Wooing Kate

Chapter 9

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He was driving her insane. She had to do something and do it soon. Kate's nerves were being stretched to the breaking point. Every time they stopped, he would watch her. Now, that in itself she expected. With what he wanted from her, it was not odd. What she hadn't expected however, was how close he wanted to be to observe her.

Did he not understand that she wasn't comfortable with him inches from her, or was that his plan? Make her uncomfortable, keep her off-kilter and swoop down on her when her mind was whirling? She gave him a suspicious glance out of the corner of her eye. He was, thankfully, not riding directly beside her, but rather across the road and occupied in conversation with one of his men.

She hated how he'd come up behind her and simply stand, body almost, yet not quite brushing hers. She could feel the heat of him, smell the scent of him, that combination of strong soap and leather. No, she had to take that back. Hate was the wrong word. She liked it and hated herself for liking it. Yes, much more accurate. Still, it was driving her crazy that he took every opportunity to be close, his gaze devouring her, a bit of choice food on his plate. He'd savor her like he had the strawberries.

The wicked thought was fast pushed away, but not before a flood of warmth washed over her skin.

Kate turned her thoughts elsewhere. She wondered how her friends were. Had Will met Jocelyn's family yet? Did they accept him? She rather thought they would. Having potential family with royal friends was not an every day occurrence for most people. Jocelyn made it seem commonplace, but Kate knew otherwise. Geoff had proclaimed Will exceptionally lucky and well-blessed by God above to have pulled off his stunt of impersonation to such an end.

Well, if we're being honest, Will, I'd expected you to rot in the stocks, Geoff had remarked once it was all over with. Nobles don't take kindly to being impersonated and your guardian angel has been working overtime whispering in Prince Edward's ear. Luck, my friend, is certainly yours.

She let a tiny smile tug at her lips. Goeff had likely taken his leave of them. He'd told Kate long ago that he was only taking a rest from reality as he knew it and would need to resume his life eventually, which meant leaving the friends he'd made. He hadn't appeared sad at that thought, especially, but who could tell with that man? He was in a different league than the rest of them. It wasn't something obvious in his clothes or his speech exactly, but in how he'd handled himself and maneuvered about within the tournament life. Kate privately suspected a more noble upbringing than Geoff had ever admitted. How else could he have been able to wed Phillipa, one of the Queen's Ladies? He'd never said any more than that he'd had the benefit of learning scholarly things, an attempt, in Kate's eyes, to make them feel as though they were all on equal footing, downplaying the education he had.

Geoff was good at that, making people feel as though they were all equals. He'd tease good-naturedly about stations and such, yet never in her presence, had he bragged about his life. Indeed, they hardly knew much about him. They'd had to walk in on him and his wife to even discover that he was married. Geoff was a mystery and Kate hoped that one day, she'd have the chance to learn a bit more about Geoffrey Chaucer, spinner of tales and compulsive gambler.

The way it looked now, she wasn't going to be discovering anything about anyone except Adhemar. Risking a glance to him, she found his stare directed her way and in moments, he'd brought his horse beside hers and she was stuck with his companionship.

"I'm not the monster you think me, Kate."

"No, you're worse," she retorted. His stare was brimming with incredulity. She wished men would quit looking at her like that. It made her think she wasn't speaking plainly enough. "Well you are," she added matter-of-factly.

He snorted. "Pray tell me, Mistress Kate, how I am worse."

"You run after a woman who clearly wants nothing to do with you and force her to go with you. That, Count Adhemar, is a monstrous thing to do."

A laugh, little more than a chuckle. "You behave as though you didn't knock me to the floor in your eagerness to have at me. Don't you remember? Surely you didn't think you were un-acquiescent? Why, I've never been near a woman so eager that she pushed me over before. We made a rather spectacular crash to the floor." He warmed to the subject. "Your hands all over me, your mouth greedy....I've always been the pursuer, but with you, Kate, once you were in my room, you took that pleasure from me."

She bit her lip, attempting, and utterly failing to return his glance in a cool fashion.

"Not that I minded. A forward woman is on occasion a beautiful conquest."

"Conquest?" The word came out as a squeak. She still only had the faintest of memories on that night, dream-like hints of what had occurred. She felt as though her memory was behind a locked door, waiting for the proper key to open it and bring it fully to her.

"A suitable word. Don't you like it?"

"Not particularly. Nobody conquers me."

His smile was sly. "We'll see about that."

Kate urged her mount to a faster pace, relieved when he didn't follow.

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She was so wonderfully under the illusion that she was independent. Adhemar watched her ride ahead. Most women he knew didn't consider themselves independent. They had a man or two or three to run their life for them. Kate was different in that respect, as if he'd needed more proof that she was different from other women.

