Chapter Eleven

It had taken Will most of an hour to get back to Jaimes' family's house. He burst through the door, desperately searching for the younger man and any of the others, and he found them sitting solemnly around the kitchen table. Upon his arrival, Jaimes had sprung up and thrown himself at Will, hugging him tightly.

"We thought you were dead." The blond told him. "Thank God."

Will rubbed his back, his eyes moving around the room, taking in the faces he saw and noting who was absent. "I had a bit of trouble." He admitted, "But I got away."

"Not everyone did…" Jaimes murmured, still holding tightly to Will's shirt.

"I know." He replied gently. "I heard." Will tightened his hold on the younger boy when he heard Jaimes' light sniffle. "It's okay." He told him gently, "They're not going to win."

"They hung them…"

"I know…" Will paused for a moment, "Did you see?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry…" he murmured, rubbing the boy's back. "I'm sorry you saw that."

"I thought they had just killed you before they even hung the others."

"No." Will breathed, "They didn't catch me."

Jaimes nodded and let him go, stepping back to look up at him. Will gave him a small smile and Jaimes' eyes looked him over, no doubt taking in the wounds and blood still on his shirt. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Will smiled again, "I'm fine. I could use a bath, however." He looked past Jaimes to the others who were all sitting around the table. He could see the uncertainty in their eyes, and he knew that once he had gotten cleaned up, they would need to discuss what they would do now. Stepping backward, Will wondered what he would even say. He needed time to think.

The hot water relaxed muscles that Will hadn't even realised he had been holding tense. He sank back against the tub, closing his eyes, as he tried to process everything that had happened. Stephan, Lawrence, John and Theodore. He sighed, sinking a little lower. They had very severely misjudged their mark last night with that coach. Warleggan had seemed surprised that Will did not know who he was, which did not bode well for him. Will knew the type. If Warleggan wanted something, he would not stop until he got it. If the man was alive, and wanted revenge on Will for attempting to rob him, or for not allowing himself to be taken in and hanged, then it seemed unlikely that Warleggan would forget about him. Will had no intention of allowing Warleggan to have anything he wanted.

He really had been lucky, he supposed, but Will couldn't help but wonder if they might have been able to do something to help the others. If he had not have passed out on the moor, if he had gotten back here with the other boys that had escaped… Might they have been able to rescue the other four? There had to have been something they could have done. Scrubbing hot water over his face, Will tried not to picture it. He didn't want to see his friends hanging from the end of a rope. He knew that Jaimes had seen it, even Bess had seen it, but he didn't want to. He had known each of those boys for years, and he felt like he had played a part in what happened to them. Knowing that he probably couldn't have made a difference didn't shake the feeling of guilt and helplessness, and it ate at him a little.

Reaching back, Will pulled the tie from his hair and let it fall about his face. He could still feel some dried blood stiff on his scalp, and he dipped back to submerge himself, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get the blood out. He came up out of the water, smoothing his hair back from his face and relaxing back against the tub once more as he allowed his mind to wander.

By the time he had gotten out of the tub, Will had decided to tell the others that he did not think they should leave. They were still needed and, for the most part, they had the support of the townsfolk; those that knew what they were doing, anyway. He supposed that word of their purpose and intentions would spread, especially if people like Bess' father offered their support. In this way, their base would grow and strengthen. They would have further protection and assistance. If anything, what they were doing would become easier. He had no delusions that it would be easy at all, but it would be easier than it was at the moment.

Fear and regret were always difficult to get past, and Will knew that this would be no different. He saw both of these emotions in the eyes of his friends as he took a seat at the table not long later. His hair fell cold and damp down his neck and he tried to speak calmly and clearly when he shared his thoughts with the other men. The way they listened to him, seemingly eager to hear his thoughts had Will wondering what they had been discussing before he had come back. Before long, the others had agreed with what Will had been saying, and with a jolt, he realised that they had begun to look to him for leadership. The thought had Will somewhere between relief, excitement and dread. Now he really was responsible for them.

