REBEL HEARTS


Prologue:


A/N: Another period piece, set during the American Revolutionary War. I hope you all read this, I know period pieces are not everyone’s cup of tea. Speaking of ‘cups of tea’ please read the summary that follows this! Also, please, this story is not meant to offend anyone in any way, shape or form. My great-great grandmother’s name was Mahalia (Arabic for ‘tender’) and it is a proud, regal name. The historical facts of this story might be a bit cloudy but I hope everyone reads this and enjoys it. Thanks, Luv, S


Summary: Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers is a Bostonian, high society young lady. When the story starts, we find her living in South Carolina, circa 1778 and in charge of a large Plantation. Through a series of flashbacks, told in the POV of Buffy and William ‘Spike’ Anderson, we will find out just how she and he met a few years before in Boston, Buffy’s home town. I don’t want to give away too much, other then this: Buffy and Spike meet at a party in Boston in or around 1775.

At the party, Lord William Anderson, an aristocratic Englishman, falls hopelessly in love at first sight with the lovely Buffy Summers. Problem is, Buffy’s Father, Hank Summers has betrothed his only child, Buffy who is all of seventeen or so, in 1775, off to Riley Finn, a rich, thirtyish Plantation owner from South Carolina. Okay, I’ve said way too much already, so please, just read this and tell me what you think.
Thanks, Luv, Spuf


Prologue: Time: On or about 1778
Place: Finnwood Plantation, South Carolina


Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers Finn, sat watching the sun set in the western sky. She was not alone as her wonderful house servant, Mahalia, was sitting with her. Mahalia bounced her own chubby son, Jacob on her knee as she both scolded and advised her young mistress. “Mr. Finn is a difficult man, Mrs. Finn, I know that, but we women, we must submit to our men. It’s the way, Mrs., always has been, always will be.” Buffy (her preferred moniker) was pretending to listen and digest the words the older and wiser house slave was spewing, but it was difficult.

“With the master gone away to war,” Mahalia continued knowingly, “think of it this way. You are the one in charge here at Finnwood, this is your place now. Frankly, Missy,” the servant woman winked, “if I was you, I’d count my blessings that your honeymoon with the Mister didn’t leave you with a child to worry about.” Buffy felt a twinge of pain shoot through her, not because she was sorry that she was without a child in her belly, but because she was so glad she was not.

“I know the Mister can be cantankerous and even mean, Missy,” Mahalia nodded, offering baby Jacob her ample teat to suckle. “He’s a hard man, Riley Finn is, but you are his wife, though I can’t imagine why your Daddy chose him as your husband. How old are you now Missy, nineteen, near twenty years?” Buffy nodded, already losing interest in the conversation, even if Mahalia was someone she considered a good friend, not just a house servant, or slave as the case here in Southern Carolina was.

“Mahalia,” Buffy finally interjected into the woman’s lecture, “I have to thank you again for your ‘advice’ to me you know, about the baby thing.” Buffy blushed bright red when her companion grinned happily, “that’s okay, Missy,” Mahalia assured her, “I knew from the start that you had to work with Mr. Finn to ‘change’ him somewhat before there were children.” It was really pathetic, but Mahalia was right, Buffy had figured Riley out hours after their wedding ceremony in the nearby Baptist Chapel.

Too bad Buffy had not realized just how ‘odd’ Riley Finn was before the wedding, but then again, her Father, Hank Summers probably would have overlooked ‘that’ too. Buffy remembered exactly how her Daddy, Hank had beamed during the whole wedding ceremony, after all, he had orchestrated the Buffy/Riley engagement and matrimony. Riley Finn was Buffy’s father’s most important provider of the precious cotton that Finnwood produced. Since Hank Summers ran the most prestigious manufacturing company in the North Colonies, well, it was only time before he married off his sole child, Buffy, to Riley Finn, the sole heir of Finnwood.

Who cared if this older, somewhat brutal man, Riley, might not make his precious Buffy happy? Hank Summers would never want for the fine cotton that Finn’s Plantation produced and his darling Buffy would never want for anything at all. Buffy would have money, position in Southern society, a massive Plantation to oversee as Mistress and dozens of servants and slaves to manage.

“Yes,” Buffy mumbled to Mahalia, while staring off the veranda out into the front area of the fine Finn Plantation, “if you had not ‘advised’ me dear ‘Halia’ I would already be swelled up with Riley’s child. And, as we both know, neither your master or myself were ready for that.” Buffy was not naïve, she knew that when she married Riley, she was expected to start popping out heirs by the wagonful, immediately, but this was for the best.

Riley had joined the Militia soon after he and Buffy married, claiming that it was time to serve the Colonies in their fight for Independence from the British Tyranny. Sad to say, Buffy had to stifle a sigh of relief when her new husband had told her he’d signed up that very morning, just weeks after their marriage. “Hope some of our relations took, darling,” Riley had smirked that day, tweaking her cheek with his huge, rough fingers. “Hope to come back from the victory and find a young son running about, ready to greet his Papa and learn about farming."

Buffy was far less then ready to give Riley a child, especially after she found out, rather shockingly, how debased her husband could really be. Riley had not taken ‘care’ when he had taken Buffy’s virginity on their wedding night and frankly, he’d been less and less gentle every time afterwards. She, Buffy Summers Finn, had realized quite quickly that her handsome, rich and successful husband had a yen for varying degrees of sexual brutality. That was bad enough, but the thought of getting pregnant by this man, this virtual stranger who took delight in humiliating her, was too much for Buffy to bear and she had run to her new, best friend, Mahalia, the house servant, for some advice and confidence.

Mahalia, being the descendent of a proud and royal African tribe, was not only intelligent, she was very savy about ways to help babies not be conceived until the time was right. With understanding, sympathy and affection, Mahalia had explained some ways for Buffy to keep little Finn’s from being conceived, without the Mister knowing what was what. “Do as I say, Missy Finn,” Mahalia had winked as she explained some ways to control nature, in a natural way of course. “There won’t be any babies until ‘you’ want them. Until you and the Mister have settled in and learned about each other more."”

The fact that Riley was now off, involved in the War for Independence, Buffy didn’t have to worry about settling in and learning more about her husband. ‘Dear God,’ she thought sadly, ‘I learned enough about Riley before he left to join General Wasington.’ Buffy smiled benevolently at Mahalia, “Jacob’s a handsome little thing, Halia,” she sighed wistfully, “his Papa, Jesse and you must be so proud.” Halia, as Buffy called her twenty-eight-year old ‘friend’ grinned widely, “yes, we are. But Missy,” she reached out and took Buffy’s hand in hers, “Jesse is a good man, slave that he may be. I love him and he loves me, and that’s enough for two people to create a child together. The love I mean. Maybe someday, when Mr. Finn comes home from the war, you two can make things work.” Buffy snorted, quite unladylike she was sure her Mama, Joyce, would be scandalized by such an awful display, “yes, maybe, Halia,” she sighed, staring back out into the cool Carolina evening. “I just hope that our side wins this war, even if it means Riley coming home sooner then later.”


A/N: Okay, this was tough. I debated submitting this part of the story now, but decided to lay the foundation for the whole fiction. Of course, Riley is right off the bad guy, even if we won’t see him too much or hear from or about him too much, (yeah!). In the next chapter, through a series of flashbacks, we will find out about William Anderson, Lord that is, who is now in the year 1778, a British Captain.

