"Is it not Nan Harris?" he asked, hoping to hide his astonishment behind a look of teasing interest. Wanting to see if she truly knew what she spoke of or if she was merely trying to learn what little he already knew of her.
"You are not a stupid man, William. Please do not start acting so." She replied swiftly, clearly not caring for his game and showing so in the cool glare she regarded him with.
"Then, by all means, tell me your name, woman," he said, replacing interest with annoyance.
"Nan Harris."
"Nan Harris is dead." He stated his tone as even and as unchanging as his expression.
"So is the woman you seek." She declared, brokering no argument, "So please, stop digging up what should remain buried." She pleaded her eyes, her voice, her very being, all begging him to stop. Stop looking for the woman she had once been.
"You told me once that you had nothing to hide. What is using a dead girl's name but hiding?" he questioned, needing far more of a reason to stop looking than just her asking him to. As willingly as he would give her his heart, he was not so far gone as to ignore the possibility of what she could be and the consequences that might be brought down on him if he was caught unaware.
"As Nan Harris, I have nothing to hide. As for this other woman." She paused, dropping her eyes and drawing in a deep, determined breath before returning them to William's. "Her life was not a secret. But it was painful. And it did kill her." she stated, keeping her eyes locked with William's, only to pull them away haltingly, a distant look encompassing her features. "She was not as strong as you." She added her words spoken so softly William had to strain to hear them.
"You think me strong?" He scoffed.
"You loved your wife? Provided for her? Kept her safe?" she asked, receiving a short, uncertain nod from William in reply. "And when you needed her most, she left. It is a painful thing to be left behind. In any manner." She shook her head, her eyes never once wavering from his, and the touch of sadness he usually saw dancing in the shadow of her gaze shone through to the surface. "And you were wounded." She added dropping her eyes to his arm as her fingertips gently skimmed the surface of his scarred arm. "She did not even have that to add to her pain. Yet you did," she brought her eyes back to his, a weak but tender smile tugging at her lips. "And still you are Sir William Horton, battered, bruised, and angry, but still Sir William Horton."
"Your statement is not wholly true," he shook his head as she stared at him, her expression baffled. "William Horton became the Black Knight. And while my change was not as drastic as yours—"
"The Black Knight has done things which Sir William would not." She said for him, stating his point and at the same time making her own.
"Yes," he confirmed with a slow nod, though with his confirmation, he realized it had done little to help him obtain her true name. When in fact, it only aided in her case to keep it from him. There were many things he had done, things that, as a younger man, he would not have been proud of or admitted to willingly, but he had done these things nonetheless. And when he did them, no one said they were Sir William's doing, they said they were the work of the Black Knight as if they were two separate people and not one and the same.
"As I said, she was not as strong as you." Nan smiled weakly, her eyes lowering to the floor and then swiftly returning to his without a trace of the sadness that had been there only seconds ago. "If you must look, then look, but you'll get no help from me." She concluded and started dabbing at his cuts once more, astounding him for a second time as he sat quietly under her ministrations.
Was that to be it? One request for him to stop looking. No excessive begging or pleading, no tears or wailing. Just one simple request that he stop. He understood that she was no longer the person she had been, just as he was no longer simply William Horton. Silently, he wondered if he would ever truly come to know the woman before him or if he was forever to be guessing. He debated on his want-to-know. It was the woman Tom Banger had defended that had caught his eye. The woman who had smashed an empty bottle into her attacker's face that had piqued his interest, and the woman who looked him square in the face without the slightest hint of fear or disgust that had stolen his heart. Whoever she had been before, if what she said was true and he had no reason to think it wasn't, that woman was not this one. And he truly liked this one best.
She was so unlike any woman he had ever met. Brazen, holding herself like a queen, though everything around her declared, screamed that she was not. And God, how he loved her for it. Not once had he found himself becoming bored with Nan Harris or whoever this woman was. No, not whoever; she said she was Nan Harris. And so she would stay Nan Harris.
"How did you know I was looking for you?" he questioned, suddenly wondering how she had known when he had only just set Hoss to the task. Knowing well the man would keep his mouth shut even though all of Ashfern was by now abuzz with gossip about the Black Knight taking an interest in their beggar girl. Still, she could not have known such as she had not left Stonebrook for the last week.
To his question, she gave an amused smirk as she continued to dab at his cuts.
"Young Tommy Banger paid me a visit yesterday. I thought it odd that he knew how to find me when I'd told no one where I was. I asked him about it. He told me his father had told him. I asked how his father had known. And Hoss was mentioned. Then, he told me he'd been hearing Hoss ask a number of people about me. One should never discount the ears of children. They may not understand what they hear, but they do hear." She admonished lightly, staring at him with a reprimanding gaze. Then, she set her cloth aside for her cream and started dabbing it onto William's cuts, blowing on them when she caught his slight wince.
