William leaned against Nan's bottom left bedpost, another glass tucked into his hand, though this time, the brew was more potent and of greater quantity. Silent, he watched her sleep, her back to him as she lay curled up on her side. When he pondered the intelligence of going to Carrie, he knew he had been right. If he had taken Nan as he had so readily and roughly taken Carrie, the creature sleeping so peacefully before him would not be doing so now.
She would be curled up crying, thinking him the foulest of beasts. She would call him the Black Knight and finally understand why many feared the remorseless bastard. She would finally know that the Black Knight was a creature of feeling over thought, caring nothing for the pain or happiness of others so long as the outcome succeeded in giving him the pleasure he sought. So intensely, he wished for her not to see him in such a light. That she would always look at him as she had that night on the street, seeing him, seeing a man, and not the scars, the money, or the reputation he was known for.
And he would not botch that. He refused to let her see his darker nature, no matter the cost.
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Leaving the room, William shut the door as softly as when he had entered, unaware that Nan's eyes flickered open as she rose to face the door once he'd left. Unlike Jamie, Nan had never been a sound sleeper, so she had heard when Sir William entered. At first, she thought it was Jamie, but had it been her boy, he would have crawled into bed with her, not stood and stared. Nan had felt her heart seize in her chest when she realized the intruder was not Jamie but Sir William, as no other would dare enter her room without invitation. Dreadful thoughts began to fill her head. Thoughts that he had come to take her, to finally lay claim and make the title he had given her as his Mistress true. While she had known such would come of their relationship sooner or later, she had expected it far sooner.
She had not expected him to be as restrained as he had been. She had never heard of the Black Knight showing restraint, nor to be as kind as he was proving to be. It confused her. He had been so cocksure and determined when he had made his deal with her, providing for Jamie whatever she asked if she would stay with him and be his companion. At the time, Nan thought his choice of words in describing her duties to him was his way of lulling her into a false sense of security. Make her believe her place would only be dishonorable in name, and while on occasion she had thought perhaps he truly did only mean for her to be his company, there were times when his actions made her believe otherwise.
Tonight, especially when they had talked of baths, she noticed how quickly his leg had lifted and crossed to the other. How his knuckles had gone white holding the arm of his chair and how he had pushed himself further into the dark of his seat. When he had left the room with such a hurried and vague explanation, she had thought it was to relieve himself of a man's pain. So, she had left the study and started for her chambers. She had not thought her assumption correct until she saw him riding from the stables as though hell itself was on his heels. She had little doubt about where he rode at such an hour and in such a state, and for a moment, she spared a thought for Carrie and the coin she would make off him that night. At that moment, she found she was not fond of the idea.
And again, she wondered about her purpose for being here. Was she to be his Mistress, or was she to be his friend? His actions toward her were so contradictory; she was having trouble deciding what to do or how to act. Be the caring shoulder to support his wounded soul or the teasing seductress to make him forget all his woes. She had never liked the idea of being his Mistress, though that had little to do with his scars or his reputation. Nan may have been a beggar, but she was not so without morals that she would not take issue with being the plaything of any man. To her, being a Mistress was little more than being a whore who received more and gave more than moments of pleasure. She had never liked the idea of being used in such a manner.
But then there was also the issue of her skill. While she was no longer what so many deemed a woman of virtue, a term she had found even at a young age to be applied far too liberally. She was not so studied in the craft of bed play to think she could fully satisfy Sir William if he did take her to his bed. If Carrie's skills drew him to the sultry redhead, Nan was sorely lacking, as her knowledge of such things consisted of only a handful of meetings with her sweetheart and what she had overheard or been told directly by the girls she had treated. And still, she was unsure of some of the things they had spoken.
However, despite her situation and history, she still believed such a relationship should be built with love and not constructed out of a business arrangement. Though she belatedly realized that was precisely what she had done, she consigned herself to William's pleasure in exchange for Jamie's welfare. At the time, the arrangement had not bothered her, but now. She shook her head, casting her doubts and fears aside; as long as Sir William kept his word and provided for Jamie as agreed, she would also hold to her end. Bear whatever title Sir William or the Black Knight placed upon her. And she would do so without comment or complaint.
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When William awoke the following day, his head pounded in much the same manner it had weeks ago. His mind was awash with wave after wave of dull throbbing pain; he was not so much out of sorts not to notice he was in his study face down on the floor. A location he did not remember sinking to the night before but had little difficulty accepting. The three empty bottles lying before him were another matter. He recalled finishing the Port and starting the Brandy but could not remember when or how the Scotch had reached his hand. He despised Scotch, never having grown an appreciation for its roughness, yet there it lay, plain as day before him, and sparing no occasion to spread its ill effects through his being as willingly as its comrades.
