*Warnings: this story does contain some brutality and sexual content however I promise the Adamar will make it up to you. Adamar and his servants belong strictly to the makers of A Knight's Tale. I am only using them to create something I wish would have happened.*
Prologue
Adamar almost let himself wince with a fresh jolt of soreness but quickly bit back the urge, knowing that his servants thought him impervious to pain, and he would not let that illusion be shattered like it had been that morning.
New waves of revulsion and hatred swept through his heart. Oh how he loathed that- that- Thatcher. Beaten by a commoner. Had his father still been alive Adamar was quite certain that he would have suffered a beating that would make his injuries he had sustained in the joust seem mild. It was all so humiliating it was beginning to make his head spin with surrealism. How was it possible? In what world could Thatcher have ever beaten him?
He grit his teeth and trudged on, degradingly and for the first time, without his horse. The question still pressed at him as though some savage animal were attacking the back of his neck. How? If his servants had thought him obdurate in the face of pain, then surely he had thought himself so in the face of defeat. He had never been proved wrong… never lost. Even after he had played the game so that fate would favor him, it had not. He swept a dirty hand through the thick, black curls that hung in his eyes and balled the other fist tightly.
The anger was almost too much. Never had he been so ashamed. He had always been proud of his honor, and it had been taken away as though he were some commoner like that boy, William Thatcher. That name would haunt his mind for many years to come, he was sure. He would never have a restful moment knowing that a simpleton had bested him.
He finally grew too enraged by his thoughts and veered off the dusty path and began stalked off toward a grove of trees.
"My Lord?" his servant called speculatively.
"Go on, Donal, I'm walking alone," Adamar shouted over a broad shoulder.
Donal went ahead obediently, knowing never to test his master's patience, particularly in this instance. He had never seen the Count so angry. Then again, he had never seen him lose either…
Chapter 1
Adamar walked briskly, despite the terrible pain that was born in his side and traveled through the rest of his aching body. He would have to suffer the embarrassment of seeing a physician as well as losing. He suddenly pulled back and slammed a hard fist into the trunk of a tree. He barely felt the pain of the skin coming loose of his knuckles over the pleasure he drew from causing some sort of destruction. He was lucky to not have broken a few fingers, but he was weary of luck. It had left him when he needed it the most. Perhaps that was not what upset him, perhaps it was that he had needed luck at all.
He inspected his hand, watching the decimated skin turn a livid red. A sudden noise broke the silence of the wood and he looked up just in time to see a blurry form come hurtling at him at a tremendous speed. He managed to get his arms up to catch the frightened creature, but not to protect his wounded body. His teeth clamped shut on his tongue to avoid letting out a cry of indignant rage and hurt. He managed a small hiss of breath being sucked through his gritted teeth.
Swiftly tossing the small body away from him, he looked it over to find it was a young woman. She looked like she was fourteen, but could have been older. Starvation and her over sized rags withheld her true age. Her auburn hair was matted and unruly. Her eyes were a vivid green, almost like his, but for the fear in them. Presently they were widened in anxiety at having run into someone. She hastily glanced back the way she had come from and Adamar realized she was being chased. Her chest heaved violently, she had been running for some time.
She parted her trembling lips and a hushed whisper slipped out, "Please, help me," she begged desperately.
A sneer replaced the astonished annoyance on Adamar's swarthy face. He glanced about and spotted what he had begun to suspect. She was being followed by law men. The girl was a thief. A bad one, to get caught, at that. Her sniveling almost disgusted him in the state he had put himself into. He felt like back handing her on the spot. Eyeing a smudgy patch of skin that was visible beneath her robe, he reconsidered and decided he would like to back hand her, force her to bathe, and then have a bit of fun with her. This was the only acknowledgement he made of the fact that she was female. Otherwise, his treatment of her would not reflect the simple fact. He was barely civil to the girls of his own class, why should he be anything but brutal and nasty to a vagrant and an outlaw?
A strong arm shot out, clutching her bony arm and he was almost pleased to hear her cry of dismay.
"Caught myself a thief, have I? Tell me, what's the going rate for a reward on a bony little thief like you?" he demanded callously. "God must've decided your punishment should be more strict than the other thieves,' otherwise he'd not have placed you into my hands, urchin."
"Please! Please don't turn me in!" she cried breathlessly, tears now springing from those emerald eyes.
Adamar witnessed her struggle to free herself so she could take flight once again with a mixture of antipathy and exasperation. Rather pathetic and ultimately hopeless. She would be caught sooner or later. Her fate must have been as cloudy as his to have come across him in this mood.