A hint here: William has not forgotten about Buffy, whom he met through Alexander Harris, his American best friend from the University in 1775. Buffy has not forgotten William either, but even then, these two were enemies, if only because the Colonies had already begun to rebel against the British Crown and the old ways. Please stick with this story. Please read and review. Thanks, Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS



Chapter 1:


Disclaimer: I acknowledge that I do not own any of these wonderful characters! Joss Whedon and ME own them,lock, stock and barrel!


South Carolina, circa 1778


“Captain Anderson,” Lieutenant Parker Abrams greeted his commanding officer with his even expression and mandatory salute. ‘Spike’ Anderson was looking over some military maps before him in his makeshift tent when Lt. Abrams burst in on him. “What?” Spike acknowledged the slightly younger man gruffly. “You wanted to know bout the Finnwood Plantation, Sir?” Parker stammered, rather nervously.

Lord William ‘aka’ Spike Anderson, recently of London, England and now the Captain of His Majesty’s Fifth Regiment was a formidable man, no question. Lt. Abrams had personally witnessed Captain Anderson burn an entire farm down, up in Virginia. Yes, the Captain, who was an intelligent man, could be a bit of a hot head when so inclined.

Although Lt. Abrams was as loyal Englishman as the next man, he did not approve of rash behavior, even from a Captain in His Majesty, King George III’s, army.

The announcement, by his Lieutenant caught Spike Anderson’s attention. “How far is it?” he asked simply of the lower ranked officer. Abrams did not like the wicked gleam in his Captain’s blue eyes, but he answered anyway, “not far, Sir,” he mumbled. “Our scouts have returned with some information, however not much. It appears that there are several slaves and servants on Finnwood and the Master, Riley Finn is away, possibly serving in the Continental Army itself. He is married, his wife is left in charge of the entire, large farm. She is very young, or so it seems, no more then a teenager herself, perhaps. There is a youngster, a white male, probably a relative of Mr. Finn’s? He’s possibly close to twelve or thirteen and was not seen about the place too much. Plenty of livestock. It would certainly make good quarters for our troops, Sir.

William ‘Spike’ Anderson, Captain in his Majesty’s Army made a concentrated effort not to smirk in victory. “Perfect,” he muttered with glee, as he pulled out a cigarette and a bottle of whiskey. “Have a drink,” he ordered Abrams, evenly, who did as he was told. “Something troubling you Lt.?” Spike mumbled as he took a drag on the cigarette and eyed the younger man.

“No,” Abrams answered quickly, then, “well, yes, I guess there is. However, I fear to broach the matter with you, Sir. It might be construed as insubordination. “I’m feeling really generous, Lt.,” Spike responded with a wide grin, “broach away, please.” He took a sadistic joy in watching his Lieutenant squirm in discomfort.

“Sir,” Abrams began cautiously, “I just wondered why it is so imperitive that we quarter at the Finnwood Plantation? I mean, there is a closer one, just down the road a mile or…” Spike cut the man off with a wave of his large hand, pacing as he smoked his cigarette.

The silver haired Captain stopped his pacing long enough to give Lt. Abrams a wicked grin and an answere. “Oh,” he chuckled lowly, “it’s not the fucking farm I’m interested in, Lt. No, it’s the young woman, Mrs. Finn who resides in it that I’m interested in.”

‘Flashback 1775 Boston, Spike’s POV

Lord William Anderson was bored beyond bored at the moment and wondered once again how he had let his best friend, Alexander Harris, talk him into attending this dull party. True, Lord Anderson, son of Lord James Anderson, was on holiday from his homeland of England, that is until he entered the King’s Army,very soon. Xander Harris, who was the son of a well to do merchant from Boston in some nameless berg of the Colonies, and the Lord had met at the University. William Anderson saw an American mirror of himself, immediately, in the rambunctious Xander Harris and they became fast friends.

Not that Xander and Lord William resembled each other, no. Xander, at 6’2” was taller then William, and certainly heavier. William’s hair was nearly silver, due to a childhood illness that had killed his twin brother, James, while Xander’s was almost black. The Lord’s eyes were indigo blue, where Xander’s were chocolate brown, but they were kin, in nature anyway. Both Xander and William were notorious drinkers and womanizers and cut quite a swath through the British Isles while in College together. Where Xander enjoyed any female company, however, William preferred high classed courtesans and high priced whores.

Since the time that both Xander and William had graduated the University, middle of their class, they had continued their path of carousing and drinking from the Isles to the Colonies. At the moment, however, Lord William was stuck at this staunchy party, in Boston, with Xander and his friends at some Britishman’s home. Rupert Giles and his lovely wife, Jennifer, were certainly wonderful hosts. Could they help it if their guests were duller then dull? Even if some of the ladies present were ‘okay’ in William’s opinion, they certainly would never go for a tumble in their virginal beds. That was fine, both Xander and William could find a couple of whores, good ones, who for a quid or two would give them the pleasure they needed for the night.

At this very moment, Xander was chatting up a somewhat cute young lady, Anya something or other. This was the chit that his friend Xander was all set to woo and marry, as soon as possible, but William was bored with the would be lovers’ conversation. William sipped his whiskey, tried not to yawn in obvious boredom, but suddenly felt the urge to look up at the top of the spiral staircase that sat in the middle of the Gile’s grand ballroom. The pull to stare at the top of those stairs would prove to be a life altering experience for Lord William Anderson.

There, at the top of the staircase, poised on the brink of descending upon the mere mortals below, stood a vision of lovliness. More then that, William acknowledged in awe, this girl was a vision of a Goddess. At that moment, the long dormant poet in William reared his poncey head and acknowledged this unknown beauty as ‘his muse.’ In all of his twenty-one years, William Anderson had never felt this ‘feeling’ of euphoria that he now felt, just gazing at this angel as she descended the staircase towards the guests in the ballroom. The ‘angel’ as William immediately dubbed her, wore a pink, silk dress that brought out her golden skin tone. She wore her hair down, unlike so many young ladies of the day who put their’s up in severe buns and such.

William could not see her eyes, clearly, or at least the color of them anyway. However, once the beauty had reached the bottom of the staircase and hurried over to his own friend, Xander, he could see that the girl’s eyes were the color of the sea. She was beautiful, she was a vision, this girl was perfect. She was right in front of him, hugging his best mate, Xander Harris, which caused a wave of jealousy to wash over him.

“Xander Harris,” the vision giggled, “you’ve grown!” Xander blushed like a school girl, much to William’s disgust, “you too, Buffy,” he almost giggled himself. “William,” Xander turned to his friend, “this is our Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers. This, dear sweet Buffy,” Xander gushed, “is a real Lord! Lord William Anderson of England.” The little beauty gave William a saucy smile and held out her hand, which he immediately kissed, gently.

“I am most honored, Miss Summers,” William flashed this Buffy his most charming smile. “It’s I should be honored, Sir,” she chuckled back, retrieving her hand all too quickly for his liking. “Of course,” she pouted, “perhaps I should not be so honored by a Lord? After all, soon my beloved Colonies may be free of your King’s rule and his colors will no longer fly over these lands.” With that, Elizabeth Summers turned about and flipped her honey blond tresses with her tiny hand. Leaving an opened mouthed William and grinning Xander behind.

“Why that little minx!” William stuttered in surprise. “Oh shit, William,” Xander began to laugh rather too loudly, “you’ve just been struck by Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers’ arrow of cupid himself. She’s only seventeen-years-old and the heartbreaker of the Northern Colonies, already. Daddy’s Hank Summers, who owns the cotton factory up here and Joyce, his darling wife. “Yup,” Xander continued with a sympathetic shrug for William, “Buffy’s something all right. Too bad she’s spoken for, though.”