"Did the lad come simply to see you well, or was there something more?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the floor. If he looked straight ahead, his gaze would easily slip down the open neck of Nan's nightgown, and he did not want to take the chance of offending her at such a precious time.
"His Grandmother worries after me. I normally look in on her at least once a week. I'm overdue for a visit." She replied, then stopped her work as a thought seemed to cross her mind. She slowly pulled back to sit on her legs as she looked into the fire, her expression an odd mixture of worry and concentration, as though she was trying to work out a problem in her head.
"Is something the matter?" he asked after a few seconds more, her attention still lingering on the flames.
"I normally make her a tea for her joints. It helps soothe the pain when the weather changes," she said to the fire, her expression unchanged. "I don't have any of the ingredients," she told him, her gaze returning to his, but only for a moment before she dropped to the floor and scanned it rapidly as if to find the answer to her dilemma there.
"Surely, she can do without your cures for a time," William replied.
"She can." Nan nodded in agreement, though the fact seemed to ease her mind very little. "She won't like it," she shook her head.
"I have a feeling it is not what Mrs. Martin likes that is bothering you," William stated, not liking the look of concern warping her features. He liked it when she was mad, or casual, or even smiling at Hoss, though he greatly preferred to see such a thing directed at him. This look did not sit well with him at all; it made him feel uneasy that he did not know how to help her.
"Mrs. Martin is not the only one whom I attend to," she replied, shaking her head. William's unease went unnoticed as she continued to try to think of a way to fix her problem.
"Then, they shall have to make do with the doctor," he said, trying to provide a solution that would wipe the worry from her face but failing miserably.
"Do you think they would call for me if they could afford the Doctor?" she asked, meeting his gaze. Her expression finally changed, though William found he liked this new look less than the first. "Even John Pier has to be paid to bring his medicines. I only have to find mine."
"Does not your bag contain what you need?"
"Not enough of it." She shook her head. "I may be able to replace some of it, but..." her words trailed off and she was looking back to the fire a hand covering her mouth as she stared at the flames, thinking.
"But?" William asked, wanting to know what she needed and what he could do, if anything, to help her.
"Where I go for my plants is not the most...clean or accessible of locations."
"Your point?" he asked warily.
"You said if I wore rags in your house—" she stopped when William sunk further into his chair, letting out a long-suffering sigh as he ran a hand over his face.
"Two gowns." He pulled his hand away, holding up two fingers. "You may have two gowns to do your work in, but no more." He cut his hand through the air to signal the end of the conversation before dropping it and closing his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.
"Thank you, William," Nan said, slowly opening William's eyes to see her sitting before him, staring at him with the softest, sweetest smile he had ever seen.
"You're welcome, Miss Harris."
---------------
When William rose the following day, it felt as though the world was screaming at him with every move he made. His head pounded and spun with miserably evil delight as though the demon of alcohol had taken up residence in his skull and was merrily chipping away at the bone with a tiny pick and hammer.
Groaning, William pushed the blankets off him enough to bring his bare feet to the cold stone floor, the bracing chill pulling him into the waking world far better than his aching skull. Cupping his head between his hands, he closed his eyes and rested his elbows on his knees for stability, waiting for the world to cease its nauseating spinning. For a moment, it helped until someone knocked at his door, and in his irate state, William shouted for them to enter. He cringed painfully as his brain throbbed with the stupidity of his action.
"I see last night's actives are calling in your debts this morning." William's housekeeper commented disapprovingly, instantly causing William to jerk his head up in surprise to see her in his room when he was in naught but his skin, though thankfully he'd not pushed off so much of the blankets as to leave him utterly bare to her.
"What the bloody hell are you doing in here?" he shouted, wincing at the volume of his voice. "Get out!"
"Do not shout at me, Sir! Not when I saw Nan Harris leaving your chambers last night! Honestly, she's a good sweet girl, and you aught–"
"Last night?" William repeated, baffled. What had happened last night? He had no memory past leaving Banger's pub with Hoss and stumbling through the halls of his house with the man. What had gone on between him and Nan?
"You don't remember?" She asked, cocking her head at him as though uncertain whether or not to believe him.
"I remember stumbling through the hall with Hoss. Beyond that, I recall nothing," he replied honestly, racking his brain for any memory from last night, but there was nothing. What had happened? Why had Nan been in his room? What had he done? And why in God's name had he drunk so much? No, he knew why he'd drank himself into oblivion. She was why because she had refused to speak to him, to look at him. Because she had been mad at him and ignored him because she was concerned for Hoss.
