Chapter 6

Nan cursed grumpily as she climbed through bushes, nicking her legs on their gnarled branches, snaring her hair in the low lying limbs of angrily swishing trees. Had she known the trail would be so rough, she’d of found a place to stay in town. As it was, she did not feel safe there with that man calling in his favor, nor did she wish to owe him for any additional aid he saw fit to give her that night. So, she stumbled, and tripped, and swore as she picked her way across the narrow path that led to her secluded little house, using the lightening to help navigate her way. Thinking begrudgingly that come morning, she would have to trim the path back. Something she felt ill at ease doing when its invisibility was her first line of defense against intruders. The second being, that only she and Jamie knew how to safely travel to and from the house. As she neared her humble home, a single roomed shack, with a thatch roof, crumbling stone fire place and dirt floor, she smiled, relieved by the sight of the faint flickering fire that burned within. Telling her, Jamie was already inside with dinner on the make. He was a good lad, her Jamie, smart and sweet, though he was possessed of an ornery streak when it came time to wash. Still, she loved the lad; he was all she had, and all she needed. Pushing open the door, she smiled happily as he jumped from his seat by the fire, taking her basket and handing her a warm blanket to wrap around her cold wet shoulders. Like Nan, Jamie was of dark coloring, with stormy blue eyes and a light dabbling of freckles across the bridge of his nose and tops of his cheeks. And like her, his face was smudged with dirt, and his clothes were faded and in sore disrepair.  The next trade she’d make, she’d need to be sure to get thread and mayhap some rags, anything to mend the new holes forming in his trousers, and shirt. “What took ya so long, Nan?” Jamie questioned, as he made her a cup of tea and dulled out a bowl of stew from the small cracked pot hanging over their tiny fire. Keeping his back turned as she peeled out of her wet clothes, pinning them up carefully by the fire to help them dry, leaving her only in the thin material of her equally holey and wet chemise. Jamie politely keeping his back turned as she wrung out the material and set about drying her hair. Keeping himself busy, he examined the contents of her basket; pulling out the potatoes and carrots she had managed to obtain from Banger, setting the mugs and bottles aside for use on the morrow. “I had a run in with Sir William.” Nan replied idly, taking up the empty seat by the fire, pulling her blanket back up around her shoulders as she accepted her tea from Jamie. A knowing smile pinned to her lips as she took in his look of excitement and sat on their bed, eager to hear more of her meeting with the dreaded Black Knight. Nan was the only person Jamie spoke to willingly, thus she was his only source of information. She did not keep him this way on purpose; it was just easier to let him stay with the house than to take him with her on the occasions she had to go to town. Where Nan was concerned, Jamie would permit no one to speak ill of her, and because of this, he had gotten them thrown out of more than one establishment. Like Nan, Jamie had a keen ear and a sharp mind for understanding things. So, when she left for town, unless she specifically asked him to come with her, he would choose to stay near their little house. Now, he sat watching Nan slowly drink her tea, she had managed two sips before his patience broke and he began assailing her with all manner of questions. “Is he really as black and twisted as they say? Does the cruelty show in his eyes? Was he mean to ya, Nan? What did the Blighter say? What did he do to ya! Why if he hurt ya, I’ll wallop him one I will!” He thundered, by then working himself into a fine anger over whatever slight Jamie had thought up to fit Sir William Horton, the well known Black Knight of Ashford. Nan knew well that William Horton was no man to play games with, friendly or foul. She’d seen the effects of his temper on a number of Tom’s patrons. She also knew that he was no kind man, despite his wealth. Most dealings done in Ashford were done with his say. If they weren’t, the fool that went against him was either be found washed ashore or brought up in some fishermen’s net not long after. When she’d woken him on the beach, she’d had some inkling as to who was; none in Ashford could afford the garb he wore, except Sir William. And none but she and Jamie knew how to reach the beach that lie just below his home of Stonebrook. It was a miracle he had not accused her of trespassing and had her hauled off for the deed, and thus she had stated her business and left with Jamie as soon as possible not willing to risk his wrath. She’d heard tales of his wicked deeds, his short temper, and dark moods. She’d also heard stories of his scars, though from what she’d heard one would think the man was riddled with them rendering him a twisted, misshapen mess that had been chewed up and spat out by the devil himself. What she had seen of him, hardly qualified. As did the attitude with which he treated her. Aside from his ill temper upon waking, and the anger he had showed toward her when she named him scarred, he had been quite tolerable, if only slightly annoying. It was not until she had seen the head of his cane that she knew for a fact that he was Sir William. “Calm yourself lad.” She smiled at her little protector. “I’m here and none the worse for the wear. Save for the battering from that wretched storm out there.” She glared out the window. “Now, hand me that bowl and I’ll tell ya all ya want know.” Eagerly the boy complied, listening avidly to her tale as she ate. --- Staring out the window, William watched the sea as it churned and swelled. It would be a long storm this one. He doubted many would venture from the safety of their homes in such ill weather. Normally, he was glad of such weather. It meant, he would have none of his usual callers, but now he found himself wishing it gone. With an impassive glance, he looked to the drink in his hand, the coolness of its crystal soothing his scraped palms. Studying his free hand, he wondered once more how the wench had managed to escape him. He’d had a hold of her arm one moment, bound and determined to not to let her go, then he’d been on his hands and knees and she’d been gone. Like a ghost disappearing into the dark of the woods.  Once his surprise had subsided, he felt the slight sting of his hands, raising them to find them bloody and scratched. The knees of his trousers stained with mud that was running down into his boots thanks to the quickly filling puddle he was kneeling in, making for an uncomfortable walk back to the stables. At which point, he promptly rode to Carrie’s, the Madam of the only brothel near town that was worth a damn. It was from her window that he now watched the sea roil and crash, the turmoil of the waves outside matching his mood most fittingly. He’d come here wanting to clear his head. Rid his mind of the fog that was seeping into it. Sadly, his tussle with Carrie had not done the trick, nor was the brandy in his hand aiding his endeavor. When he felt Carrie’s lithe fingers began to slide along his naked waist from behind, he glanced over his shoulder at her smiling face. A red headed temptress with a seductive mouth, inviting eyes and knowledge of tricks as varied as the women she kept in her house. Carrie had been a willing bed fellow to William for years, though he knew that would only last so long as he could afford her.  He’d witnessed her sweetness sour quickly enough any time one of her Johns had come for a taste of her, only to be told to sod off because they could no longer afford her. It was the reason he had chosen Carrie, she did not get attached and made no plans or pleas of him. “Last, I checked Sir William. You weren’t here to be staring out my window.” She purred into his ear, running her tongue along its edge, before taking his glass and placing it on the small in-table by the window. Sliding her hand into his she led him back to her bed. For a time, her tricks occupied him mind, but when all was said and done and Carrie lay spent next him, the fog that had plagued him before returned and he found himself haunted by the words of a filthy little Fish monger.