With a groan, William rubbed his face and rolled from his stomach to his back, his leg hitting what he had believed was the leg of the couch. Only to find the limb was a woman's foot, and its owner was clad in a simple azure muslin dress. Her dark blue eyes stared down at him with a pitiless expression.
"Finally, awake?" Nan asked, watching as he slowly propped himself up awkwardly on his elbows. Blinking the fog of sleep and drink from his eyes, he stared up at her. The effects of last night dulled his brain to the extent that he had no response to her simple question.
Something Nan seemed to take note of as she moved from her cushioned seat to the floor next to William. "Here, drink this. It will help clear your head." She instructed, bringing a cup to his lips and reaching to hold his head in case moving proved any more difficult than speaking, only to have him wrap his hand around her wrist and lower it and the cup as he stared at her.
"You are overly kind to me, Ma'am." He breathed and was surprised when she turned her head and winced. "Do my words offend?" he asked, anger rising as he glared at her expression.
"No," she said, "But your breath does." She concluded, looking back at him with an apologetic expression. "Please drink. It will help." She laughedly begged, her eyes glowing with delight as he took the cup and downed the contents. A moment later, coughing and hacking, the rancid taste of the brew assailed his taste buds, and he made the most disgusted face.
"Dear God! What was that!" he gagged at the unpleasant aftertaste of her cure.
"Better that you don't know, though you will feel better shortly. As for the taste." She paused, turning to the couch, pulling down a silver tray he had not seen earlier, carrying a plate for sausage, buttered toast, and a small silver pot of jam sitting off to the side. She spread the lumpy red goo across the toast with a swift hand and handed it to him. "This should help." She grinned at him, smiling wider as she watched him eat.
It took William less than ten minutes to finish his meal and another five to vomit it all backup. Standing outside, his hands braced against the cold stone wall of his home. His mouth was a gap as he spat, heaved, and gasped for the cool morning air. His head was clearer, but his stomach clenched and reeled as though it had made up its mind to quit his ill-treated body and find shelter in a kinder frame. To dissuade such abandonment, William stayed outside, a fist clenched against the quivering organ as it riled and growled at him. William silently promised he would never mistreat his stomach in such a manner again.
When William's stomach finally settled enough for him to stand without clenching a fist to his gut, he turned to find Nan leaning against the door frame to the gardens. Yet another cup was wrapped in her hands as she stared at him and his sweaty, nauseated features. Her look was again pitiless as she regarded him with a quirked brow.
"Better?" She questioned lightly.
"What was in that cup!" he thundered, blaming her for the rallying of his stomach. William was not prone to sickness upon waking after a night of drinking. His head would ache, the world would tilt, and his mood would be sour for most of the day, but he did not get sick. And she had put something in that pigswill to make him so. Taking a threatening step forward, William glared daggers at the woman before him—the woman he so loved and so wanted to strangle.
"Ipecac...mostly." She shrugged as he advanced on her. Rage fueled his every step to which she did not so much as blink, not even when he braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head and set his seething face barely an inch from her own.
"And you let me drink it!" he snarled at her, furious, with breath twice as putrid as before.
"I know of no better cure," she replied with yet another shrug, slowly closing her eyes and turning her head in a vain attempt to escape his breath. "Here, drink," she held up yet another cup, which he promptly swatted from her fingers, sending it and its contents flying across the garden.
"I'll have no more of your brews." He seethed.
"It was mint tea. The only thing it would have cured. Is your breath." She remarked, leveling him with a displeased glare. "And you would not need my brews if you had enough sense to know when to stop. But if you're so set on killing yourself. Why not make it quick? Instead of this foul-smelling torture, you continually put yourself through." She snapped at him, grasping his elbows as she shoved aside the limbs that caged her. Marching into the garden, crouching down to gather the broken bits of the cup he had shattered.
Astonished, William stared after her, her angry words echoing through his head. He could not help the feeling of dread that invaded his being. Had he done something to her? He remembered leaving her room and going to the study, but had he gone back? He remembered finishing the Port, starting the Brandy, but not the Scotch. If he could not remember that, he may have returned to her. With a blink, William snapped himself back into focus, hearing Nan's irritated words as she reprimanded him for breaking the cup and losing his temper so easily on those who were only trying to help him. But William had no mind to hear her lecture when he could have done worse, and she may have been hiding it from him.