Slowly, he shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he tried desperately to recall something. "I have no memory of Nan being here."
"I wonder if that's a side effect of the drink or the beating Hoss gave you. Though if you ask me, he went too easy on you this tund." His housekeep spat, glaring at his swollen face.
"Easy?" he echoed, leaning back to look in the full-length mirror standing in the corner across from his bed. He may not have remembered Nan coming into his chambers, for which he would have to tread carefully when asking, but he did recall his fight with Hoss. And despite William being his Master, Hoss had not held back. However, his face wasn't in the excessively swollen and darkly bruised state it usually was after the two brawled.
"What happened last night?" he breathed, lightly touching his swollen and discolored face.
"I'd come thinking to ask you, Sir." Mrs. Baringer chided, drawing William's attention back to his unhappy woman.
"Mrs. Baringer, I'm sure you have better things to do than stand there glaring at me as though I'm some foul villain who has stolen your daughter's virtue. Especially when the woman you're glaring at me over is not your daughter," William remarked dryly.
"She's a good girl," she stated, ignoring his words
"I know." He nodded reproachfully.
"She doesn't deserve what being with you will get her." she continued.
"I know." He said, yet again, his voice was a quiet growl.
"And if she gets with child because of you—"
"I know!" William shouted, rising to his feet, the blanket that had been hiding him from her dropping as he stood glaring furiously at his housekeeper. Whose eyes only turned from him a second before returning with a motherly fury of its own. "I am well aware of what my association with Miss Harris will do to her. And I am more than willing to pay for any deed that comes of it. Now, get out!" he shouted, pointing to the door behind her.
Without another word, his housekeeper left and William fell back on his bed, cupping his head and groaning loudly as both the yelling and the fall sent his brain into dizzying discomfort.
---------------
It was near noon before William found Nan toiling away in a small storage room just off the kitchen. She stood with her back to him as she ground away at something in a bowl that was clasped tightly against her person. For several moments, William just stood observing her as she worked. Her dark waves were wrapped in a kerchief and piled upon her skull, her dress the blue one she had worn to the market.
Before her was a large buffet of windows, allowing a great deal of light to shine down on the long table she was using. Its surface littered with various bowls, bottles, plates, and utensils. Several flowering plants he had seen frequently about Stonebrook also sat on the table, some bundled and tied while others looked to be torn to bits. Idly, he wondered why all her tools looked so battered and worn until he heard a small sniffle and looked to see her hand rise from her bowl to her eyes, wiping at them with the back of her palm before shaking her head and sniffling once more.
"Are you all right?" William asked, surprising Nan with the sudden sound of his voice as she jumped and then turned to face him.
William had not been prepared for what he saw, though given what his housekeeper had told him, little as it was, he should have been. She was crying. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks stained with tears, and her look of abject surprise when she saw him only aided in fueling the dark thoughts that clouded his mind.
Dear God, what have I done to her? The words echoed through his mind a thousand times, in shock, anger, and sorrow, and all in the space of a few seconds. Dumbfounded, William stared at her, not knowing what to do short of dropping to his knees and begging her forgiveness. Of making every promise known to man that he would never hurt her, touch her, or make her cry ever again. All seemed so trite. If only he hadn't gotten drunk last night. If only he'd not left Hoss in town.
"William, are you all right?" Nan asked, cocking her head with a frown. Shaking her head as she used the heel of her palms to rub at the swollen eyes, an agitated breath escaping her as she did.
"Me?" he replied, absolutely baffled by why she would be asking about his well-being after what he had done.
"Yes, you look like you've seen a..." she stopped, cringing when a thought struck her, and she took to rewording her sentence. You look like you've seen me." She grinned with a wince as she rubbed her eyes again. "Oh lord, I must look worse than I thought." She remarked absently, looking about for something to check her appearance.
"Worse? Nan, you're crying." William exclaimed. Unable to understand how she could so easily brush his assault of her aside.
"Yes. But it's not what you think." She muttered, rubbing at the corner of her eyes, then bracing her palms against them.
"Then what am I to think?" William scoffed, for some reason finding it hard to believe she'd cry over a plant and not him raping her.
"That!" she snapped, pointing at a rather unappetizing green mush in the bowl she had been mixing only seconds ago. "I'm making restocking my remedies. And every time I have to use that blasted plant," she paused, her head jerking back several times before she turned away from him, and a loud sneeze escaped her. "This happens." She finished, glaring murderously at the mush as she swallowed and blinked several times, trying to clear her head and her watery eyes.
