Chapter Three
Perdita didn't go to sleep for hours. She tried as hard as she could to remember anything before she'd woken up on that beach, but nothing came. Tears leaked from her eyes in utter frustration. It was ridiculous. Why couldn't she remember? She must have parents, siblings, friends. A home. There must be people who missed her. Her dress had been of reasonable quality before the storm had ruined it, so her background couldn't have been that bad.
And then there were the wounds on her head. And not just her head - her dress had been torn in several places and her skin had bled from salt-encrusted wounds. She'd been careful to keep Willow from seeing them.
Ah, yes, Willow. The little red-haired Jewess and her nervous, jocular friend. See, I can remember the word jocular, Perdita thought in frustration, why nothing else? What is my name? I must have a name!
Lost One. Well, that seems to be me. No name, no past. I suppose that's something a few people would be grateful for. I suppose William the Bloody might be - but then, he seems to enjoy his notoriety.
She turned her head and looked at him. His chest was rising and falling and she was pretty sure he was asleep. He had the look of a soldier, she thought, but she wasn't sure what made her think that. His body was very lean, all bone and muscle, not a single ounce of fat anywhere. His face was all sharp angles and hollows, his cheekbones devastatingly high, his eyes hard. A scar sliced through his left eyebrow - it was very dashing. Only his mouth had any softness, and Perdita knew firsthand that it didn't just look soft. It felt divine, too.
It was disgusting, really - not just that he'd tried to, to touch her like that, but that she'd very nearly responded. Thank God she'd had that knife under her pillow.
If he ever touches me again, Perdita thought, I'll bloody kill him. I know I will.
Willow woke when the sun came through the parlour window, Xander asleep beside her on the sofa, and it took her a few moments to realise where she was and what was going on. She reached for the pistol that had been tucked down the back of the sofa and panicked when it wasn't there.
"Xander," she shook him awake, "I can't find it."
"Wha'?"
"The pistol! I was going to check on William but I can't find the pistol. God, do you think he has it?"
Xander's eyes darted from Willow to the door. "I'll go check," he said, as manfully as he could, and hesitated for a long time.
"Want me to come with?" Willow asked, trying to hide her smile.
"Sure, if you like. Safety in numbers, I guess..."
They crept out of the door and down the passage to the kitchen. The house wasn't big enough to have the kitchen separate from the rest like in some big places, it wasn't in the basement and didn't have to be reached by some back passage. Here the kitchen was the centre of the house.
And it was empty.
"Perdita," Xander said, and Willow nodded, and they dashed upstairs, flung open the door to Perdita's room, and pulled up short when they saw her curled around the highwayman, his black waistcoat unfastened, stock loosened, hands and feet both tied to the bed.
"Riiight," Willow said doubtfully, and Perdita's eyes slammed open, as did William's, and he looked vastly amused to see them standing there, looking so shocked.
He stretched luxuriously and cocked an eyebrow at Perdita, who looked horrified.
"Sleep well, pet? Don't mind the ropes, she likes to get kinky."
"Uh, maybe we should go," Willow said to Xander. "Xander? I think you're drooling..."
Perdita, sat up, pulling the covers up to her chest, which was rather exposed by her thin little shift.
"It's not - I mean - I was just-" she began, and Willow and Xander's faces registered new shock.
"You talked!"
"She talked!"
"She can hear you!"
"I know!"
William watched them, smiling delightedly.
"Oh," Perdita said, blushing, "erm, yes. I, er, found my voice..."
Xander raised his eyebrows at William. "And he helped you find it?"
"I tried," William said modestly, and Perdita thumped him.
"He came up here and I didn't want him to escape so I tied him up," she explained, and gestured to the pistol. "I thought he might have hurt you, but you look alright..."
"We're fine," Willow said. "When did you start talking?"
"Um, last night. I think I was in shock," she said, and took a breath as she prepared to tell them the story she'd made up last night. "After my carriage was robbed."
"Oh no, you too?"
"Not by him?" Xander pointed to William, who frowned.
"You don't think I'd remember her?"
"No, by someone else. Masked. I didn't see their faces. They killed everyone," Perdita said, "I was lucky to escape."
"You were," Willow nodded vigorously. "Were you - were you with anyone? Family, or, or friends...?"
Perdita shook her head quickly. "No. I was alone. I was, er, going to, er, meet with someone. But I didn't want to, so, you know. Maybe it's better this way. Erm," she pushed her hair out of her eyes, "can I ask you not to say you've seen me?"