How had she become that way? Not for the first time in the past couple days, Adhemar wondered on the sort of man Kate's husband had been. Was he the one who'd put those thoughts in her head and made her think she could live a woman alone in a man's world? Obviously, that hadn't worked out, since she'd traveled with Thatcher. He'd become her liege lord, so to speak, the one who directed her and gave her work. Thatcher hadn't been a true lord, but had acted as one to her.

Or had he? That band of men had held the oddest feeling of equality among them, as though they were all one station, one happy family regardless of where they really sat in the class levels. Even Jocelyn had seemed one of them, equal. An absurd thought, that a woman was equal to a man and could do man's work. Men ran the household, men went off to war and men were the head of the family. Woman was the helpmate, the one who gave birth and raised the children and kept the home fires burning when her lord and master was gone to war.

Like Helene. She knew her place. She didn't aspire to do man's things, like making a name for herself as a smithy. Helene was content in her role, knowing what a woman was meant to be for a man. Adhemar sighed. Not that Kate didn't know what to do with a man. Kate knew very well what to do and how to do it, in such a way that put Helene to shame.

He shifted in the saddle, lifting his gaze to visually caress Kate's slim back. In many ways, she put Helene to shame. In a fight, he'd bet on Kate. While Helene was taller, with a bit more weight to her, Kate was trim and fit from using those heavy tools of her trade. Kate would have no fear of appearing unfeminine by fighting dirty. The idea of her being cunning in that manner was a rather arousing one. She was a woman comfortable with herself, her reactions honest and uncontrived. This was a woman who said what she meant and had no fears of doing so. No games.

Well, except that one they two now played.

What would his mother make of her? Likely, she'd adore Kate because she wasn't Helene. His mother disliked Helene intensely, yet wouldn't outright say it, even when asked. She'd raise a brow and say, "Whatever makes you happy, Alain." It was frustrating at times to not be able to get a simple answer from that lady. Yes, she'd like Kate. His dainty, very much a lady mother, would be fascinated by her to no end.

He could almost picture the two of them together, two small beautiful women, for he thought his mother still a beauty, their heads bent together as Kate told Isobelle about herself and life as a farris. He could almost hear his mother's gentle laugh.

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She marveled at how well the machinery of his traveling household ran for his entire entourage to have caught up with them so quickly. Had he been planning to leave that day anyway and been partially packed? Or was it just that each person performed his job in a seamless fashion with the others?

Both most likely. His tents could be raised in near the blink of an eye she found, unlike Will's tents. She recalled the struggles. She and the others had a horrible time off and on with those old tents. The ropes broke, poles snapped and the fabric was always snagging on things. The men would be red-faced and panting, snapping at each other and tossing off frustrated curses, forgetting they had a woman in their midst.

Without fail, Geoff would make a sarcastic comment Wat would take offense to and the two would end up beating on each other while Will and Roland finished the job alone or with her help.

Here though, with Adhemar, it was different. He ordered his tent raised, then stood to one side, arms crossed, as several men took care of it. No jokes yelled, no comments made, laughter exchanged, only stark, depressing efficiency. Kate longed to hear one muffled curse.

They settled down for the evening, Kate finding it pleasant before the fire until Adhemar sat beside her. Once more, he ignored her uncomfortable shifting, seeming to take great care that his arm brushed hers and that they were pressed together hip to foot. Every time she inched to her left to escape that touch, he inched also, and Kate was soon in danger of falling off the log they used as a seat.

His arm slipped about her waist, anchoring her there. "You could always sit on my lap, Kate."

"Don't even think it."

"I recall you sat on my lap in the room." There was a far away expression in his green eyes, as though he really was remembering.

She had no way of knowing, unless her memories suddenly decided to quite playing hide-and-seek, if he was making things up or speaking the truth.

His fingers squeezed her waist, spread along her hip in a gesture indicating familiarity. "You sat on my lap and we shared a bit of drink as we talked. You let me undo your bodice --"

"Stop." She counted herself lucky that he hadn't tried that as he spoke.

"This was before you pushed me to the floor. We were taking time to get to know one another, your suggestion. Don't you remember?"

"Do you care?"

"Yes, I do." His hand did a circuit along her back, a gesture that Kate thought would look loving to those who watched them. He tangled the hand in her hair, she felt the slight tug on the strands.

A memory of her own surfaced, but it wasn't of the two of them, but rather of Roland and Christiana. They'd sit beside one another for long moments, giving each other tiny, coy glances and inviting smiles until Roland would slip his arm about her waist. Then, they'd lean into each other so slowly that Kate had been tempted more then once to go over to them and shove them together. The ritual was one that seemed to take forever and Kate found herself wishing that such a thing could be right now between herself and this man.

He was behaving in a human fashion, not the arrogant monster he was during the day, and a wistful sigh escaped her lips. She wished he'd keep caressing her back and neck the way he was, then lean over and kiss her with all the tenderness of a man with his true love. It was only a moment's fragmented wish, one she let slip back quickly into the dream world. Kate closed her eyes.

Alain Adhemar kissed her.