William flinched and glared at his best friend. “Spoken for?” he nearly growled in question. “Oh, yeah,” Xander chuckled lightly, “she’s engaged to Master Riley Finn, owner of Finnwood Plantation in South Carolina Colony. Finn’s farm produces a lot of the precious cotton that Summers wants for his factory. I guess that’s why he’s willing to sacrifice his only child’s happiness for…”

“What do you mean, Harris,” William growled again in frustration, “sacrifice Buffy’s happiness?” Xander shook his dark head, “I’ve heard some unsavory things about Mr. Riley Finn, William,” he lowered his voice, although Buffy’s Father seems to worship the idiot. Buffy’s a good girl, William,” Xander added thoughtfully, “as bright and shiny as a new penny. Hate the shit I’ve heard about Finn, for dear Buffy’s sake. Makes a real man sick.”

William scowled at Xander then looked back at Buffy who had begun to speak with some older gentlemen who hovered about her like old maids. “Why would Summers give his only child in marriage to an oaf like this Riley Finn?” William asked Xander, somberly. “Because William,” Xander continued just as seriously, “like I said, the man worships Finn and his cotton. Thinks Buffy’s marriage to the fool will secure the flow of cotton up here to Boston. Simple as that.”

William Anderson’s scowl suddenly turned to a bright, happy smile. “Xander, old friend,” he chuckled lowly, “you’re going to do me a real big favour. You, my old mate, are going to get me an audience with that little spitfire, Buffy Summers, alone. Tonight.”


Present Day, 1778 South Carolina


Buffy lay in her huge, fine marital bed. A lonely, empty place now and even before her husband, Riley had left for the War. Mahalia had made her some herbal tea, an apple/cinnamon concoction, that had helped Buffy relax, a little.

The British Army had been spotted, just a few miles from Finnwood and Buffy realized that she had to prepare herself and this farm for the invasion that was probably inevitable. Yes, she would give quarters to the enemy, no question, if it meant saving this farm, the servants and slaves, and young Andrew from harm. It was Buffy’s obligation, her duty as Mistress of Finnwood to protect it, the people here and the land. At the moment, however, Buffy tried to rest and dream. Dream of Boston, three years before when she was younger, single and in the company of her family and friends.

A/N: Sigh. Please read and review. Period pieces are difficult and iffy at best so I would appreciate any views readers have.
Thank you. Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 2: ‘Visions and Ghosts’


Buffy Summers-Finn hurried down the huge staircase of her husband’s plantation. She had lifted her huge, hooped dress skirt to give her more room for speed as she virtually flew down the the steps and out the front door of the house. Jacob, Mahalia’s husband and one of the most loyal, finest men Buffy had ever known, had sent his wife up to warn Finnwood’s mistress of the nearing British Army. Sure enough, from where Jacob, Mahalia and now Buffy stood on the front porch, they could all see the advancing red coated troops, nearing the property. “They seem to be less then a mile away,” Buffy stated, suddenly very frightened by the sight.

“Missy Finn,” Mahalia whispered, “maybe you should take young Andrew and flee while you still can. We’ll be fine, I’ve heard the British are not that interested in slaves, only the masters and their land. Miss Buffy,” Mahalia took her Mistress’s arm gently, “you don’t owe Mister Riley nothin’. He’s been a monster to you, we both know that. Go on now, take Andrew and leave this place. Let them men burn it to the ground, who cares?”

Buffy did not respond, she just worried her lower lip and watched as the Army came closer by the minute. “No,” Buffy whispered, thinking of her husband’s sickly young cousin upstairs in his room, “Andrew would not make it a mile before he collapsed anyway. He’s too ill and frail. We’ll stay, Halia, all of us. I’m sure the British Officers in charge only want food and quarters for their men, nothing more. Most of the Officers in the King’s Army are blue bloods, Lords and such, I’ve known one or two of those in my time. They are usually quite genteel and more then likely will treat us with respect and decorum. Besides, if the British are interested in men like my husband, they will just track us down anyway and we would never be able to outrun them.

Please do not fret, Halia, I have you and Jacob with me. We can face down half of the King’s militia if need be. It will be all right.” Mahalia looked less then assured, but she nodded her head and continued to stare out in the distance. Jacob saw the front rider first, a scout probably, and sounded the alarm to his Master’s young wife. “That would be a scout or lookout Missy,” he explained, “those soldiers send them first. Old Master Snyder, his man Solemon, he told me that last month. Some British Captain, up in Virginia, he got angry with an owner up there, burned the farm to the ground after he ordered the animals shot and everyone put out of the house.” Buffy shivered in terror, “oh God,” she hissed under her breath as the British scout arrived at their doorstep.


Flashback; Circa 1775, Boston, Mass; Buffy’s POV


Buffy meandered through Jennifer Gile’s beautiful and quite famous rose gardens, stopping now and then to smell the lovely fragrances of the various flowers. She was alone, quite inappropriately, in the gardens tonight, having left the commotion of the party goers inside the Gile’s Mansion. With a sigh, Buffy sat on the little stone bench in the middle of the huge gardens, just slightly chilled from the Spring night air in Boston. Alexander Harris, her childhood friend, and most certainly her beloved cousin, Anya’s future husband had talked Buffy into sneaking out into the gardens. It was highly unacceptable that Buffy be unescorted in the gardens, but since it was she, Elizabeth Buffy Summers that was in question, then not much was unheard of here. Buffy thought perhaps Xander Harris was interested in talking to her about Anya and eagerly agreed to meet him outside in the nippy cool air. So far, however, Xander was no where to be seen and Buffy was just about ready to return to the party inside, the warmth of the inner household, when she heard a distinctly British voice behind her.

“Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon; who is already sick and pale with grief. That thou her maid art far more fair then she;
Be not her maid, since she is envious…” Buffy heard the pompous Lord William Anderson quote.
Buffy rolled her green eyes and stifled a wicked laugh, “oh please, Lord Anderson,” she chuckled, “quoting the Great Bard of Avon? Do you think that your borrowed words and plagered fancy prose of the Master poet, Great Will Shakespeare will turn my silly young fancy to you?" The British Lord said good naturedly, “I can only hope, Miss Summers,” he responded lightly as he stepped out of the shadows to greet her. “Well,” Buffy sighed wistfully, scooching over just a little to allow the Englishman to sit next to her, “do not hope for too much. I am a betrothed woman, promised to my Father’s good friend, Master Riley Finn.” She felt the young Brit flinch beside her his whole demeanor became tense. “Perhaps I could persuade you to forget that bloody ponce you’re engaged to, who, by the way appears to be quite a ways away from his intended. Why, may I ask?”

Buffy flinched this time, feeling quite peckish that this brazen, stranger from across the sea had even asked such a personal question. However, for some reason she felt compelled to answere him, at least somewhat. “Well, not that it is any of your concern,” she began carefully, pulling a bit further from him as he moved closer to her, “but my future husband is away, on business. He left his home for Louisianna a week or so ago. Business, as I said, something to do with King Cotton and all. It is of little concern to me, especially now, before we marry and that will not be for at least a year or so. This is Boston, Lord Anderson, not the Southern Colonies and I do not agree with the ages that some young ladies marry down there. I choose to stay betrothed only, for the present, seeing to my parents and their needs here in New England, for now that is.”