"Not a problem since they don't know who you are, love," William pointed out, and she bashed him again.
"We should get some breakfast and try to figure out what we're going to do," Willow said.
"Do?"
"Well, don't you want to find out what happened here? And surely Perdita wants to get back home?"
"Yes," William said, looking up at her, "surely she does."
"I think it's best if I lay low for a while," Perdita said. "Those bandits could be looking for me."
"Do you have a real name?"
"I'd prefer not to use it. It's safer that way," Perdita said, and Willow nodded.
"Good thinking. Do you need any help getting dressed?"
"No, I'll be fine. Thank you, Willow, and Xander too. For all your help."
They nodded, pleased, and left the room. Perdita turned to William.
"That was not very helpful," she said.
"Sorry, love. Couldn't resist."
"Yeah, well, resist," she said, wishing she had a snappier comeback, but her head was throbbing. Two injuries in one short space of time could not be good for a person's consciousness.
"You're in a bad mood this morning."
"Maybe this is my usual mood."
"Maybe it is." He eyed her thoughtfully. "Still no memories?"
She didn't look at him, just shook her head and got off the bed.
William settled back as comfortably as he could to watch her get dressed. His arms ached horribly.
"I could help you, you know," he said.
"I can manage," Perdita snapped, trying to remember in what order things went on. Damn. Corset, then hip roll? Yes, that would make sense. Now, now the hell did she get it fastened? It was so tight.
"You need to loosen it a bit," William said helpfully, and she glared at him. "Just a suggestion."
She did so, and fastened the hooks and eyes, but then she realised she needed to tighten the corset strings, or Willow's dress would never fit.
Part of her wondered if there was a woman out there who was allowed to wear clothes that fit her body, not her stays. And then the rest of her dismissed it. Of course not. That would just be stupid.
Sighing, she came back over to the bed and untied his wrist ropes. William flexed his arms and rubbed his skin. "Thanks."
"You'd better pull them pretty tight," Perdita said. "The waist on that dress is very small."
"I'd noticed. Maybe you should hold onto something," he said, and was slightly disappointed when she took him literally and hooked her arms around the post at the head of the bed. He looked around her. Yes, because his spine was just meant to twist like that. "And then maybe you'd better untie my ankles, 'cos I'm not an invertebrate."
It was obvious she'd no idea what that was, but she untied them anyway so he could stand, and, rather nervous at presenting her back to him, grabbed the pistol and the knives and held them ready while he laughed.
"I'm not going to strangle you, love," he said, which was true - his thoughts were much dirtier than that. Her chemise was awfully thin and she did have a rather delicious little bottom...
"Can you just tie the corset, please?" Perdita snapped, and William shook himself out of it. At least she'd said please.
She didn't make a sound as he pulled the corset strings as tight as he could get them, wondering how the hell a skinny little bint like Willow had managed it. And how the hell did a woman's ribcage compress that much? Perdita wasn't fat, but then she wasn't that skinny, either. Her curves were rather nice. How did they all fit under that corset?
"You know, I think you look better without it," he said softly, and was amazed when she let out a small laugh.
"Mindreader. I bet you any money these things were invented by a man."
"Why's that?"
"Because they don't have to wear them."
"Some do."
"Oh, right-" she began, with deep sarcasm, and William laughed.
"No, old fat men wear them. And dandies."
"And how would you know?"
"People hide stuff under their clothes. Best way to get them to hand it over, make 'em strip. You know, the women don't mind so much, but the men... First I thought they must all be hiding a fortune, then I realised it was just their bellies..."
She wasn't laughing any more, and William cursed himself. Dammit. He hadn't wanted to remind her what he was.
"You need help with the rest, love?"
"No. I-" Perdita stamped her foot. It wasn't just her long-term memory that was failing her, she couldn't even remember yesterday. She must have got dressed like this a hundred times before. It wasn't new. "What goes on next?"
William settled his palms on her waist, which was now small enough to wrap his hands around. "Should be a cage, love, but you don't have one."
"A what?"
"A cage. For the skirts? Actually, some women don't wear them at all any more, I hear in England it's quite fashionable to go without... Are you laughing at me?"
She turned, his hands still at her waist, and smiled.
William sucked in a breath.
"You, knowing all about ladies' fashions."
"Yeah, well, some of those dresses are worth a lot, love. Sell 'em on for quite a bit."
Her smile faded. "I suppose so."
