For the space of a small eternity, the two regarded each other quietly. Jamie, set free of Hoss' grasp, stood eying Ashfern's infamous Black Knight with all the trust of an ill-treated dog, which was very much what he reminded William of. In his dirty little trousers and shirt, the odd hole appeared here and there. His shoes were cracked, caked with mud, and tied with enough twine it was a wonder they could still be called shoes.
"Where is she?" Jamie spoke first, maintaining a watchful gaze over the sinister man most considered the right hand of Death. For all the boy knew, William could have been death come to call, but he would not receive him until he saw Nan.
Raising a hand toward the door, William tilted his head for the boy to follow him. The second William opened the door to his chamber, Jamie ran to Nan's side, though, to his surprise, the boy didn't shriek her name or try to rouse her. He just stood there staring down at her, shaking with anger, which William thought odd. Why would the boy be angry with her? Obviously, he cared very deeply for her, or he would not have put on such a show in William's study.
When the boy turned to face William, he suddenly understood who he was angry with. Had the child been but a few years older and a bit bigger, William was certain he would have tried to fight him or at least punch him; as it was, he merely stared at William with all the warmth and affection of a winter breeze on the northern sea. He blamed William for her illness, though he had no idea what he had done to cause it.
"Her bag?" the boy snapped, his fists clenched at his sides as he glared pure hate at William.
With a nod, William looked to a small window by the door, her large bag sitting on the floor below it. In an instant, Jamie was on it. Tossing aside the rags Nan had bartered for until he found several small packets and carefully placed them on the floor before him. Followed by small mixing bowls, measuring spoons, and other accruements. William watched as the boy mixed and mashed Nan's ingredients. Measuring out this powder and adding that one. It was when the boy stopped his work and looked about that William spoke, not wishing to disturb him if what he was doing could help Nan.
"What is it you need?"
"Hot water, a cup, and a spoon." The boy replied. "She needs to drink this." He raised the bowl that held his remedy. With yet another nod, William left the room to order what the boy needed.
A short time later, his supplies arrived, and Jamie mixed the odd-smelling brew that turned the once clear water a murky green. Carefully, Jamie placed himself next to Nan, handing the steaming cup to William as he tried to wake her, but no amount of calling or nudging seemed to work. William began to worry that she had been like this too long. That the fever had sapped too much of her strength.
"How much of this must she drink?" William asked, raising the cup.
"All of it," Jamie replied absently, looking to William as he handed the boy the cup and waved for him to move. Confused the boy did as bid watching as William took up Jamie's seat on the bed and pulled Nan's limp form up, her head rolling to the side. With one arm wrapped around Nan's shoulders supporting her, William took the cup from Jamie's with his free hand and took a sip. Wincing as the foul brew assaulted his taste buds.
"God. That's foul." William choked.
"It's a remedy, not a refreshment." Jamie glared.
Nodding William took a larger sip and thrust the cup back to Jamie. Cupping Nan's face, he pressed the corners of her mouth, forcing it open. Once it had opened he slanted his mouth across hers and pushed the brew from his mouth into hers. Pulling away quickly, he covered her mouth and tipped her head back; he held her steady as she coughed and hacked, trying to spit out the concoction until finally surrendering and swallowing.
Reaching for the cup again, William paused at the boy's disapproving glare.
"If you have a better method." William snapped, leveling his own glare on the boy. Before taking the cup from him once more and repeating the process. This technique continued until not a drop was left in the cup, and William carefully laid Nan back in bed.
"What's your game?" Jamie asked, eying William as he pulled the covers to Nan's chin and pushed a few strands of hair off her face. It was clear the boy had a hard time believing William's help was surrendered to Nan, simply out of the kindness of his heart, especially when all the stories he'd most likely heard claimed he had none.
"I've no game," William replied, as he rose from the bed and pulled the bell cord.
"Nah course not, you're just callin' in a favor." Jamie sneered, catching the slight look of surprise on William's face. "Aye, she told me. She tells me everything." He admitted proudly. "This is your fault ye know." Jamie cast a hand to Nan. "She woulda been fine if ye hadn't chased after. And she still woulda done yer favor. Nan don't lie. She don't lie about nothin." The boy barked, pausing in his speech as a light knock sounded.
Turning to the door, William opened it to find his Butler on the other side. "A bottle of whiskey." He said to the man, then stalked over the boy, taking him roughly by the arm as he dragged him from the room and into Baringer's hands. "And a bath for this one. I'll not have rats and their kin running loose in my house." He ordered, then slammed the door on both. Smiling at the insults the boy shouted, listening to them fade as Baringer, most likely, dragged the boy away.
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William stood by the fire, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he watched Nan sleep. In the hours after receiving the boy's brew, her condition had improved greatly. She was not sweating as heavily as she had been nor was she as pale, and she was sleeping far sounder. Still William did not look forward to her next treatment, which he would have to administer if she didn't wake come morning. Her medicine was by far the foulest thing he had ever had the misfortune of putting in his mouth, which was why he had sought a drink with more bite to it tonight; anything to remove that taste.
And anything to understand why he had done it. The boy had it right to be suspicious of him. It would not have been the first time William had lured a woman into his care, into his bed, though that had been before the fire and his scars. Before the fire William had been a right scoundrel as many a man with looks that set the ladies all a twitter with whispers and batting lashes were. He recalled those days well when all his life had been bright and fair. Now, to look back on them, left him feeling jaded. Had he learned to value the person over the appearance and the purse he might have had more friends.
Now, it seemed all he had was Nan. And he would have her, even if only to have her near. He needed her near; it calmed him, made him feel whole. It made him feel like a man and not the monster everyone made him out to be. Though he'd had no small part in that. For years, he'd let them think and say what they wanted of him. He'd not cared since he'd had nothing to care about. He had even played the villain a time or two to squelch his curiosity and his anger. He had always been prone to fits of temper, but it had seemed with the fire his temper had escalated into fits of rage. He recalled one or two times, he had nearly beaten a man to death for no other reason than he had felt the need to. There were still occasions where such came near to happening. When Michael had come at him with the knife, William had been more than ready and willing to serve him upright with the blade secreted away in his cane.
When had he become such a cold bastard? When had he stopped seeing himself and only saw what they saw? Why had one beggar girl's honest fearless words resonated so sharply within him?
He was falling in love with her. He knew that. He could feel it. And he was falling for her over a handful of words and scarcely two meetings. And now she had a foul-mouthed little brat that wasn't even hers, or so the brat claimed. Still, he wanted her, craved her. Carrie was just as straightforward, and he'd never desired her as he did Nan. Carrie was by far the lovelier of the two, yet once again, all he wanted was Nan.
He could not understand how this had come about. He was not a man prone to stumbling over himself for a woman. Yet it was her words that echoed through his head, her eyes that looked at him, him, and not his scars. After what Sophia had done to him, he'd not thought to have a woman look at him without seeing scars or money. He hungered for that look and Nan was the only one who had given it to him. So, yes, he would have her by fair means or foul.
He would offer her everything, give her anything, so long as she stayed, and if that did not work. He would chain her to him using any and every dirty trick he knew until she was forced to stay. With that decided, he set his whiskey on the mantel and stalked over to her bed, sitting on its edge, lightly tracing the backs of his fingers up her cheek, over her temple, across her forehead, and down the other side.
"You're mine, Nan Harris." He whispered, then kissed her chapped lips softly. Pulling away to find her eyes open and looking at him.