Chapter 7
*Okay, here it is. I'm SORRY SORRY SORRY! My life is chaos and my Adhemar muse left me and… well-- as they say, sh*t happens. Anyway, here is more of the beloved knight, fear not. I will try to be more consistent from now on my lovely, perfect fans, if you are out there. Again, I apologize!!! Also, I mention dear little Adhemar's first name in a past memory. Just a warning, so don't be confused!*
Adhemar was seated in his study, reviewing matters of court. It appeared that his service was at risk of being called upon in France once again. His thoughts were scattered, obviously one matter taking precedence over everything else. He threw down the scrolls in frustration, cursing himself and the girl. Never had any woman managed to invade his thoughts when it came to his job, correcting himself, no woman had ever even troubled his mind when selecting a new horse. Nothing interfered with his service in the army.
Yet he knew that he could not push her out of his thoughts until he saw her, until he spoke to her, heard her voice. He was unsure where the sudden burst of tender generosity came from that had caused him to order the fireplace stoked and lit, and the gift of the chemise to be laid out on her bed. It had been an intended engagement present for Lady Jocelyn. His hands went to his temples, rubbing them in irritation. He had entered negotiations with the woman's father, meaning to marry her. Now he didn't relish the idea of taking her as a wife. Admittedly, he had been doing it to spite Thatcher. However beautiful Jocelyn was, he really knew nothing about her, nor did he care to. That, in addition to the fact that it seemed she shared some truly tender emotions with Thatcher, made him almost queasy with the prospect of tying himself down to her.
*And I doubt that she would appreciate her husband keeping a concubine.*
He thought maliciously with a snide chuckle. It faded quickly. Was that what Adriana was? He was stunned to find he was referring to her by her name in his thoughts, as though he had done so forever. As though that name had been known to him all his life. Yet he had known her for nary a week. He suddenly tossed a pile of assorted things off of the top of his desk in a violent fit of frustration. What was she doing to him? He reconsidered his suspicions of witchery. Why else would he be feeling things for the stupid urchin that he did not wish to feel?
All the anger was carefully directed her, not himself. He didn't want to think it was some flaw in his own character. He didn't need anymore doubt of who he was. He had already found that he was not as invincible as he had believed, he certainly did not savor the idea of finding out he was guilty of the one emotion every man in his family had dubbed synonymous with *weak*… love.
"Love?" he heard himself murmur aloud.
The sound of his own voice saying that treacherous word startled him. He repeated it, sneering this time. Something he had seen his father do a thousand times.
"Love. Love is something only the weakest feel, Dallin," his father would tell him sternly. "Of course, it's all right to care about things. I care for my king and country, and for my land and property, my people… and you and your mother of course. But never let yourself be bewitched by love. You can have a woman without falling victim to becoming weak with love…"
The lecture had affected the green eyed, curly haired page for the rest of his years. Adhemar had often surmised that it was directly due to that conversation and others like it, that he had taken his place as a general. His father had made him strong, and until his death, Adhemar, the son, had made him quite proud. He was careful never to love anything, lest it make him weak.
And now… that little wretch was tearing down all of his defenses with her simpering looks and a bit of will born to her out of the haughtiness only the upper class could know.
He seethed angrily. An irrational anger, but what else could he do in his confusion? By his father's standards, he was at risk of failing once again by allowing himself to feel something for the girl, yet he didn't know how to stop it. The thought of sending her way didn't seem an option. She was his, he wanted her, he wanted to have her by his side and admire her day and night. With a little coaching and care, she was fit to be a princess.
But she was so damned proud! Her pride almost outweighed his. No, that wasn't true. Much as he hated to admit it, her pride was simply more durable than his. She had endured being cast out of a life of luxury into a life of hardship and even servitude. Been forced to thieve, to live in filth, to degrade herself to the lowest level, and yet the look in her eyes still spoke of dignity. He found himself asking, did he really want to take that from her? Did he really want to break her? He had thought that by crushing that seemingly indestructible spirit he would renew, rejuvenate his own sense of honor and dignity. But then what would he have to admire? A shell. A ghost of the girl who caught his interest and held it firmly with her head held high and her eyes blazing. Hoe did she manage to hold on to all that? He wondered continually. And how did she manage to do it with such ease when he had been crushed the first time his pride had been tested? She truly was what the word nobility strove to be.
That thought reminded him of her story. She was the daughter of a duke and duchess. Those in closest quarters with the king himself. Surely word would spread that he had found her and they would inevitably come to claim her. He scowled momentarily. They would come for her and she would end up married to an old man who didn't deserve her… who didn't love her. A slow, wicked smile began to curl on his lips. He chuckled lowly. Perhaps that was how he would get her to stay. He could even get her to *love* him… love didn't seem so frightening when he was using it against someone else. If she thought he loved her, she would most definitively choose him over that ancient suitor.
He leaned back with a complacent sigh. Every soldier needed a plan of attack. Now he had his. He would convince Adriana that he loved her, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And she would play right into his hands and stay with him forever… pride and all.