"I don't plan to turn you in, girl. Only, know this… you'd have been better off in the stocks than in my clutches," he murmured icily as the sheriff came to a halt a few feet away and dismounted authoritatively.
He felt her go tense in his grip.
"I'm grateful for your help, Sir. We've been chasing her since Thornbrough," the Sheriff puffed.
Adamar kept his grip on the girl firm when he answered.
"Thornbrough? That's a long way to run. A fast one, is she?" he inquired indifferently.
"And a slippery thief," the Sheriff confirmed with a nod. "I'll take her back to town now…" he began, reaching for the poor girl's other arm.
Adamar jerked her away tersely.
"What is her debt?" he inquired, his voice still toneless.
"Begging your pardon, Sir?"
"What is she worth to you? I'll pay her debt if you allow me to keep her," Adamar explained quickly and curtly.
"What would you want with a half starved thief?" the Sheriff asked confoundedly.
Adamar gazed back with a chilling stare and answered in a colder voice, "I wish to re-establish this girl's morality and teach her about retribution so that she may know what a mistake it is to thieve for a living," his voice turning to a snarl as he snatched her free hand which had previously been reaching for the dagger tucked in his belt.
The Sheriff observed with a quirked brow.
"Ten gold pieces," he rattled, testing Adamar's conviction.
It was Adamar's turn to raise his brow in the first show of emotion since the beginning of the conversation.
"Ten gold pieces? My, my, what an expensive little piece of filth," he spat cruelly, glancing at her.
He wrapped a lithe arm around her, pinning her tiny arms to her ribs and reached for a heavy coin purse on his belt. Tossing it to the Sheriff, he nodded his approval.
"You have your ten gold pieces, now leave us," he commanded darkly.
The Sheriff nodded in resignation and turned to leave.
The girl suddenly cried out, "No! He'll do me in! He'll shred my hide! Please don't go!"
The Sheriff did not deign to give her a second glance as he mounted his horse.
"As far as I'm concerned, thief, he ought to and do us all a favor," he called as he rode away.
The girl began to weep, almost collapsing in his arms until he jerked her roughly to her feet.
"Quiet, girl, if I wanted to kill you I'd not have paid so much," he muttered as he began to lead her back to his cavalcade.
"Please!" she cried.
"You spend an awful lot of time begging, girl. You ought to start begging mercy from God, he already knows I won't give you it to you."
Prologue
Adamar almost let himself wince with a fresh jolt of soreness but quickly bit back the urge, knowing that his servants thought him impervious to pain, and he would not let that illusion be shattered like it had been that morning.
New waves of revulsion and hatred swept through his heart. Oh how he loathed that- that- Thatcher. Beaten by a commoner. Had his father still been alive Adamar was quite certain that he would have suffered a beating that would make his injuries he had sustained in the joust seem mild. It was all so humiliating it was beginning to make his head spin with surrealism. How was it possible? In what world could Thatcher have ever beaten him?
He grit his teeth and trudged on, degradingly and for the first time, without his horse. The question still pressed at him as though some savage animal were attacking the back of his neck. How? If his servants had thought him obdurate in the face of pain, then surely he had thought himself so in the face of defeat. He had never been proved wrong… never lost. Even after he had played the game so that fate would favor him, it had not. He swept a dirty hand through the thick, black curls that hung in his eyes and balled the other fist tightly.
The anger was almost too much. Never had he been so ashamed. He had always been proud of his honor, and it had been taken away as though he were some commoner like that boy, William Thatcher. That name would haunt his mind for many years to come, he was sure. He would never have a restful moment knowing that a simpleton had bested him.
He finally grew too enraged by his thoughts and veered off the dusty path and began stalked off toward a grove of trees.
"My Lord?" his servant called speculatively.
"Go on, Donal, I'm walking alone," Adamar shouted over a broad shoulder.
Donal went ahead obediently, knowing never to test his master's patience, particularly in this instance. He had never seen the Count so angry. Then again, he had never seen him lose either…
Chapter 1
Adamar walked briskly, despite the terrible pain that was born in his side and traveled through the rest of his aching body. He would have to suffer the embarrassment of seeing a physician as well as losing. He suddenly pulled back and slammed a hard fist into the trunk of a tree. He barely felt the pain of the skin coming loose of his knuckles over the pleasure he drew from causing some sort of destruction. He was lucky to not have broken a few fingers, but he was weary of luck. It had left him when he needed it the most. Perhaps that was not what upset him, perhaps it was that he had needed luck at all.