The silver haired man beside her laughed loudly, “choose to stay betrothed only? Oh please,” he shook his handsome head. “You choose to stay ‘betrothed’ only because your foolish Father has placed you in an impossible situation. Xander Harris is my best friend and has shared quite a bit of information about you, your family and this idiot your old man has enslaved you to. Riley Finn, my dear girl, has a terrible reputation in the South and up here. Frankly…” Buffy had heard enough and bolted up from her place on the bench, “do not speak of my future husband, Lord Anderson.” He grinned widely at her, “I said to call me William.” She shook her head defiantly, “I’ll call you Lord Anderson. Fits you better I think. Anyway, as much as I adore my Xander, my good friend, I know how one-sided his opinion of my Father and Riley might just be. Besides, speaking of reputations and terrible in the same sentence? Hmph, Xander’s reputation with liquer and women is notorious, as I am sure yours is. I’ll say goodnight sir.” She turned to leave the presence of this uppity, pompous, no matter how good looking young man in a huff. However, he had other ideas, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him.

“Why would you allow your foolish Father, the all mighty Hank Summers, to marry you off to this wanker in South Carolina. Sequester you down there on some bloody stupid farm, hidden away from a fullfilling life of fun and parties. They are much more suited to you Buffy, much more. You belong in a world of high society, galas and soirees that befit a beautiful lady like you. In my world, British society, you could shine like you should,” the Lord scowled down at her, making her realize just how short she really was. “Oh, so I suppose I belong in England, with your peers, royal snobs and socialites. With you I suppose, on your arm?” He grinned and nodded with enthusiasm. “You do not even know me,” she stated harshly, trying to pull away from his grasp. “Oh, I know you,” he purred, “I have known you for years. In my dreams, in my visions. Known you right down to your emerald colored eyes and the little heart shaped birthmark you have on your…” Buffy finally succeeded in escaping his clasping hands.

“I’ll be leaving now,” she hissed as she turned, once again, to escape his insufferable presence. Before she could get away, however, he caught her once more and pulled her into his strong arms. She shivered despite her best efforts and not from the chilled air, certainly. “Cold, luv?” he chuckled, wrapping his long arms about her, holding to him tightly. “Hardly,” she murmered trying not to shiver again from the tingle his touch caused her. “Buffy,” he rasped, pulling her chin up so her eyes could meet his. ‘Gosh,’ she thought hazily, ‘he has the bluest eyes I have ever seen.’ “Don’t rush away from me, my sweet,” he murmered as he nuzzled her ear with his overly soft lips. “I cannot help who and what I am, anymore then you can. Or that we have met at a really inopportune time, but please believe me, we have met for a reason. I am only asking that you think about what we feel between us, and don’t shake your head, girl. You feel it also, this heat and desire that we felt the minute we laid eyes on each other.” Buffy did not bother to struggle against this handsome, mystical man, rather she lay her golden head against his chest and sighed sorrowfully. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered against his chest, “I am promised to another. Besides,” she scrunched up her brow in thought, “we will be enemies, and soon I fear.”

“As I said in the house Lord Anderson, I mean William,” she sighed in resignation. “There will be a war between the Colonies and your Motherland, it is inevitable.” William snorted and bravely kissed the top of her soft golden head, “I don’t give a bloody hell about a war at this moment. I just want you, need you, Buffy and look,” he pointed up at the bright moonlight, “that’s all you and I should care about tonight. I’ve searched for years for you, just did not know where to really look, until now. Buffy shivered again, this time in frustrated need, even she could not ignore that. “But I do care,” she finally muttered against his chest. “Mark my words, William, this coming war will separate all of us, friends, foes, strangers and families.”

She felt him relax against her, then felt the tell tale sign of his arousal against her front, down below. Before she could say another word, William pulled her chin up again, gently and leaned in to kiss her. Buffy felt his lovely mouth touch hers and she could not resist the pull of electricity that she felt shoot through both of them. Instead of pulling away, like a proper, well brought up young lady of Boston, she responded to his greedy mouth and returned his kisses with equal passion. “Buffy!” they heard Anya cry from a nearby balcony, causing Miss Summers to jump back from William, startled and ashamed, instantly.

“Don’t answere her,” William pleaded hoarsely, holding her tightly to him. “I have to,” she responded, “no matter how reluctantly.” Buffy looked back to the house and up to the second floor where she saw Anya and a very sheepish looking Xander Harris standing together. “Meet me later,” William rasped, clutching at Buffy desperately. “Meet me later tonight, in an hour, no, make that in thirty minutes. I cannot wait an hour for you. I’ll go insane.” Buffy hesitated, glanced up at William then back at the house, “I cannot…” she began cautiously, trying to break his hold on her. “You can,” he rasped, “and you will.” She, Buffy realized that this man was not going to let her go until she made some kind of promise to meet him later on, even if it was a false promise. “Later,” she sighed, “here in the gardens. It must be almost 9:30 PM by now, I’ll be back, at 10:30 sharpe. But only for a moment or two, understand?” Buffy gave the young Brit a stern look, which seemed to only make him smile more then ever. “10:30 PM,” he whispered, “sharpe. And if you miss the appointment, sweet,” he grinned down at her, “I’ll search you out and spank your lovely little bottom. Do ‘you’ understand?” Shivering again with whatever new emotion it was to her, Buffy nodded and broke from his hold. She scurried out of the gardens and back into the huge Gile’s Mansion. Buffy had no intention of keeping her promise to meet the handsome Lord William Anderson. Instead, she would plead a headache and depart the party as soon as possible, because even she realized that some things were more dangerous then rich Plantation Masters and talk of rebellions.


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


Captain Spike Anderson sat on the makeshift chair in his tent and stared at the charcoal sketch he had drawn months ago. He took the damn thing everywhere he went and set it up in his makeshift quarters. It was ‘her’ Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers, now Finn, drawn from memory in her little pink silk dress that she wore the night she broke his black heart. ‘Bloody little bitch,’ he hissed under his breath as he surveyed the drawing. ‘Stood me up, never gave me a chance. Well,’ he chuckled to himself wickedly, ‘looks like I just found searched you out, Princess. Wonder if you remember that spanking I promised you for not showing?’ Leiutenent Abrams shuffled into the tent, a little too stealthly for Spike, but the Captain just sat and stared at the drawing, sipping his whiskey. “I am here to report that we are less then a mile from the Finn Plantation, sir,” Parker mumbled behind him. “Our scout has gone ahead to ‘ask’ permission to be quartered there. I was wondering, sir,” Abrams hesitated momentarily. “Oh for the bloody fuck, what?” Spike rasped harshly, never taking his eyes from the drawing. “Well, sir,” Parker began, “I was wondering, what shall we do if Mrs. Finn says no to our request.” Spike grinned slowly, finishing the rest of his drink in one gulp. Without bothering to turn to face his Leiutenent, he replied gruffly, “well, then, Abrams, we’ll just burn her fucking farm to the ground. Won’t we?”