"You're not crying over last night?" William floundered, his tone a mixture of hope, surprise, and relief, as he took in her bemused expression.
"Last night? Why would I cry over last night? You agreed to," she paused as yet another sneeze assaulted her. "let me work." she finished with a confused shake of her head.
"I did?" William frowned.
"Oh, good Lord. You don't remember." Nan breathed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling before returning her gaze to William with a glare. Yes, you did. I treated your wounds. We discussed you wanting to know who I am—who I really am—and then you agreed to let me work."
"Did you tell me?"
"Are you always this simple as a night of drinking? And no, I didn't, and I still won't. And with that being said, are you now going to resend your allowance for my work? You had no issue allowing it last night without knowing who I was. Now that you are of a sounder mind, are you going to reconsider?"
"No," William replied after only a moment's consideration. If working with her plants and herbs pleased her, he'd let her work. Given what he thought he had done to her last night, had she asked for the crown jewels, he would have ridden to London and stolen them for her himself? As it currently stood, if he'd made even the smallest of headway with her last night, he'd not toss it aside by resending whatever he'd agreed to. After all, she was speaking to him now, civilly, willingly.
"And the house in town?" she questioned, observing him with caution.
"House?"
"You...agreed...to rent a house in town for myself and Jamie to stay in." She explained, and all of a sudden, her civility made more sense if he had indeed agreed to such a thing. Though it felt as though a knife twisted in his chest that she would not be as near to him as he wished. And saying he would honor even that burned his throat as he tried to say as much.
"Yes, I will—"
"You didn't," she cut in, eyeing him thoughtfully. "As I said, I treated your wounds. We discussed my identity. And you agreed to let me work. There was nothing more than that—no house. Though by the look of you, had I kept my mouth shut a moment longer, I'd have had one."
"Why didn't you?" William breathed, beyond relieved.
"Because apparently, I'm not as smart as I think I am." She shrugged and turned back to her mixing bowl by the table. "By the way, why did you look so panicked when you came in? You were near white as a sheet."
"Mrs. Baringer saw you leave my chambers last night," William informed her, thinking she might find that bit of information both helpful and damning now that one of the servants knew they had been together, though not in the manner Mrs. Baringer had assumed.
"Oh. Oh!" Nan's eyes went wide as she spoke, covering her mouth. "Oh, dear. I'd best go explain that." Nan declared, setting her bowl aside once more as she hurried for the door.
"Explain that nothing happened between us?" he asked, wrapping his hand around her arm to bring her to a halt so he could confirm that nothing had indeed happened between them last night.
"Would you prefer I lied? Tell her you swept me off my feet in a drunken frenzy and spent all of last night ravaging me until the early morning?" Nan countered with an arched brow. Daring him to say yes. "If that's the case, I needn't tell her a thing. I'm fairly certain she'd have drawn that conclusion already." She added, tossing her head to the open door. But when William said nothing and did not release her, she continued on with a more comforting and assuring tone. "William, there is nothing for either of us to be ashamed of. I tended your cuts and bruises. Much as I did Hoss' this morning. And I must say." She took William's chin in her hand, turning his face from side to side to survey her work. "I did quite well. You look far more handsome than you did last night." She grinned exceedingly pleased with herself as she patted his cheek. "Now, may I go tell Mrs. Baringer what happened, or are you intent on letting her think ill of me?" Nan asked, her eyes locked with his as she waited for his reply.
William was beyond stunned. When Mrs. Baringer had told him of Nan being in his chamber his mind, much like hers, had instantly drawn the worse conclusion. That he had taken Nan and ruined her.
"I doubt she could ever think ill of you, Nan." He breathed, recalling how fiercely she had stood before him as any mother who loved her daughter.
"Yes. I think she's quite fond of me as well." Nan grinned happily, and William could not help but smile back. "Though, why you care, I don't know." She added much to William's astonishment.
"I care because I would not see your reputation ruined by some wagging tongue that would call your virtue easy," he said, staring at her utterly seriously.
"Ruined?" she repeated, her brow rising in a quizzical expression as she stared. "William, I'm a beggar. How much more ruined could I be? When people see me, it is not my virtue that comes to mind. At best, people fear my filth will rub off on them and, at worst, that I'll rob them blind if I'm shown even an ounce of kindness. "
Sadly, William could not disagree. He had thought exactly that when he'd first seen her.
"Not anymore," he said, leveling his eyes squarely on her. He vowed in his head and in his heart that Nan would never be a beggar again so long as he was able.