Chapter Two
"I don't know, Xander, there's still something very odd going on here. Why is she so strong? Did you see her? She picked William up and put him on that horse."
"Well, maybe she's a farm gal. Remember that girl, uh, Faith? Worked on her dad's farm and boy, was she strong..." Xander's eyes misted over nostalgically.
Willow bashed his arm. They were in the dark, empty parlour, having left William tied to his chair in the kitchen. The newly named Perdita was asleep upstairs on the only bed to have not been covered with blood - the boy's. Willow and Xander had decided that he'd probably heard his parents being killed and come to help, before he was shot in the chest. As for the third bed... There was blood all over it, and the sheets were tangled and trailing on the floor, but there was no body to match it. They'd checked everywhere.
"And there's something else," Willow said. "When I was washing her hair I found this big cut on her face - I got soap in it and everything but she hardly seemed to notice. And there's a big bump on the back of her head..."
"So she got clobbered, but I still don't..."
"There have been cases of people getting hit on the head and when they wake up they've gone mute or something. Or maybe what happened to her was so traumatic she's too shocked to speak."
"You noticed she smelled all seaweedy?"
Willow nodded. "Maybe she was part of that shipwreck."
"I saw some of that wreckage, Will, no one could have escaped it."
"You got a better idea?"
They looked over the table at each other.
"No."
Next door, William listened in on their conversation anxiously. He needed them to both fall asleep before he could make his move. Perdita had tied his ropes securely, but William had seen a meat cleaver hanging above the fire and just, only just, managed to half-stretch up to nudge it to the floor while they were upstairs seeing to Perdita.
He laughed to himself as he worked at the ropes wrapped around his wrists. It was so obvious the whelp fancied Perdita. His mind wasn't on the little Jewess at all - although she definitely had it bad for him.
So the Jewess fancied the whelp, and the whelp fancied Perdita. Wouldn't it just be delicious if Perdita fancied William?
"Just like Shakespeare," he said to himself, and the final thread of the rope broke free. Oh, thank God. Wriggling his sore arms, William stretched them round and unfastened the knots holding his torso to the chair. Maybe Perdita knew how to tie a man up, but the other two were complete idiots to leave him alone in a room with a lot of sharp implements.
He freed his ankles, stood up and stretched. It was damn cold in here, after the sun had gone down and all the warmth of the day had left the stone-floored kitchen, and he was glad he still had his tall boots and long leather greatcoat on for warmth. He straightened out his shirt cuffs, ran his hands through his pale hair. Nancy-boy Xander had his hair in a silly velvet queue, but William just had a leather toggle holding his back. No dandy, him. Besides, he needed a trademark. Or two. His caped overcoat was one, his hair another. He might gather a few more along the way, if he could be arsed.
He peeked into the parlour and saw Willow and Xander asleep on the sofa, arms around each other. To say nothing was going on between them, they sure were close. He closed the door, praying that it wouldn't squeak, then made his way up the stairs to the only room with a closed door.
Perdita lay asleep in the middle of the big bed, hair spread around her like a golden blanket, covers thrashed to the floor. She'd taken off the restricting dress and in its place wore a short shift that showed the outline of her breasts and hips and legs.
William placed the meat cleaver on the table by the bed and silently shrugged off his coat. He was not, by nature, a rapist. He told himself that all he wanted to do was talk to her. Hold her. Kiss her. Feel those curvy little thighs around his waist, her little breasts heaving against his chest-
She frowned and moaned something in her sleep, and William's eyebrows moved up. So she could actually make a noise. Hmm. That could be a problem.
William's hand hovered over her body, a hair's breadth from her skin, tracing the outline of her delicious curves. He touched her hair, the lovely golden strands like silk under his fingers, and he marvelled at the change in her. This morning she'd been a terrifying monster - dirty and smelly, her hair almost dreadlocked with dirt, her eyes flashing dangerously, almost insanely.
Was it weird that he'd wanted her even then?
He touched her lips with his fingertips and she sighed, her mouth opening just slightly, an invitation to William, who couldn't help himself. He reached down and touched his mouth to hers, tasting her lips with his tongue, wrapping strands of her glorious hair about his fingers, touching her shoulder and suddenly realising that she had a knife pressed against his throat.