Buffy eyed the young British scout warily, “well sir,” she stood straight up and stared right into the mere boy’s eyes. “What do you want?” The young man, who probably wasn’t more then eighteen gave her a half hearted salute and a shy smile. “I am here at the bequest of my Superior Maam,” he stammered, “we, the Fifth Regiment of His Majesty’s Service, request that you give us quarter and lodging. For at least a week or two, Maam.” Buffy sighed and glanced at Jacob and his wife, Mahalia then fixed her gaze back on the young scout before her. “Do I have a choice?” she asked the young man honestly. He shook his head firmly, “no Maam, I do not believe you do. My Superior, Captain William Anderson, would be most unhappy if you turn us away.” Buffy felt an odd shiver shoot through her tiny body, ‘Captain William Anderson,’ she thought, ‘oh dear God, surely not. Anderson is a common name here and back in England, must be someone else.’

Jacob broke in on Buffy’s thoughts, “Missy Finn,” he said under his breath, “that’s the name. The Captain that Soleman spoke of from Virginia. He had that farm burned down and…” Buffy gasped audibly and returned her gaze onto the young man before her, a handsome lad, but hardly old enough for this horrid nonsense. “All right, sir,” she sighed in resignation, “I have no choice but to give your Commander and his troops quarter and lodging. I do not like it and I certainly do not choose it. But, I have no choice.” The young scout sighed in relief and again mock saluted Buffy, “you are a true lady, Maam,” he stated simply, turning his horse about to return to his regiment. As the three people watched the young man return with his good news to his Commander, Mahalia peered at Buffy with true concern. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost Missy,” she whispered, taking her Mistress’s arm in her strong hand. “Mahalia,” Buffy murmered, pale as a ghost herself, she was sure, “hopefully I am wrong, but I may be seeing just that, soon. A ghost that is.”


A/N: Sigh. I know that period pieces are slow to gain acceptance, but please read this one and review if you would. I would like to know if I am capturing the essence of the time and maybe even the ‘speech’ of the era. It’s very important to me. Thanks, Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 3: ‘Big Bad Spike’


A/N: Buffy gets a bit ‘nervous’ in this chapter. Not just for herself, however.


Less then two hours after Buffy had agreed to lodge and quarter the King’s 5th Regiment, she was back out on the veranda, along with Jesse and Mahalia. Against Buffy’s better judgement, young Andrew Finn, her husband’s cousin and ward, had joined them on the porch to watch the British troops, their enemies, march right up into Finnwood and their lives. “Buffy,” Andrew coughed out, his weak lungs gasping for the life giving air, “will they shoot us?” Buffy shook her head ‘no’ firmly, more to assure herself then the boy. To herself she thought, ‘no Andrew, dear’ they won’t shoot us, but I am more concerned about the female slaves and servants.’

She had no idea just how many males were with the 5th Regiment, but men being men, she feared that they might take advantage of some of the comlier female slaves on the Plantation. Something, she had no fear of at all for herself, ‘the Commander would never allow his men to bother me, I’m sure of it,’ she reasoned. No, Buffy’s concern lay with her servants, all of them, but mainly the younger females. ‘I’ll make a bargain with this Captain Anderson,’ she surmissed, ‘strike an agreement that his men leave the women alone. I will promise ‘not’ to make a fuss about them being here, not give them any problems at all. That is, if he promises, gives me his word, that the females will not be bothered by his men.’

Spike rode up the long pathway that led to Finnwood Plantation, and Buffy, of course. He could not help but smirk all the way as he led his troops to their new lodgings. ‘Wonder what she’ll do when she sees it’s me,’ he chuckled to himself as he pondered her first reactions. ‘Run and hide?’ he scowled at the this thought, ‘nah, where would she run to. I’ll just find her anyway.’ With a hearty laugh, he spurred his fine steed to go faster, slipping his military hat from his bright blonde head. ‘She should be able to just see ‘me’ from the porch,’ he surmissed as he lay the hat before him on his saddle. “Here comes big bad Spike,” he whispered to the air, “hope you are so very glad to see me, Buffy luv.”


Flashback, Boston 1775; Spike’s POV


Lord William Anderson, who by nature was an impatient man, spoiled, but quite tough when need be, was pacing about in the Gile’s gardens. It was now almost 11:00 PM, according to his gold pocket watch, it had been his Grandfather’s, and sweet little Buffy Summers was no where in sight. “No way,” he growled to empty air, a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut, “she surely would not have forgotten. Or, worse, just not show up!” He lit another cigarette and began his slow, purposeless stride up and down the little pathway that circled the inner gardens. “Christ,” he grumbled impatiently, “she just has to show.

This woman is my dream muse. My Golden Goddess that I’ve searched for forever. Besides,” he continued taking deep drags on his cigarette, “she felt it. Our connection when we kissed, I fucking know it.” William stared up at the balcony that Buffy had left him earlier to go to. There was no light coming from the adjoining room, where William presumed Buffy had dissapeared into. “Bloody Hell!” he roared angrily as he violently stomped out his cigarette beneath his boot. “She’s not coming, the bloody little tease!”

Once he had stormed back into the Gile’s Mansion, William sought out Xander Harris immediately. Xander was emmersed in a conversation with Rupert Giles, their host, and some other men that William didn’t recognize. He could hear, even from the entryway of the grand room, bits of their conversation. ‘Bloody hell,’ William sighed in exhasperation, ‘talk of war again!’ When William had strode up to the little group to pull Xander Harris away and find out about Buffy, Rupert Gile’s motioned him closer to them all. “This is Lord William Anderson, Benjamin,” he nodded to a portly older man warmly. “Perhaps young Lord Anderson can give you some personal insight to how our Motherland views us. This is my good friend, Benjamin Franklin, Lord Anderson. A man quite put out by the King’s taxes and laws. Benjamin feels that we Colonists should be exempt from some of the King’s more questionable rulings.”

William smiled quickly at this Franklin bloke, but looked square at Xander, “where is she?” he asked his best friend, completely snubbing the older man. Xander choked on his drink and shook his head, wide eyed at his friend, “who?” he asked. William just rolled his eyes and nodded to the empty hallway, “let’s talk, mate,” he ordered Xander, evenly.

Turning to Rupert Giles and this Mr. Franklin, William nodded curtly, “nice to meet you, sir,” he finally ackowledged this intelligent looking man. Lovely party, Mr. Giles,” he shook Rupert’s hand quickly. “I’m afraid that something almost catostrophic has occurred, something personal that is, and I must take Mr. Harris with me to ‘fix’ this problem. Thank you.” With that quick dismissal of Rupert, Franklin and the other two losers with them, William pulled Xander into the empty hallway. “Where the fuck is she?” he asked Xander again, once they had reached the hallway together. “Christ, man,” Xander hissed lowly, “that was the Benjamin Franklin! Do you have any idea who the hell that man is. What he means to we Americans?”

William shook his head in frustration, “fuck ‘em. I’m interested in Buffy, where is she?” Xander eyed his friend, warily, sighed and finally answered William, “she left the party. Over an hour ago, claimed she had a headache and had Anya, along with an appropriate escort, take them home. Should have known ‘you’ were the headache William,” Xander muttered with a shake of his dark head. “Bitch,” William hissed, his eyes aflame with anger, “she stood me up. All right, mate,” William growled, glaring at his best friend, Xander, “let’s have it, where does that little cock tease, Buffy, live and how fast can we get there?”


Present Day, 1778 (that is) South Carolina


Buffy Summers-Finn stood proudly on the front porch of her missing husband’s Plantation. Mahalia, her house servant and good friend, stood next to her, clutching her Mistress’s arm tightly, while Jesse the man servant hovered about young Andrew, protectively. “I’m fine, Uncle Jesse,” Andrew whispered bravely to his surrogate Uncle, even though the man was not connected by blood to the Finns. “I know Master Andrew,” Jesse smiled affectionately down to the frail young man that now held his hand. Buffy felt her heart begin to race as the British troops made their way up closer to the house and to the occupants of the front porch.