William cleared his throat and moved away before he started doing things that would make her hurt him. "I think this goes next," he said, holding up a wide pad, shaped to fit around her waist. It was to hold the skirts out, used in place of the panniers grand ladies wore. On quiet days - and days when they wanted to get through doors - the excessively wide, flat skirts were reduced a little by wearing hip pads and the prettily named bum roll, like the one he tied around Perdita's little waist.
He added a couple of petticoats, the bottom one plain cotton edged with narrow lace, the top one prettier, a panel of patterned calico at the front of it. Then he put Willow's green dress on over it, fastening the hooks in front to the stomacher he'd pinned to the front of the corset.
Perdita stood still, letting him dress her, his face earnest, concentrating, smoothing out the fabric, making sure everything was right. He fussed with the frills at her elbows and she had to hide a smile. For someone so apparently careless, he was quite a perfectionist. Briefly she wondered if he wore stays to keep his waist and hips so narrow, but then she remembered waking up with her arms around him, and feeling the heat of his skin under his fine lawn shirt. There'd been nothing under there but hot, hard muscle-
No, bad Perdita. Stop thinking like that.
He sat her down on the edge of the bed and asked for her foot and, after a second's pause, she held it out to him and he rolled a stocking up her smooth, slim leg, trying a garter just below her knee and trying not to tremble as he moved onto the other leg. He wanted to smooth his hands up the rest of her leg, feel the softness of her thigh, up under her skirts to her delicious little buttocks, slip his fingers between her legs and-
"Finished?" she asked, and he looked up, slightly flushed.
"Wanted to make you pretty," he said as she stood. "Well, prettier."
"That's enough," she said, and then added, "thank you."
He smiled at her, the first genuine smile she'd seen from him, and it was quite breathtaking. Perdita's arms were resting on the exaggerated hips of her skirts, but she had a sudden compulsion to put them around his neck.
Stop it, Perdita. He's a bad, evil man, he robs people and probably kills them too, and he could have violated you last night...
Although maybe being violated by him wouldn't be so bad...
She wasn't sure if he kissed her or she kissed him, but their lips met, hot and soft and permissive and demanding, and William pressed her tight corseted body against his and sank his teeth into her lip. Perdita let out a little moan, and her hand came up, tangled in his long pale hair, held him to her.
"God," William moaned, "you taste so good."
And Perdita's eyes snapped open, she stared at him in horror, and backed away, stumbling over the skirts which were too long for her.
"I - but - no, what-?"
And William looked at her, flushed pink cheeks, hot glistening red lips, long tousled blonde hair, and knew if he stayed he'd never leave. And he had to leave.
"Bugger," he said, and grabbed the pistol from her hand before she realised what he was doing. "Perdita, sweetheart, I'm sorry," he said, and smartly whacked the butt of the pistol into her head, caught her and laid her on the bed, and then advanced towards the window.
He stopped, and looked down at himself. Dammit, he'd never be able to climb down in this state.
He looked back at Perdita, lying there like a pre-Raphaelite heroine, hair flowing around her, covering the cut on her face, her bosom rising and falling above the low neckline of the dress, and his hand was inside his breeches almost before he knew what he was doing. A few strokes brought him relief, gasping Perdita's name, then he grabbed his trademark leather greatcoat, tucked the pistol into his waistband, and was off.
"Do you think she's taking a long time?" Willow asked, looking up at the stairs.
"I don't know, Will, it takes you hours to get dressed."
"We can't all just throw our clothes on in a few seconds," she said. "Some of us have to take time with our appearance. I think she's taking a long time." She put her hand on the banister.
"Uh, Will," Xander said, "maybe she's, uh, not, you know, taking time on her own."
She stopped, and looked back at him. "You think she's getting naughty with the highwayman?"
"Well, they looked pretty cosy this morning."
"She had him tied up!"
"Some people like that," Xander said, thinking happily of Faith again.
"Well, I don't think so. I'm going to see."
"Willow Rosenberg! Not without me," Xander said, and bolted up the steps ahead of her. They both hesitated in front of the door, looked at each other nervously.
"I guess we should knock," Willow said.
"I don't hear anything," Xander said, and his voice was touched with disappointment.
Willow rolled her eyes at him and knocked. Nothing. She knocked again, and listened hard.
"Perdita? I'm coming in, okay? Are you alright?"
Still nothing. Willow pushed the door open, then raced inside when she saw Perdita lying prone across the bed, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. William was nowhere to be seen. Xander tried to tell himself that it was just as well Perdita was dressed, but he didn't believe himself. Couldn't she have passed out while still wearing that little chemise?