The man on the poster was wearing a mask, but Bess could tell it was Will. The artist had gotten the hair and forehead just right. His eyes were a little wrong, too deep-set and close together, but all in all she supposed it was a good enough likeness. It was good enough to be worrying. Apparently the man Will had fought out on the moors had decided to try and finish what he had begun that night. Bess wrinkled her nose as she stood straight and turned to meet her father's eyes.

"Well, that could be a problem for him." The man said, eyeing the poster on their way down the street. Bess nodded and followed him toward the bakery.

"The mask though." She breathed, "Useful." At least that had worked effectively. Bess stood outside the bakery while her father collected his order. She watched the street, trying to gauge the mood of the town's people. When she and her father had first arrived, Bess had gone to check the gallows at the town hall. She had been hoping that Will's friends had been taken down, but they had not. Evidently, the redcoats thought leaving them up would serve as a warning for others. Bess wondered just how long they had planned to leave them up there. Turning on her heel, Bess spotted another poster on the side of the building and she moved to examine this one. It was the same as the last, and she could tell that it was Will.

"Have you seen him?"

Bess straightened, and turned to see a tall blonde man in a fine coat and hat regarding her silently. "Uh… this man?" Bess pointed at the poster and he nodded, moving toward her. "Hard to tell with the mask…"

"Nevertheless…"

Bess looked back to the poster, "Maybe he's one of the men hanging by the town hall…"

"Unfortunately not."

Bess' eyes returned to the man speaking to her. "Have you seen him?" she asked.

"Indeed." He replied, "And I will see him caught and hanged yet." Tilting her head, Bess looked him over. He looked familiar, but she didn't know why. "Did he rob you?"

A feral snarl worked its way onto the man's face before he replied, "He tried." Bess nodded slowly, and he moved forward again. "Forgive me, here I am talking to a lady in the street and we have not been introduced."

"Ah…" Bess fiddled with her braid, "That is unseemly." She agreed, "But you seem trustworthy. I won't tell anyone."

The man smiled and held a hand out to her. "I am Charles Warleggan." Bess' eyes flicked directly to his face. Warleggan was the name Will had said belonged to the man he had fought. This was the man responsible for Will's injuries and the very poster she was standing beside. "I see you know my name, lady." He said as Bess placed her hand in his as etiquette required.

"I… have heard it." Bess forced a smile and dropped her gaze as if embarrassed.

"No doubt." He replied, covering her hand in his with his other hand. "And who are you?"

"Elisabeth." She told him, "Elisabeth Perrin."

"Have I seen you before, Miss Perrin?"

"Maybe…" She looked back up at him, "My father and I run the Inn just out of town…"

"Tavern girl?" Bess watched his pale eyes look her over, "Yes… I have stopped there a few times." He let her hand go. "Perhaps I shall call again." Bess took a step back.

"You will of course be welcome. Our cook makes a hearty stew." Her eyes went to the bakery door, looking to see if her father was coming out.

"How delicious."

Charles Warleggan's falsity was beginning to unnerve Bess, and she could see exactly why this man had come straight back to the town and had posters made of the man who had escaped him out on the moors. This man would do whatever it took to get whatever it was that he wanted. Will had clearly pricked the man's ego and now Warleggen would chase him until he had won. She hoped that he never returned to the inn, she hadn't much at all liked the way his eyes had moved over her when he had learned that she wasn't some high born woman. She had no doubt that a man like Warleggan thought women like her, so far beneath him on the social ladder, were only worth his time and attentions until he got to bed them. She would have put money on Warleggan never even speaking to them again. Taking another step back, Bess smiled at him again. "I believe my father is ready to return home…" she said, "Excuse me."

"Of course, Miss Perrin." He replied, stepping aside and allowing her to head toward the bakery. Her father had not yet emerged, so Bess went inside to find him.