Finnwood’s mistress felt her stomach do a flip flop and tried very hard to keep her composure. It was all well and fine to act brave, issue orders and try to give the air of complete control, but the truth was; Buffy was terrified of these turn of events. ‘Just one more mark against you, Riley, leaving us alone and vulnerable,’ she thought with resentment, even though it really was a personal blessing that her husband was gone away to War.

Buffy looked out to the right of the house and saw the entire mass of field slaves gathered together, watching the British Army advance on their home. For it was their home, too, Buffy was well aware of that. Whether by choice or not, most of these folks felt a deep, loyal bond to Finnwood, and Buffy felt sorry for them, for everything. “Look Buffy!” Andrew gasped exicitedly, “the man in front, the leader I think. He’s not even wearing his hat, look at how his hair shines in the sun. It’s almost silver!” It was Buffy’s turn to gasp when she caught sight of the silver-haired man that her ward spoke of, “oh my God!” Mahalia clasped Buffy’s arm tighter, “what is it Missy? Who is that man to you?” Buffy shot Halia a look of sheer terror, “that ‘ghost’ we talked about Halia,” she whispered, “he’s riding right up here, right now to haunt me.”

Once Spike made his way to the front of the Finn house, he was quite pleased with himself and felt an immense sense of power. This bloody war had made him, Lord William Anderson, aka Spike, into a somewhat colder man then he used to be. Although he backed his King and Country first and foremost, the things he had seen in the last couple of years, the things he had been forced to do, had hardened him greatly. But, here was the truth of the matter at hand; Spike had finally caught up with Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers, and he had no intention of letting the little minx slip through his hands, ever again. ‘Who gives a bloody fuck if she’s married,’ he thought cockily to himself as he halted the troops behind him and came face to face with the object of his obsession.

‘I’ll bed her before the week is up,’ he assured himself, smugly, sliding off of his horse and sauntering up to the porch, boldly. Before he greeted Buffy, properly, he eyed her up and down, brazenly, ‘she looks good, good enough to eat,’ he smirked up at her, noting she showed no obvious signs of change. Her green eyes were wide with trepidation and downright fear, giving Spike a shot of manly tingles through his body. He, Spike had been a little concerned that perhaps Buffy might already be pregnant with Riley Finn’s brat, but from the looks of things, she was not. ‘Thank you God,’ Spike looked up at the heavens, even though he was more then sure that God had nothing to do with this little drama. “Hello Buffy, luv,” he purred reaching out to take her tiny hand in his and kiss it warmly.


A/N: Oh, Spike you big bad dude you! Now, I hope everyone reading this is not too upset with me for making Spike a less then stellar kind of guy, so far that is. I warn you, he will be more ruthless in future chapters, but he wants Buffy, period, so all bets are off! Please read and review, updates come faster with reviews (it’s the law!). Thank you, Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 4: ‘Does This Suit You?’


A/N: A long chapter, that might reveal a little more of Spike and Buffy’s history with each other. Thanks, Luv S


“Hello, Buffy luv,” Buffy heard his deep, distinctly British voice echo in her ears. “Lord Anderson,” she replied, rather curtly as she retrieved her tiny hand from his strong, large one, after he had properly kissed it, of course. “It’s William, Buffy,” the blonde man down at her, ‘with those damn blue eyes of his,’ she groaned silently. “No, sir,” Buffy caught herself and snapped back into her patent haughty stance, “I would not call you William, too personal and inappropriate, especially under these unfortunate circumstances. I shall call you Captain Anderson and I would be very appreciative if you used my proper name when addressing me; Mrs Finn.” William looked as if he had been physically struck by her and Buffy felt a tinge of regret at her cold tone with him. “As you wish, then, Mrs. Finn,” he responded icily, his jaw clenched tightly.

“We’ll quarter the officers, including myself,” and Spike could not help giving ‘Mrs. Finn’ a rakish once over scan, “in your home. The rest of the men can take that secondary structure and barn. Does that suit you, Mrs. Finn?” He smirked slightly at the frown that passed over her beautiful face, never taking his eyes from her. “It does not ‘suit’ me at all, Captain Anderson,” she replied harshly, her green eyes lit with the fire he had dreamed of since that night in Boston. “In fact, sir,” she continued, her voice growing just a tad louder and angrier with each word, “you being here, your men and your whole damn Army irritates me to no end. But I am sure that this does not come as any surprise to you, Captain.” Spike almost burst out laughing, but contained himself, wouldn’t do any good to act like a complete ponce in front of his Lieutenants or the foot soldiers. “Oh, and Captain,” Buffy added, her voice just loud enough for him to hear, “I need to speak to you regarding something quite important. I would like my house servants to be there when we speak. Does this suit you?” Captain Anderson smirked again, but nodded warmly, “Suits me just fine, Buf…I mean, Mrs. Finn.”

“Fine house,” Spike barked reluctantly, glancing around at the fine furnishings and paintings. “Thank you, it has been in my husband’s family for three generations,” Buffy replied simply, leading Spike and Lieutenant Abrams into the Finnwood parlour. “Jesse, Mahalia,” the Captain heard Buffy address the male and female servants with them, “please come in with us and close the door behind you. What I speak of in this room, stays here, understood?” The man and woman nodded soberly at their Mistress and did as they were asked. “Sit down, sirs,” Buffy motioned to a large comfortable looking sofa in the middle of the room.

Spike immediately caught sight of a huge portrait over the fireplace, it was Buffy’s and Riley Finn’s wedding portrait. He felt his body tense up and his heart began that old familiar ache Spike had experienced everytime he thought of Buffy; which was a lot. ‘Well, Master Finn,’ the Officer thought with jealous contempt and hatred, ‘you certainly look like the fucking moron I have always heard you are.’

“I was wondering, Captain Anderson,” Buffy began softly as she paced about her own parlour nervously, “if…” but before she could finish, Spike bolted up from the sofa and glared down at Abrams menacingly. “Get out,” he barked at the confused Lieutenant, sternly, “you two, go with him,” he spat at the house servants. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Finn alone.” Abrams immediately hurried out of the parlour door, but the servants held back, anxiously staring at their Mistress for ‘her’ instructions. Buffy gave Spike a frustrated glare, then dismissed her servants kindly, “leave the door open, Jesse, please,” she ordered the man gently. After the three other people had departed the parlour, Spike strode over to the door and slammed it shut. “I want to talk to you alone, Mrs. Finn,” he explained harshly, closing the gap between him and Buffy. “And by the way ‘Buffy’ dear,” he added as he peered down into her blazing green eyes, “cut the pretentious title crap. When you and I are alone together, we call each other Buffy and William. Is that clear?”

Buffy averted her fearful eyes from William’s indigo blue ones and nodded quietly. It would do no good to anger this man anymore then she had; the welfare of Andrew, herself and too many people on this farm depended on her and how tactfully she handled this precarious situation. “Let’s have it then,” Spike ordered gruffly, looking about for something and settling his gaze on the bar in the corner of the room. “I will get you a drink, Captain, I mean William,” Buffy offered politely and headed to the bar to pour some of her husband’s best whiskey. When she returned with the drink, she handed it to William then sat down on the sofa. William did not hesitate, he sipped the whiskey, smiled at her and joined her on the couch. A little too closely for Buffy’s tastse, but what could she do? Everyone was now under this man’s control, at least somewhat, and Buffy had to play this out in the best, safest way possible.

