Nan stared at the stranger standing before her, his features concealed by the shadow of the alley as he yanked her attacker away.
"What poor manners you must have to force a woman to your will. And out here in the open, no less." The stranger spoke his tone like water running over stone, easy and unencumbered.
"Sod off ye blackguard! The bitch is mine!" Michael snarled, whipping around to face the stranger, a knife shining ready in his hand.
"Really?" The stranger questioned, his tone feigning interest. "Has this man paid for your time, Miss?" he asked, looking to Nan. Fervently, she shook her head, still too stunned to speak. "Well, with that being said, it seems she is not." The stranger replied with a single short shake of his head. Stepping back just in time to avoid the stab of Michael's knife as he charged at the stranger, tripping over his own two feet when the stranger hooked his ankle with his cane, causing Michael to stumble several feet out into the open. Before righting himself and turning back at him once more, again he charged, only to be pelted across the face with one of the empty bottles Nan had gotten from Tom's Pub.
Like a sack of potatoes, Michael fell to the ground unconscious, his face battered and bleeding worse than it had when he had run into the wall outside the pub. With a barely leashed rage, Nan tossed the neck of the bottle aside and slammed her foot into the drunk's side. One, two, three times before the stranger's cane braced against her leg to stop her.
"He's down. You needn't kill the fool. Though, I understand why you'd wish to." He stated, her eyes jumping to the vicinity of his face. In the meager light of the street lamps, Nan could only make out the shape of his face, any detail beyond that was swallowed by the dark. So she looked at the rest of him, trying to piece together who had come to her aid. He was tall, nearly a head taller than she was, with wide shoulders, his coat clung perfectly to his frame, which, along with his polished boots, top hat, and impeccable speech, told her he was gentry. If there was more to know of him Nan felt ill at ease to discover it.
"Ye have me thanks, Sir," Nan nodded to the man standing before her.
"Consider us even." He replied, in turn, stepping over Michael's body as he moved past her. Nan's head jerked after him, her brow creased in puzzlement.
"Even?" She questioned.
"You warned me of the tide." He answered as he walked on rising his cane as he tipped his hat to her.
"You're the scarred man!" Nan announced, knowing full well why he had stopped and was now turning back to her. Removing his hat to show what the dark had kept hidden. He was indeed the scarred man from the beach, though, in the light of the lamps, his scars looked far more severe than they had under the afternoon sun. It made his face look warped and unnatural, almost ghoulish, as he glared at her with far more ire than he had shown her when she'd woken him.
"Tell me, Miss do you make a habit of insulting all your rescuers?" He practically growled, the anger in his tone blatant.
"I've not had many to insult." She replied, guilelessly as she watched him. "And it was not meant as such, Sir. I'd gladly call ye by your name. If I knew it. As it is, my calling ye by yer scars is no different than you calling me by me eyes, or hair. It was the thing I remembered first." She explained with a shrug, turning to face him fully.
"And if I were to call you the dirty little girl from the beach, you would not take offense?" He bit back.
"I've naught to take offense, Sir. I am what you say." She smiled, a small tolerant thing, as she lifted the edge of her tattered skirts to prove her point. "Though, you have an odd sense of balance." She added a moment later.
Once again, the man seemed to be taken aback by her comment. "Excuse me?" He snapped.
"Call' in us even." She remarked. "Ye saved me from rape. Maybe even worse," She cast a hand down to Michael, giving the bugger one last savage kick for good measure. "Where all I did is save ye from walking home in wet trousers. Don't seem like the two measures up is all I'm sayin'." She shrugged as she bent to pick up her basket, walking toward him, looking over its meager contents, making sure nothing was broken. Aside from the lone bottle she'd used to bash Michael's face with, her fare was none the worse for wear. Stopping just short of her rescuer, she covered her basket back up and smiled up at him.
"Still, you have me thanks. And if ever ye be needin' a hand just ask about for Nan. Most know me." She supplied, giving him a small curtsy before continuing down the street as though she hadn't nearly been raped. As though she had nothing to worry about from the scarred man she left behind her. As though walking home alone at night was the safest thing in the world.