"Did I hurt you?" the words flew from his lips, and while they had not been what he wanted to say, they made their point nonetheless.
"Hurt me?" she repeated, looking at him questioningly. "You swatted a cup from my hands. That's hardly—"
"Not now?" he snapped. "Last night. Did I hurt you? I remember nothing beyond..." leaving your room and drinking myself into a stupor in the study, "leaving you in the study. Did I come to you? Did I do anything..." he searched for the words he was afraid to voice, his eyes dropping to the ground, to the bushes, the cliffs, the walls, hoping to find salvation among one of them, and only receiving it in Nan's touch when she placed her hand on his scarred cheek and brought his eyes to hers.
"You did nothing." She assured him, her eyes searching his with worry he was not accustomed to seeing directed him. At Jamie, Hoss, his servants, but not him, and his heart swelled to see such a look on her face for him. It made him want to sing, to jump about with merriment that she cared enough for him to worry. But then a cruel thought struck him, quickly murdering the joy he'd felt moments ago. She worried for Jamie, Hoss, his servants, and people in town who would have left her in the street even though her concoctions had helped or healed them. So what made her worry for him any different than her worry for them?
"Why do you treat me this way?" He breathed, staring down at her pained. Again, the words had flown from his lips before he had heard them. Saying things he was wont to word differently but making their point all the same.
Nan's expression was surprised if not confused. "Have I... done something wrong?" she questioned, shaking her head with a slight shrug as she withdrew her hand. This stunned him; for once, she had not had a clear and confident answer to give him. "Was I too forward, too...familiar with you?" she asked, appearing genuinely concerned.
"I've no issue with your forwardness nor your familiarity, Nan. It is refreshing, if not slightly unnerving, to be spoken to so easily after so long." He replied, thankful that he had somehow regained the ability of higher thought. "And I have no issue with your treatment of me, but that you give me hope for something that may prove false." He added, catching the way Nan's brow furrowed at his declaration. Her eyes suddenly pulled from his to the ground, and her expression became almost panicked.
The way he had spoken alarmed her, and for several moments, she looked like a frightened rabbit ready to run at the scent of a fox.
"If the hope you speak of, Sir," she paused, bringing her eyes back to his and biting her bottom lip slightly before proceeding, "If it is... Is it... that I may come to care for you? Love you?" She asked, her eyes wide as they locked with his.
"It is." He breathed, a cold pain stirring in his mind as he took in her expression, the uncertainty of her tone. This scene was familiar to him, and he cared little for it, so much so that he began to feel his heart start to frost with her impending rejection. "What have you to say?" he queried, hating to ask but needing to know before it was too late, knowing it already was.
"I cannot speak to such things." She replied, her voice dropping, as did her eyes, and shook her head. "You have been kind to me. To Jamie. More so than any other, and I am grateful for it." She looked back at him, wincing at the coldness that filled his features, though she did not let his look alter the honesty of her words. No matter how he wished she would. "And I will hold to my end so long as you still hold to yours. But I cannot give you an answer to such feelings. I'm sorry." She shook her head.
"You are sorry you cannot love me? Or you are sorry you cannot stomach me to want more of you? More than the simple touches you would favor me with, like some favored pet."
"That is not the case, nor has it ever been. You know that, William." She snapped. But what else was he to think without her providing another reason for her rejection? A thing she had never discussed with him if she ever would.
"So you have said," William replied in the same frigid fashion. "And so I have thought and believed." He shook his head slowly, blaming her for the state he was in, for letting himself fall in love with her when he knew she would reject him. "You touch me so easily. You speak to me with such casualness. See me. But I am not such a fool to know money can motivate a woman to tolerate almost anything. Even putting up with a man as disfigured as myself."
"I've asked you for nothing. Nothing!" Nan bit, her eyes wide with indignation as she gazed up at him.
"Yes. You've been very careful about that. Asking for anything, but you've had no issue taking whatever I give you, either." He replied easily.
For several seconds, Nan stared at William, quiet and still.
"We agreed that I would stay with you. That I would be your Mistress and in exchange for this, you would take care of Jamie, however, I asked you to. Your words." She stated, leveling him with an inarguable stare. "And I agreed to this. And I've told you already I will hold to it. If you want me as your friend, I am your friend. You're Mistress, so be it. You're Whore, fine! I will be whatever you ask, but I cannot give you what I do not have." She snapped at him. Then paused, straightening herself, before once again meeting his eyes. "So, tell me, Sir William, what am I to be?"