“I was wondering, William,” Buffy began shyly, blushing ever so slightly, “if I may ask a favour of you.” Spike raised his scarred left eyebrow and peered over his glass at her, “ask away,luv,” he purred with a warm smile. “If I make this all easier ‘for you’ that is, your troops. Make sure that everything is to your liking during your stay, not give you any problems and no one gets in your way. Well, could you, would you…” Spike had a feeling he knew exactly where this was going, but he wanted to watch Buffy squirm, actually make her say ‘it.’ He tried not to laugh at her red, hot little face and neck even as she tried not to look him in the eye. ‘She’s going to ask me to keep the men from the female slaves,’ he chuckled to himself, ‘has to be. Little brat doesn’t know I already intended on issuing just those orders anyway. Wonder if she’ll plead for her own precious virture. That’ll be something to hear!’

William certainly was not making this very easy for Buffy and she resented it, greatly. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” she finally sighed in resignation, “I am asking that your Officers, your troops do not bother or molest my servants, house or field, in any way shape or form, Captain. If you would, as their Commanding Officer, issue orders to that affect.” Then, as an afterthought she whispered, “please, William.” Buffy met his blue eyes, finally, with her own and pleaded silently with him. If she expected an argument, she was pleasantly surprised to instead receive a simple, “Of course, Buffy,” in response. She sighed again, this time in total relief, “thank you William,” she whispered this time, “you will find that myself, the servants, all of us, will not bother, harrass or get in your Army’s way at any time.” Buffy rose to take her leave quickly, feeling quite overwhelmed by William’s presence, especially after that last night in Boston and…

Spike reached out and pulled Buffy back down onto the sofa with him, his strong hand held her tightly. “Not so fast, Buffy,” he chuckled wickedly, “how about you? Don’t you want me to issue the same orders about your ‘safety’ that none of ‘my’ officers or troops molest, bother or harm ‘you’ in any way shape or form?” He wanted to laugh, really, darling Buffy looked like a deer, caught staring in terror down the barrel of a musket. She visibly shook her head and stared at him like he was a madman, “I, I should not think, William,” she stammered, wide-eyed, “that I would have to even ask that.

After all, you are Englishmen, all of you and I know that ‘means something’ even during War time. Your sense of honor alone would disallow you from…” He decided to give the poor little thing a break and raised his free hand to shush her, gently, “it’s okay luv,” he chuckled again, but warmly this time. “Your honor is safe from my Officers and men, however, it might be in danger from me, eh?” Buffy blushed bright red and pushed his hand from her silk covered thigh, “oooh, you are a devil, Lord Anderson,” she hissed and tried to leave the sofa and him.

“Buffy, darling,” William laughed out loud, “now don’t run off from me, virtue fluttering, I won’t bite you.” ‘Not yet, anyway,’ he added to himself, longingly. “Tell you what,” he purred as he leaned in closer to sweet little Buffy, “you promise to have dinner, with me tonight, alone. Every night, in your dining room, just you and me. I’ll issue those orders immediately and make sure that ‘I’ try and control myself around you. What do you say, luv, give me a chance?” He threw in a nice pout to add the final touch and then grinned when she blushed again. ‘Lovely thing when my Buffy blushes,’ he thought wistfully.

“All right, William, I will have supper with you, every night that you are here, in my dining room. However, I would like Mahalia to be there with us, at least most of the time. Please William, I have my reasons and…” Spike smiled tenderly at her and brushed a golden strand back off her warm, pink cheek, “all right, Buffy. Mahalia can chaperone us, if you like, just as long as this time, you keep your promise. Actually ‘show’ up for the dinner with me.”


Flashback, Boston 1775 Spike’s POV


“This is fucking insane, man,” Xander Harris was grumbling next to William as they stood outside the Summer’s Boston Mansion. “You honestly think,” Xander continued with exhasperation, “that Hank Summers, Boston, Inc., is going to allow you entrance into his house? After midnight? To see his pride and joy, Buffy, who is betrothed to another man and right at this time, probably sound asleep in her little bed?” William grinned at Xander, wickedly, “thanks for that pleasant vision, mate,” he chuckled, “I mean about Buffy and bed.”

Xander rolled his dark eyes and shook his head, “oh brother, but you have got it bad friend,” he sighed. “Buffy kind of made it clear, don’t you think, that she did not want to see you, William?” The blonde just laughed and shook his head, “yes she does,” he retorted good-naturedly, “she’s just afraid to. Afraid she won’t be able to resist me, you know?” The Brit’s dark haired companion sighed again and shrugged, “okay, we’re here. What now?”

“Now, Xander, my good friend, we go to your family’s house. Get good and drunk and when I wake up tomorrow, we shall return to this fine house, Summerland is it, and gain entrance inside. I’m counting on your ‘good’ name to get us an in.” William smiled warmly at his friend, “I’ve only a week before my ship sails for England, and I have got to work fast to spirit Miss Summers away from home and heartland. Oh,” William added with a slight scowl, “and that fucking idiot, Finn, she’s supposedly engaged to.”

Harris gave his ‘friend’ Lord William a dubious frown, “William,” he sighed, “Hank Summers is not going to allow you, willingly, within a mile of Buffy. Besides, the man cannot stand me, period. I’m surprised he told his cousin, sweet Anya’s Mother, to allow ‘me’ to court her daughter.” Xander smiled widely, apparently at the thought of his Anya, and then winked at William. “Oh, all right,” the American grinned in resignation, “we’ll try it. Tomorrow. Maybe we can work something out.”

The next day, Lord William Anderson and Xander Harris appeared at the gates of Summerland, Boston, Massachusettes, and asked for entrance. They were allowed into the grand house, but were immediately informed, by a black man servant named Charles Gunn, that the Mrs. And her daughter, Elizabeth Summers were out for the day. In fact, they would not be back until days later, as they had gone to the country.

William could swear, as he and Xander left the house and front grounds, that he saw a honey blond head appear at a window from upstairs on the second floor structure. “Told you so,” Xander muttered as they mounted their horses, “Buffy’s there, I’ll bet on it. Hank has made sure that you two shall never lay eyes on each other again, much less be alone together.” William stared at his companion through blue narrowed eyes, “I will see Buffy again,” he assured Xander gruffly. “And we will be alone together, and she will be mine.”

Lord Anderson appeared at the gates of Summerland every day at the same time, precisely noon. Every day, Charles Gunn, the servant, would appear at the gates and inform Lord William that Mrs. Summers and, more importantly, her daughter, Elizabeth, were out. Finally, with just two more days until his ship sailed back to England, William decided to take a bolder step. He wrote a note, more of a letter, really, to Buffy, spilling all of his inner feelings and thoughts about her, life, everything onto the paper. Begging her to meet him, the next evening at a nearby parkway Xander had told him about.

When Gunn came to the gate to ask him to leave, this time, William handed the note to the tall, formidable man. “Please, mate,” he pleaded with the stoic Gunn, “haven’t you ever wanted something so bad, something that everyone else says you can’t have?” Gunn gave William a sympathetic look then slowly took the note from his hand. “Wait here, please sir,” he stated simply and quickly headed back into the house. Fifteen minutes later (although it seemed like two hours to William) the servant returned with a light, pink piece of stationary in his hand. The words, Lord William, were written on the outside of the note, in a fine, feminine script. He quickly read the words scribbled there and felt a sense of euphoria sweep over him, ‘she’ll meet me!’ he whispered silently in near disbelief.