"Get the hell away from me," she said in a low, raspy voice, "or I'll bloody kill you."
William stared at her. "I thought you didn't talk!"
"I found something to say." She pushed him away and William, mindful of the sharpness of her blade, sat up, hands raised.
"Who are you?"
She ignored him. "If you ever touch me again I will cut you apart piece by piece. Starting," she flashed the knife down to his crotch, "right here."
"Okay, all right, point taken," William tried to move back again, the knife once more at his throat.
"What did you do here?"
"Do? I didn't do anything," he said cautiously.
"To the people who lived here. The ones we buried."
"I didn't do anything! God, woman, just because I'm a daylight robber, doesn't mean I'd just walk in and kill people for no reason."
Her eyes flickered to the meat cleaver not far away. "What was that for?"
"Protection."
"Yours, or mine?"
He looked at her, her steady green eyes, her tumbling blonde locks, and felt a wave of desire. "Who are you?"
A flash of uncertainty crossed her face. "That's not important. Did you hurt Xander and Willow?"
"Friends of yours?"
The knife pricked his skin. "Did you hurt them?"
"No. No! They're asleep downstairs. You can check if you like."
"And let you escape?"
"Why are you keeping me here?"
"You said yourself. You're an infamous highwayman. I could kill you right now and probably get a reward for it."
He regarded her steadily, wondering if she knew her left breast was almost exposed by her gaping chemise. "So why don't you?"
"Because there's been enough death here for one day. Those people were killed last night - the blood was still fresh."
He nodded. "Whoever did it could be coming back."
"Why? They took anything of worth. This was a prosperous farm but there's no livestock, no money anywhere, not even any plate on the sideboard."
"Then how do you know it was prosperous?"
"There are three bedrooms but only three bodies - the girl was gone-"
"What girl?"
"The other room. There are women's things in it. Dresses like a young woman would wear. She had dark hair," Perdita touched her own golden locks, "I could see it on her hairbrush."
"Where do you think she went?" William asked, imagining reaching out and kissing her bare shoulder, brushing her hair aside, putting his lips to her skin and tasting the faint saltiness he knew would be lingering there...
"I imagine they took her. The sort of bandits who would murder the occupants of a house and take anything of value would probably be quite happy to take a young girl with her. Her clothes were pretty," Perdita said dreamily, "most of them were work clothes but she had some pretty frocks too. She was a pretty girl."
"You're a pretty girl," William said softly, and her attention snapped back to him.
"And you are a bandit."
"I'm a highwayman," he corrected. "I don't make cowardly attacks on undefended homes."
"No, you attack undefended stagecoaches instead."
"A man's got to make his living."
"He could try doing it legally."
"Yeah," William gave her one of his best lazy smiles, "but how much fun would that be?"
Perdita narrowed her eyes at him. "Mr. - do you have a real name?"
"William's the one I was christened with."
"I can't call you William."
"Why not?" He cocked his head at her and imagined sliding that chemise down an inch or two so expose her little pink nipple... He could already see it was tightening into a delicious little nub, it would taste so sweet-
"It's too familiar. And it doesn't suit you."
"Doesn't it?"
"No. William is a cultured name and you," she sneered at him, "are not cultured."
He gave her a slow smile, and when he spoke again his voice had lost the rough edge he'd always used before, and instead sounded polished, careful - cultured. "'Thou dearest Perdita, with these forced thoughts I prithee darken not the mirth o'th'feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair'-"
"Stop," Perdita said through clenched teeth. "What was that?"
"Shakespeare. The Winter's Tale. He was a William, too, you know."
"I have heard of him," Perdita lied. "Are you telling me your name is Shakespeare?"
He laughed softly at her confusion. She'd no idea at all what he was talking about. "No, love, not Shakespeare. If you don't like William you could call me Will?"
She shook her head.
"What's your real name?" William asked.
Again, nothing.
"We called you Perdita because we didn't know your real name."