Willow was shaking Perdita by the shoulders, and the blonde's eyelashes fluttered.
"Perdita? Are you alright?"
She opened her eyes. "Willow..."
"Well, she still remembers us," Xander said lightly, and Perdita's eyes snapped fully open.
"Remember anything else?" Willow asked curiously.
"I remember everything," Perdita mumbled quickly. She felt her aching head. "He hit me."
"Who? William? Where did he go?"
She shook her head. "I-" The memory of his hot lips on hers was burning Perdita. "I don't know. I guess he escaped."
Willow sat down on the bed. "At least he didn't, you know, try anything," she said. "Did he?"
"No. No. He didn't." Perdita ran her hands through her hair. "Thank you for coming in. I'm getting sort of tired of being hit over the head."
"Who hit you last time?" Xander asked.
"The highwayman. The one who robbed my coach. When I ran," Perdita babbled. "I, er, it bled, didn't it?"
"Yes, but it's not too bad," Willow said, checking it. "Maybe we should go and find a doctor, though, just to check. I mean, head wounds can be bad."
"I'm not sure I can afford a doctor," Perdita said shyly.
"Well, actually," Willow reached inside her bodice, much to Xander's interest, and pulled out a purse, much to Perdita's. "I found this inside your dress. Did you forget about it?"
Perdita opened the purse and stared at the money inside. No wonder her dress had felt heavy! She was rich!
"Oh my," she said. "I - I guess it must have been the shock, I forgot..." She looked up at Willow. "Let's go and find that doctor!"
They packed their belongings into saddlebags they found in the barn outside the house, and rather guiltily added a few things from the house, too. Bits of clothing, knives, flint and tinder.
"It's not like they'll be needing it," Perdita tried to rationalise, "and someone else could come to the house and we'd have lost everything..."
She left behind her ruined dress and underclothes. They were too spoiled to be worn again.
William the Bloody had taken his big black horse away with him, so they were left with the single, heavy carriage horse they'd rescued from the stagecoach wreck. Taking it in turns to ride, they talked all the way along the road, taking the opposite direction from the one they'd come from, and Perdita found out about Willow and Xander's lives so far.
"I think it's marvellous you know so much," she said. "I don't think it's a mark of witchhood. I wish I knew about Shakespeare and the English. I mean, I hate the English," she added, based on one day's acquaintance with one who was particularly unpleasant, "but I'd still like to know more about them."
"Well, I can tell you," Willow said enthusiastically, and Xander groaned.
"Once she starts, she'll never stop," he said, and Willow bashed his arm.
"Just because your skull is too think to learn anything," she teased.
"No, I've just become immune, because you never stop talking about literature and history and the English and all that stuff. Can't we talk about interesting things, like carpentry?"
"Carpentry isn't interesting!" Willow laughed. "Perdita doesn't want to hear about carpentry."
"Sure I would," Perdita said, smiling at their easy friendship. "I'd like to hear about it all. Especially you two. When did you get married?"
They stared at her, then Xander started laughing. "Married? Are you insane?"
"Oh, thanks," Willow said, and Perdita could tell she was more hurt than she let on.
"Oh come on, Will, I didn't mean... It's just, you're Jewish and I'm Methodist, and, well, you're like my sister, and..." He stopped, realising she was hurt. "I'm sorry, Will. We're practically married anyway. Often," he looked up at Perdita, who was on the horse, "we pretend we are married, just to make it easier. People have a problem with us just being friends."
Yes, Perdita thought, and Willow's one of them.
"So what shall we be in town?" she asked lightly. "Your wife and your mistress?"
Xander's eyes misted over.
"How about your sisters," Willow rolled his eyes.
"A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead," Perdita laughed, "what kind of a gene pool is that?"
Willow was impressed. Not too many people had heard of a gene pool.
Perdita was confused. What kind of a gene pool was that?
Xander was smitten. Smart and beautiful. The perfect woman.
"Look," Willow pointed, "I think that's something there..."
They came into the little town and the first thing they did was find a horse trader. They re-shod the carriage horse and bought another animal with Perdita's money. Willow and Xander told her she didn't have to, but she insisted.
"He can't carry three of us," she said, "he can barely carry two. We'll need a saddle too, and a bridle, and..."
They tied the horses outside a large house that the blacksmith had told them belonged to the local doctor, and knocked politely. A woman with a neat cap over her grey hair answered, admitted them to a little parlour, and then took Perdita through to the doctor's study.