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For the second time that day, William was left staring after the peculiar girl from the beach. He hadn't expected to see her again, hadn't even given her a second thought until he'd spied her standing behind Banger's pub. At first, he thought her just a common prostitute waiting for her John, but when one had arrived; she'd been anything but willing. She'd neatly sidestepped the drunk's kiss with an admirable ease. Even brandished a broom to beat the bugger with until Banger had shown up and thrown the loot away from her. Which was odd in itself since the man did not tolerate whores in or around his establishment. Yet this girl, he protected.
If she hadn't had his attention before, she certainly had it now. Banger was one of the few men in town, William liked. They had sailed together for a time and knew each other well enough to share a pint or two, though over the years that had become less frequent as William's more sorted life choices did not meet with Banger's approval. Still, if the lass had Banger's good graces there had to be something of interest about her or the man would have told her to sod off and left her to the drunk.
And she certainly was interesting. She'd nearly gotten herself raped, and instead of turning into a useless heap or throwing herself at him crying for protection after he had pulled the drunk off her. She'd conked the blackguard across the face with a bottle and given him a few good belts of her own. He liked a woman who didn't stand idly by in a fight. And for that bit of amusement, he no longer felt sore over her finding and waking him that afternoon.
But when he had told her such, she'd had the audacity to call him scarred. In front of him, no less!
For a brief moment, he wondered if he had mistaken her bravery, her fearlessness for simple-mindedness. Surely, she had to be, to say such a thing aloud. He had beaten men within inches of their lives for lesser insults. If she was simple, he would let the offense pass; she'd known no better. But yet again, she surprised him when she stated her reason for his title so obviously, it was hard to find felt in her reasoning, though he still did not like to be called scarred. Nor had he liked her calling into question his choice of restitution for his saving her. Though again, she had made it obvious that the two did not balance out, not by normal standards. And then she'd left!
She had thanked him and left. He'd stood in front of her plain as day, scars and all and had treated him like he was any other man. The gall of the little chit! He was Sir William Horton! The Black Knight of Ashfern! Did she not know Gentry when she saw it? Did she not know her betters when they were standing before her? Did she not know him?
She didn't know him.
She had said as much.
The thought struck him just as the first bolt of lightning pierced the sky.
"Hoss!" He shouted, with a slight turn of his head, his body frozen in the direction she had gone.
"Aye, Sir!" Hoss spoke, standing but a few feet behind him. His shadow most days or worse on others. Tonight would be a, other, William decided as he cast a cold eye to Michael's still form.
"Get rid of that. Permanently." He pointed his cane to Michael. "Once you've finished see your own way home. I've business to tend to here." He smirked and started off after Nan.
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Thunder cracked the sky as Nan made her way home. If not for her run-in with Michael, she'd have been there by now. And as much as she wanted to run straight home, the unease that hounded her every step kept her from doing just that.
Stopping in the middle of the street, she listened to the world around her. The rush of the stormy sky above, the crunch and grind of the dirt beneath her shoes, and finally, the lonely rhythmic tap and scrape of boots behind her.
"I don't take kindly to bein' followed," Nan announced as she turned to face her new shadow.
"Yet here we are." The scarred man answered, stepping from the shadows of the building. An approving smile curved his lips as he took her in.
"Why are ye follow' in me? If you've come for what Michael wanted. You'll not get it from me." she stated, leveling him with an inarguable glare.
"You seemed willing enough in the alley." He smirked, the cad. If he sought to have his favor paid by calling upon her to lay with him, she would not allow such. She was not the loose woman most believed her to be just because of how she lived. Nor would she act it simply because they had already deemed her such. Nan knew herself to be a good woman despite what most said, and it, along with the opinion of one other, was all she needed to keep her going. No, Nan was no whore. Nor was she a coward who'd cow down before Gentry.