"'We'? You're not allied to them. I saw you trying to rob them! You would have killed them."
"Probably not," William said, "but then again, I might have." He was enjoying her distress. It made her bosom heave deliciously. "Is that what you do, love? You like to help people out? Like those charity girls? Is that your game?"
Perdita was silent.
William chewed thoughtfully on his lip. She'd lowered the knife, that was good, although he knew better than to make a move on her so soon.
"What about that cut?" he asked, lifting a hand, which she waved away with the knife. "On your face. And there's a bump on your head. What happened to you?"
Nothing.
"Did someone hit you? Attack you? A highwayman. What did he look like? I'll probably know him and-"
"Not a highwayman," Perdita said quietly. She looked up. "What would you have done? Told him where I am so he could finish the job?"
Smashed his bloody brains out, William was astonished to hear himself thinking, but he said, "You said it wasn't a highwayman."
"So it wasn't."
"Then who?" He scrutinised her. "A man. Your husband?"
She shook her head. He'd noticed she wasn't wearing any rings - but it was nice to have it confirmed.
"Father. Brother. Who hit you?"
"No one hit me."
"Then you fell? You don't strike me as the clumsy type."
"I - I'm not..."
"So then what happened?"
Perdita's eyes were on her hands, playing with the little knife. "I don't remember," she mumbled.
William said nothing for a while, watching her, thinking. The blood on her face, her sodden clothes, her silence and her fear. She'd been trying to cover it with anger or violence or whatever, but she was afraid, he could tell. And she was desperately uncertain.
"What don't you remember?" he asked gently, and the tone of his voice seemed to encourage her.
"Any of it."
"How you got hurt?"
"Anything."
"Perdita," William said, "what's your name?"
She shook her head.
"Where are you from?"
Nothing.
"How did you come to be on the Boston road in the middle of the night?"
"I - I followed the river..."
"From where?"
"The sea." She shivered and drew her knees up to her chest and William had to fight a sudden impulse to reach out and cuddle her.
"Why were you at the sea?"
"I don't know." She touched the cut on her forehead. "I woke up and I - there was debris and, and bodies, and I..."
William remembered the fierce storm that had hit the shore. He remembered talk of a shipwreck, with no survivors.
Except, maybe...
"A shipwreck?" he asked her.
"I don't know. I don't remember." Suddenly her head shot up, startling William, who hadn't realised how close he'd got to her. "If you tell anyone I'll kill you," she said fiercely. "I swear I'll kill you."
He held up his hands. "Not a word, love."
"And don't call me your love. I am not your love."
Belatedly, the idea occurred to William that he could have tricked her into thinking she was... If only he'd realised before that she had no idea who she was. Dammit.
"I won't say anything," he promised.
"I don't think I can trust you."
"What have I done to you?"
"If I hadn't been armed you would have - you'd have-"
"I don't think you being armed would have any bearing on that," William smiled at her. "I can't see anyone making you do something you don't want to. Unless," he looked down then back up through his lashes, "you want to?"
"I'd rather throw myself back in the sea," Perdita snapped, and William smiled.
"All right. Until you change your mind," he said, and made to get off the bed.
"Where are you going?"
"Leave milady to sleep."
"While you run away? William the Bloody, you're going nowhere. You could kill my friends-"
"Friends now, are they?"
She narrowed her eyes. "More than you are." She got up and pulled the top sheet off the bed and pushed him against the bed head. William let her, not at all disturbed by her manhandling of him. In fact, he was rather getting used to being tied up by this woman, and not in a bad way.
She used the sheet to tie his wrists to the head of the bed, and William looked down at her with sleepy eyes. "Are you going to leave me here all night?"
Perdita got off the bed and headed for the door. She said nothing as she left, but she was back five minutes later with the pistol in one hand and William's former ropes in the other. She tied him up properly, her knots firm, his wrists fastened to the head of the bed and his ankles to the foot. Then she carefully loaded the pistol with powder and shot and placed it by her side of the bed.
Then she pulled the covers over herself and lay down and closed her eyes.
William went to sleep entertaining himself with thoughts of this delicious little minx waking him up in very naughty ways.