He examined her head wound. "It's not serious," he said, "but it may leave a small scar."
"I can cover it," Perdita said, and he was surprised at her nonchalance. Most young women would be horrified to learn that they'd be facially scarred.
He put a few stitches in, told her to keep it clean, and took some money from her.
"Well?" Willow asked when they'd left. "Is it okay?"
She showed them the stitches. "It hurts," she said, "more now that it did before. Needles are nasty. Let's go and get something to eat to make me feel better."
It was nearing lunchtime, and Willow and Xander were about to head towards a street vendor for food, when Perdita strolled towards the nearest tavern.
"Uh, Perdita? A tavern?"
"It's broad daylight," she said, "and we are travellers. We'll be fine. Come on."
Inside it was low and dark, but not as intimidating as Xander had feared. They were served plates of indiscernible meat and some stewed vegetables, which Willow picked at and Perdita wolfed down.
"Sorry," she said, "I don't remember eating in a long time."
"Exactly when was this coach robbery?" Xander asked, but Willow kicked him under the table, because a young woman was passing their table, going up to the bar.
"Mistress McClay," the barman said. "What can I do you for?"
"Any news?" she asked diffidently, playing nervously with the ties of her cloak.
"Nope. Nothing. You could ask those three," he pointed to Perdita's table, and she ducked her head. "Travellers."
Mistress McClay looked terribly shy, but she came over and half whispered, "Excuse me?"
"Can we help you?" Willow asked, her face friendly.
"I - m-my master is - he wanted to kn-now... There was a shipwreck a few m-miles up the coast, and he wants to kn-now any news of it. Do you have any n-news of it?"
Willow willed her eyes not to flick at Xander. They'd discussed Perdita's hasty cover-up this morning while she was with William, and neither of them had believed her story about the highwayman. Not completely, anyway. She'd definitely been in the sea. She had something to do with the shipwreck, but neither of them wanted to ask her what.
"Why does he want to know?" Xander asked.
"He's anxious to hear of a f-friend on board. Some of them took boats to safety, but a lot didn't m-make it."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Xander said. "We rode through the storm, but we didn't hear anything of a shipwreck. I'm sorry."
The girl nodded, gave a small smile, and turned to go.
"Wait," Perdita said. "Who is your master?"
"Mr. Giles. He's the schoolteacher," Miss McClay said.
"If we hear anything, we'll pass it on."
"I'm very grateful," she said, and this time her smile was braver. Then she left.
Further inland, William the Bloody pulled his horse to a halt, patted her flanks, and tied her up outside a tavern.
"Gimme some whisky," he said when he walked in, and when a small glass was put on the counter, he shook his head. "The whole bottle."
"Bad journey?" the barman asked.
"No, the journey was bloody marvellous. Rolling countryside and pretty trees and fair maidens sodding everywhere."
"It's a woman," the bartender surmised.
"Damn right it is. Stupid sodding women. I could - I could just go out and get another one, and d'you think she'd care? No. Sodding bint."
The barman wondered if the blond man had been drinking before, because so far he'd not touched the bottle in front of him, but he sounded pretty pissed already.
"Turned you down?"
"Turned me down, tied me up, kissed me like her lungs stopped working, and what did I do?"
"What did you do?" the bartender asked, interested.
"I bloody left."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "Search me. Chivalry."
"I thought chivalry was dead."
"Yeah, mate, me too. God, the things I could do to that tight little body," William made feminine shapes in the air and clawed his fingers around them.
"Don't she want you?"
William pictured her breasts heaving under her thin chemise, her lips hot and red, her flushed cheeks, remembered her arms around him as he slept, her fingers tangling in his hair, and he let out a long breath.
"She wants me."
"Then... Oh," the bartender said. "Is she married?"
"No. At least - God, I hope not." The thought of some long-forgotten husband claiming her completely sickened William. What the hell was wrong with him?
"Betrothed, then."
"No."
"Then what's your problem?"
William considered the whisky bottle in front of him. Yeah, what was his problem? The wench wanted him and by God, he wanted her. He could take her if he wanted to. He had his pistol back and he knew her fondness for ropes. He'd tie her to the bed, gag her mouth and shag her out of his system.
Only...
Only, dammit, he didn't want to rape her. He wanted to exalt in her pleasure. Wanted to hear her cry his name, tighten herself around him in every way, clutch at him and beg him not to stop...
"Bollocks," he said, and went and got back on his horse.