He inspected his hand, watching the decimated skin turn a livid red. A sudden noise broke the silence of the wood and he looked up just in time to see a blurry form come hurtling at him at a tremendous speed. He managed to get his arms up to catch the frightened creature, but not to protect his wounded body. His teeth clamped shut on his tongue to avoid letting out a cry of indignant rage and hurt. He managed a small hiss of breath being sucked through his gritted teeth.
Swiftly tossing the small body away from him, he looked it over to find it was a young woman. She looked like she was fourteen, but could have been older. Starvation and her over sized rags withheld her true age. Her auburn hair was matted and unruly. Her eyes were a vivid green, almost like his, but for the fear in them. Presently they were widened in anxiety at having run into someone. She hastily glanced back the way she had come from and Adamar realized she was being chased. Her chest heaved violently, she had been running for some time.
She parted her trembling lips and a hushed whisper slipped out, "Please, help me," she begged desperately.
A sneer replaced the astonished annoyance on Adamar's swarthy face. He glanced about and spotted what he had begun to suspect. She was being followed by law men. The girl was a thief. A bad one, to get caught, at that. Her sniveling almost disgusted him in the state he had put himself into. He felt like back handing her on the spot. Eyeing a smudgy patch of skin that was visible beneath her robe, he reconsidered and decided he would like to back hand her, force her to bathe, and then have a bit of fun with her. This was the only acknowledgement he made of the fact that she was female. Otherwise, his treatment of her would not reflect the simple fact. He was barely civil to the girls of his own class, why should he be anything but brutal and nasty to a vagrant and an outlaw?
A strong arm shot out, clutching her bony arm and he was almost pleased to hear her cry of dismay.
"Caught myself a thief, have I? Tell me, what's the going rate for a reward on a bony little thief like you?" he demanded callously. "God must've decided your punishment should be more strict than the other thieves,' otherwise he'd not have placed you into my hands, urchin."
"Please! Please don't turn me in!" she cried breathlessly, tears now springing from those emerald eyes.
Adamar witnessed her struggle to free herself so she could take flight once again with a mixture of antipathy and exasperation. Rather pathetic and ultimately hopeless. She would be caught sooner or later. Her fate must have been as cloudy as his to have come across him in this mood.
"I don't plan to turn you in, girl. Only, know this… you'd have been better off in the stocks than in my clutches," he murmured icily as the sheriff came to a halt a few feet away and dismounted authoritatively.
He felt her go tense in his grip.
"I'm grateful for your help, Sir. We've been chasing her since Thornbrough," the Sheriff puffed.
Adamar kept his grip on the girl firm when he answered.
"Thornbrough? That's a long way to run. A fast one, is she?" he inquired indifferently.
"And a slippery thief," the Sheriff confirmed with a nod. "I'll take her back to town now…" he began, reaching for the poor girl's other arm.
Adamar jerked her away tersely.
"What is her debt?" he inquired, his voice still toneless.
"Begging your pardon, Sir?"
"What is she worth to you? I'll pay her debt if you allow me to keep her," Adamar explained quickly and curtly.
"What would you want with a half starved thief?" the Sheriff asked confoundedly.
Adamar gazed back with a chilling stare and answered in a colder voice, "I wish to re-establish this girl's morality and teach her about retribution so that she may know what a mistake it is to thieve for a living," his voice turning to a snarl as he snatched her free hand which had previously been reaching for the dagger tucked in his belt.
The Sheriff observed with a quirked brow.
"Ten gold pieces," he rattled, testing Adamar's conviction.
It was Adamar's turn to raise his brow in the first show of emotion since the beginning of the conversation.
"Ten gold pieces? My, my, what an expensive little piece of filth," he spat cruelly, glancing at her.
He wrapped a lithe arm around her, pinning her tiny arms to her ribs and reached for a heavy coin purse on his belt. Tossing it to the Sheriff, he nodded his approval.
"You have your ten gold pieces, now leave us," he commanded darkly.
The Sheriff nodded in resignation and turned to leave.
The girl suddenly cried out, "No! He'll do me in! He'll shred my hide! Please don't go!"
The Sheriff did not deign to give her a second glance as he mounted his horse.
"As far as I'm concerned, thief, he ought to and do us all a favor," he called as he rode away.
The girl began to weep, almost collapsing in his arms until he jerked her roughly to her feet.
"Quiet, girl, if I wanted to kill you I'd not have paid so much," he muttered as he began to lead her back to his cavalcade.
"Please!" she cried.
"You spend an awful lot of time begging, girl. You ought to start begging mercy from God, he already knows I won't give you it to you."