*Okay, here it is. I'm SORRY SORRY SORRY! My life is chaos and my Adhemar muse left me and… well-- as they say, sh*t happens. Anyway, here is more of the beloved knight, fear not. I will try to be more consistent from now on my lovely, perfect fans, if you are out there. Again, I apologize!!! Also, I mention dear little Adhemar's first name in a past memory. Just a warning, so don't be confused!*
Adhemar was seated in his study, reviewing matters of court. It appeared that his service was at risk of being called upon in France once again. His thoughts were scattered, obviously one matter taking precedence over everything else. He threw down the scrolls in frustration, cursing himself and the girl. Never had any woman managed to invade his thoughts when it came to his job, correcting himself, no woman had ever even troubled his mind when selecting a new horse. Nothing interfered with his service in the army.
Yet he knew that he could not push her out of his thoughts until he saw her, until he spoke to her, heard her voice. He was unsure where the sudden burst of tender generosity came from that had caused him to order the fireplace stoked and lit, and the gift of the chemise to be laid out on her bed. It had been an intended engagement present for Lady Jocelyn. His hands went to his temples, rubbing them in irritation. He had entered negotiations with the woman's father, meaning to marry her. Now he didn't relish the idea of taking her as a wife. Admittedly, he had been doing it to spite Thatcher. However beautiful Jocelyn was, he really knew nothing about her, nor did he care to. That, in addition to the fact that it seemed she shared some truly tender emotions with Thatcher, made him almost queasy with the prospect of tying himself down to her.
*And I doubt that she would appreciate her husband keeping a concubine.*
He thought maliciously with a snide chuckle. It faded quickly. Was that what Adriana was? He was stunned to find he was referring to her by her name in his thoughts, as though he had done so forever. As though that name had been known to him all his life. Yet he had known her for nary a week. He suddenly tossed a pile of assorted things off of the top of his desk in a violent fit of frustration. What was she doing to him? He reconsidered his suspicions of witchery. Why else would he be feeling things for the stupid urchin that he did not wish to feel?
All the anger was carefully directed her, not himself. He didn't want to think it was some flaw in his own character. He didn't need anymore doubt of who he was. He had already found that he was not as invincible as he had believed, he certainly did not savor the idea of finding out he was guilty of the one emotion every man in his family had dubbed synonymous with *weak*… love.
"Love?" he heard himself murmur aloud.
The sound of his own voice saying that treacherous word startled him. He repeated it, sneering this time. Something he had seen his father do a thousand times.
"Love. Love is something only the weakest feel, Dallin," his father would tell him sternly. "Of course, it's all right to care about things. I care for my king and country, and for my land and property, my people… and you and your mother of course. But never let yourself be bewitched by love. You can have a woman without falling victim to becoming weak with love…"
The lecture had affected the green eyed, curly haired page for the rest of his years. Adhemar had often surmised that it was directly due to that conversation and others like it, that he had taken his place as a general. His father had made him strong, and until his death, Adhemar, the son, had made him quite proud. He was careful never to love anything, lest it make him weak.
And now… that little wretch was tearing down all of his defenses with her simpering looks and a bit of will born to her out of the haughtiness only the upper class could know.
He seethed angrily. An irrational anger, but what else could he do in his confusion? By his father's standards, he was at risk of failing once again by allowing himself to feel something for the girl, yet he didn't know how to stop it. The thought of sending her way didn't seem an option. She was his, he wanted her, he wanted to have her by his side and admire her day and night. With a little coaching and care, she was fit to be a princess.
But she was so damned proud! Her pride almost outweighed his. No, that wasn't true. Much as he hated to admit it, her pride was simply more durable than his. She had endured being cast out of a life of luxury into a life of hardship and even servitude. Been forced to thieve, to live in filth, to degrade herself to the lowest level, and yet the look in her eyes still spoke of dignity. He found himself asking, did he really want to take that from her? Did he really want to break her? He had thought that by crushing that seemingly indestructible spirit he would renew, rejuvenate his own sense of honor and dignity. But then what would he have to admire? A shell. A ghost of the girl who caught his interest and held it firmly with her head held high and her eyes blazing. Hoe did she manage to hold on to all that? He wondered continually. And how did she manage to do it with such ease when he had been crushed the first time his pride had been tested? She truly was what the word nobility strove to be.
That thought reminded him of her story. She was the daughter of a duke and duchess. Those in closest quarters with the king himself. Surely word would spread that he had found her and they would inevitably come to claim her. He scowled momentarily. They would come for her and she would end up married to an old man who didn't deserve her… who didn't love her. A slow, wicked smile began to curl on his lips. He chuckled lowly. Perhaps that was how he would get her to stay. He could even get her to *love* him… love didn't seem so frightening when he was using it against someone else. If she thought he loved her, she would most definitively choose him over that ancient suitor.
He leaned back with a complacent sigh. Every soldier needed a plan of attack. Now he had his. He would convince Adriana that he loved her, beyond a shadow of a doubt. And she would play right into his hands and stay with him forever… pride and all.