"I can't say I know of any lasses who'd be unwillin' when they've got drunkards blade pressed to their throat." she spat.
"Perhaps if you had put up more of a fight, I'd believe you." He remarked.
"So tis my fault then!" she snapped, glaring daggers at him. "Tell me who'd of come once they saw it was I call'in? How long would I have lived once his knife had slit me throat, or pierced me belly? Forgive my presumption, Sir. Me being but a lowly Fishmonger, but if I'd a fought I'd be died. And I've got more to leave behind in this world than a rotting corpse!" She declared, anger flickering in her eyes. "Now, I'll ask ye once more, Sir. Why are ye follow'in me?"
"You said if I need help, all I'd need to do is ask. So, I've come to ask." He replied with ease, bringing his cane up to rest on his shoulder as he approached, his steps slow and measured.
Watching Nan considered the man. He wasn't the sort she normally dealt with. Nan liked a man she could read right away; once she knew what he was about, she knew how to handle him. This man, however, was less clear, and she wasn't certain if she should help him or not. Though he had saved her and she had said she would, she really saw no good reason to refuse him, her unease about his motives for coming after her aside.
With a short nod, she ceded to his words. She'd hear him out. At the very least, she could do that. "Aye, I did. What it is ye need?" she questioned, still suspicious.
"You truly are a fearless sort, aren't you?" He breathed, bringing his cane back to the ground, his tone somewhat awed as he stopped mere feet in front of her. She felt like a rabbit ready to run, but she held her ground. When she spoke, she could tell her response was not what he had expected.
"Hardly." She snorted, rolling her eyes.
"You don't fear me." He remarked.
"You've done naught to me to make me fear ye. So, I don't." She replied with a shake and a shrug, her anger seeming to melt into a sort of casual annoyance.
"Not even when I yelled at you?"
"On the beach?" She queried, arching a brow as he nodded. "I'd hardly call that yell' in. More like the bark of an ornery hound." She admitted easily. "Nah." She shook her head, looking to the ground, before looking back to him. "I've had plenty of men shout, bark, snarl, and spit at me. I'll not be turned into some lump by a few harsh words that'll do naught to me."
"And the scars?" He asked, he waved to his face.
"What of 'em?" She shrugged, staring up at him with indifference.
"Surely, you are not immune to them. I am not a handsome man, Nan. I was once, but not anymore." He shook his head. His look more serious than it had been a moment ago. And for a moment, his anger seemed to rise when she smiled at him as though to laugh at him; shaking her head, she looked about aimlessly before leveling her gaze back on him.
"Beg your pardon, Sir. But you Gentry are a vain lot." She surprised him. "A man's worth don't lie in his face. A man can be handsome, but it doesn't make him good. So, you had the misfortune of bein' scarred. If you still have money in your purse, clothes on your back and a roof over your head, you're a sight better off than those what don't. Now are ye ever going to tell me what it is ye want my help with or are ye just goin' to keep ask' in these questions?" She quipped her fists, sitting squarely on her hips as she regarded him.
"You're helping me now." He breathed, regarding her with a look she wasn't entirely sure how to take. He wasn't barking at her or questioning her, just staring at her. "You're helping me decide something. Tell me, do you know Sir Will—" his words were cut short by a crack of lightning and the immediate on slot of the storm that had been threatening its arrival all evening.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Nan bit out, glaring up at the sky. Pulling her basket close to her chest, hunching over it as best she could to try and keep it dry. It wouldn't be long before the lamps were dosed, and she'd not be able to see her way home. "You'll have to ask me your question some other time, Sir. As it is, if I don't go now, I'll not make it home." She told him in a rush, quickly stepping past him only to come to a skidding halt as he grabbed her arm, turning her back about to face him.
"Tell me where you stay, and I shall take you there."
"That's no good, Sir." She shook her head at him. "The way is hard enough to find by day. It's near impossible at night. Best I go alone. Good evening to ye." She nodded, then ripped her arm from his hand, sending him toppling to his hands and knees as she ran off into the black.