocelyn had bitten her lip to keep from making caustic retort about other people, namely Blanche, who did well at tournament. She doubted Blanche would appreciate the reference to her activities. While Jocelyn hated to see her father made a fool of by that woman, she wasn't about to be the one to inform him he was being cuckolded.

This turn annoyed her to no end. She'd calculated exactly how much of her dowry they were going to use for a decent house, clothes and the various things one needed to set up housekeeping. Now, the money had to go towards basic supplies such as food and clothing. She could do without new clothes, but Will needed a bit more than he had in his possession. It wasn't enough to have the title. He had to occasionally look the part and, with Roland gone, they'd have to pay for both cloth and labor to have clothes made instead of just cloth. They were going to have to find some way to turn the tide of their fortunes quickly, or the dowry would be all gone and nothing to show for it.

Jocelyn had hoped to have a house of her own. It was an unbelievable pain to have to deal with Blanche on every little matter. Going to tournament had been a blessing, a chance to get away from the sickening sweet endearments the woman cooed at her father. Jocelyn glanced at Will.

The dowry hadn't bothered him at all. He'd seemed quite overwhelmed by the sum of it. She wondered how he would have reacted if Blanche hadn't managed to get the dowry cut in half. Would he have fainted from the shock?

He glanced at her, caught her gaze and grinned. She returned the grin, twining her fingers in with his. They shouldn't be holding hands like this in mass, but who was going to notice as long as it was discreet? For that matter, who was going to fault them? Newlyweds could get away with much that most people couldn't.

The mass went by torturously slow and Jocelyn had to nudge Will several times in an effort to make him stop fidgeting. He kept looking around when they were supposed to be praying, his gaze traveling the crowd. Finally, they were free, the throng of people spilling from the church out into the street.

"Mass has never been so long," he muttered.

"Or so boring," Jocelyn finished for him. He wasn't fond of the mass they went to, claiming in private that it was twice as long as the masses he'd attended as a peasant. She placed a fond hand on his chest, smoothing his tunic and smiling up at him. "You hide it remarkably well, no looking about for you, only solid concentration on the Word."

He gave her a good natured roll of his eyes. "How can you stand it? Mass seven days a week? Once is quite enough, thank you. Some of us have work to do every day and can't spend hours each morning in church."

Slipping her fingers up, she covered his lips. Mischief twinkled in the depths of his eyes. "Oh shush!"

He snatched her fingers away, after giving them a brief kiss. "I will not shush, Jocelyn. I --"

"Sir Thatcher!" A voice called from behind them. "Sir Thatcher!"

They turned to see a man making his way through the crowd towards them. His was slim, with sandy blond hair framing his face and a beard outlining the curve of his jaw. It took several seconds for Jocelyn to place him as one of the knights who'd been courteous and even friendly to Will during the tournaments. He nodded upon reaching them, giving a tiny bow.

"We need to talk, Sir Will. I believe we have the ability to help each other." With that cryptic remark, he waved one arm, indicating the tavern down the street. "Shall we adjourn for refreshments?"

Curious. Jocelyn shrugged. What else did they have to do that day? "I see no reason not to, I suppose," she told Will.

They went into the tavern and found a quiet corner. At this time of day, the room was still fairly quiet. The smell of food was on the air and the sound of instruments somewhere playing. The man didn't waste time with trivialities. He sank right in to the meat of the discussion without preamble.

"Upon receiving your letter, I realized I have quite a proposition to tender towards you. I will help you retrieve your 'Kate', but only if you help me to keep Adhemar alive."

Jocelyn and Will exchanged a glance and leaned closer to the man. It was a long while later before they parted company.

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The hour was lamentably late for one who was supposed to be up at the birdsong of dawn ready to travel for King and country, but what was Geoff doing? He was writing instead of sleeping. The muse had descended upon him in the most glorious of ideas just as his head had hit the pillow beside lovely Philippa's. She'd not asked where he was going, only smiled and told him not to stay awake too late or he'd be terribly grouchy in the morning.

He'd finished several pages of prose, a bit of it quite satisfactory to his critical half, and was taking a moment to re-gather his thoughts. This idea he'd had was brilliant! How many writers had an idea just half as brilliant as this one? Not many, in his opinion, though he was, of course, biased. The pages were simply the idea, the outline of the work and a way for him to remember the idea when he had considerably more time to spend with it.

He'd write a series of tales and put them together within the framework of another tale. He'd draw characters, obviously, from people he'd met in the course of his life. It was going to be exquisite when completed, a masterpiece of reflection upon the puzzle that was humanity.

"I'm a genius," he said to the empty room at large, tossing his quill aside. "I am true literary genius. There is none that compares to me...." He grinned, stretching his arms above his head and wincing at the pull of his back muscles. He'd spent too much time hunched over the table writing.

A knock at the door made him pause. He was the only one awake, so therefore was the only one to answer whoever was there. Geoff stood and strolled into the hallway, opening the door. Standing there was quite a familiar face. "Wat." He glanced behind the man. Wat was, it appeared, alone.

"Message from Lady Jocelyn to Lady Philippa. It's rather urgent, Geoff."

Geoff studied him for a second, then swept an arm towards the inside of the residence. "Please come in. I'll wake Philippa if it's so urgent."

Lady Jocelyn writing to Philippa? How deliciously intriguing! Geoff was looking forward to discovering the reason behind the correspondence and hurriedly woke his wife. She was gorgeous upon waking, her hair tousled about her bare shoulders in waves and her cheeks slightly flushed. She nodded at his mention of a visitor with a letter for her and slipped on her robes. Together, they descended to where Wat waited.

Philippa gave him a smile. "Wat, yes? You have a letter for me?"

Wat nodded. "My lady says she needs a reply tonight." He handed her the scrolled parchment.

Philippa took it and unrolled it. Geoff unashamedly read over her shoulder, his eyes widening as he did so. Will had been recruited into an army created solely to keep Count Adhemar's head from being separated from his body. Jocelyn's letter was brief on the details, but the general gist seemed to be that if Will would scratch Kit Guin's back, Kit would in turn scratch Will's and lend his forces towards rescuing Kate from the very man they were trying to prevent from being killed. Jocelyn though, had nowhere to go in the meantime, and didn't want to return to her father's house. With Will off at battle, she needed a friendly place to lay her head.

She hated to impose, but hoped that Geoffrey and Philippa would allow her to visit with them for several weeks, or until she could secure a place of residence suitable to her needs. She'd be happy to help with household expenses....

Philippa re-rolled the scroll and Geoff snatched it from her to finish reading. His wife had always been an annoyingly quick reader. "Tell Lady Jocelyn that we'll be pleased to have her with us, though I have duties during the day and she'll have to amuse herself. She may arrive as soon as is convenient for her. I'll have chambers readied."

With barely a word in Geoff's direction, Wat left. Geoff wondered if Wat was still angry with him. For that matter, was Lady Jocelyn? Not that it mattered. He was likely going to be gone before she arrived.

Suddenly, Geoff was nearly too tired to stay awake. Passing Philippa, who'd come awake in the instant of realizing she was having a houseguest and was calling out for the staff to attend her, Geoff went to bed and slept dreamless sleep until dawn.