The next night, William waited anxiously in the rose gardens of the huge green parkway by the center of town. It was still early enough to be safe for Buffy when she got there, escorted by her maid, of course, and William felt like a nervous schoolboy. He only hoped that the maid would keep a far distance from Buffy and him while he, William, pleaded his case to her. Lord William Anderson, son of Lord James Anderson, had every intention of spiriting Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers, off to England with him, that very next day. ‘Father will love her,’ William nodded to himself, ‘he’ll see right off, she’s perfect for me. Make a perfect wife for me, perfect mother of his Grandchildren.’ As another hour ticked by, William realized that Buffy was not coming, she was already three hours late and although he had fooled himself thus far along, he was not that stupid.

“Bitch!” he hissed, enraged, ignoring the strange stares of the patrons in the park as he strode off to his horse. Half an hour later, William found himself at Xander’s fine house, pounding on the front door. “Where’s the fire!” Xander cried excitedly as he stumbled down the stairs and into the hallway where William was led by the butler. “Bitch didn’t show up!” William roared at his best friend. “Will, I’m sorry, man,” Xander shook his head sympathetically, “but I warned you. Tell you what,” Xander continued, slapping his friend on the back, “let’s go into the parlour, get good and drunk and then sleep it off out in the back yard. We’ll piss off the neighbors, we’ll be so loud, even if their house is near a mile away?”

Xander looked into his friends blue eyes, as William looked away from him. ‘Fuck, don’t want another man to see me crying like a fucking ponce,’ William growled silently. Nodding he followed Xander into the parlour and to what he hoped would be a really, really huge drunk. “Xander,” William muttered before he took his first drink, “I leave tomorrow, sail back to England, but I swear to God. I’ll be back soon and then I ‘will’ see Buffy. I’m going to marry that girl.” Xander just shook his head and shot William that goofy grin of his, “okay, Will,” he whispered, his brown eyes full of sympathy.


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


‘I would have married her, too. When I got back here to the Colonies,’ Spike hissed at the Finn’s wedding portrait with an expression his own troops feared. ‘But a bunch of hot-headed rebels decided to draw British fire up at Bunker Hill and start this whole damn mess.” “I’ll make you mine, Buffy,” he whispered hoarsely at the painting of his love, smiling down at him. “Buffy will be mine,” Spike growled at the picture of the Finnwood Master. “Captain,” came Lieutenant Abrams strong voice behind him. “Yes, Lieutenant,” Spike sighed sipping his drink but eyeing the portrait. “You wanted to give me orders to issue, sir?”

Spike turned and nodded abruptly, “remind the men, Lieutenant, that we are British soldiers and will behave with the upmost dignity and restraint. In other words, Abrams,” the Captain continued firmly, “tell our men, Officers and infantry alike, that the residents of this Plantation are off limits in any way, shape or form. That especially goes for the females, whether they be Mistress of this farm, slaves or servants. If they, the men, do no abide by my orders, they will be shot. Is that clear?” Parker Abrams nodded his dark head and slightly smiled, “quite clear sir,” he saluted. “Oh, and Parker,” Spike hesitated a moment then ordered, “send Mrs. Finn’s man servant in, Jesse I believe his name is. I wish to speak, privately with the man.” Abrams nodded then left to carry out his Commander’s instructions.
“Let’s just find out, from a real reliable source, how happy you are with married life, Mrs. Finn,” he mumbled up at the portrait on the wall.


A/N: Okay, long chapter, now a long Author’s Note: Please, before anyone gets too excited and angry at Buffy (for standing poor Spike up, twice(!)) remember, she may have had good reason to not show. These reasons will be revealed later in this fiction, so please, please be kind to our Buffy. Thanks for reading, please review. Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 5: ‘My Beautiful Buffy’


A/N: Although I am not getting hardly any reviews for this story, I’m going to keep submitting it. It is very important to me. Thank you for reading this, luv S


Jesse, Buffy’s man servant, found Captain Spike Anderson just where the Lieutenant, Parker Abrams had left him. “You sent for me, Captain, Sir,” this Jesse asked humbly of Spike. “Close the door Jesse,” Spike mumbled as he poured himself another drink. “Join me?” the blonde man nodded at a glass of whiskey on the little table in front of him. “Sir,” Jesse stammered, “I’m a servant of this house, we don’t mix with the Master or his guests, any of them. Not in that way.” Spike chuckled and poured the loyal servant a drink anyway, “I don’t give a fuck what you do with your Master Riley Finn, Jesse,” he slammed the bottle down on the table. “I just want some answeres, and fast. About your Mistress, Mrs. Finn, that is.” This Jesse looked about nervously, but relented and raised the little glass to his lips. With a smile, he set the glass back down on the table and sighed in pleasure, “we only are allowed the drink at Christmas, and other special Holidays. Thank you, Captain, Sir, for the little nip.”

“So, tell me, Jesse,” Spike sat down on the sofa and put his booted feet up on the table that was placed in front of it, “what about Buffy? I mean, Mrs. Finn? Is she happy, Jesse, in her marriage and all?” The servant dropped his gaze from Spike, scrunched up his brows then slowly shook his head. “I shouldn’t be tellin’ you this, Captain,” he admitted in a low, sorrowful voice, “but…” Spike sat up on the sofa, “tell me,” he ordered firmly, never taking his eyes from the man before him. “My Mahalia, Mrs. Finn’s maid, she’s my woman, Captain Spike. She’s my wife and my son’s Mama. If it weren’t for Mrs. Finn, we’d never been married. Our Master, Riley Finn, he’s a hard man, usually a fair man to his slaves, but an odd one. That’s for sure. Never even batted an eye when Mahalia went to him and told him about our boy, before he was born that is. Master Riley, he laughed, acted odd, even about that. But, once Mrs. Finn came here, after they married, Master and her, she found out about our baby, Halia’s and mine, talked the Master into lettin’ us jump the broomstick.”

“Jump the broomstick?” Spike asked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s Plantation talk for ‘marriage’ Captain,” Jesse grinned. “Mrs. Finn, she made sure that Mahalia and me, that we got married good and proper by one of our own preachers. Mrs. Finn, she’s a fine lady, Captain. But, I expect you already know that, huh?” The slave gave Spike a slight smile of understanding, causing the Brit’s lips to form a smile of his own. “Yes, Jesse,” Spike sighed, his eyes half closed in thought, “Mrs. Finn is a fine lady, through and through. But, please, Jesse, go on. I want to know more about your Mistress, your Master and their relationship.” The older man thought for a moment, then began to relay some answeres to Spike, reluctantly, perhaps, but forthcoming, definitely.

“Master Finn’s Mama, she was a good woman, too, just like Missy Elizabeth Finn. She insisted that the house slaves learn to read and write, better themselves, somewhat and the new Missy, she encourages us to do this. But Master Riley, he took after his Daddy in a lot of ways. The old Master, he was an old devil, he was, name of Quentin Travers Finn. His Papa, he owned this Plantation first, then left it to Quentin. He’s the one bought me from a slaver trader in Louisianna, brought me here when I was a boy. Anyway, Mrs. Finn, the elder one, Riley’s Mama, she tried to change the old Master, make him more nice and all. When their only son came along, well, the older slaves about the place thought that maybe the old Master Quentin would soften up, and he did, a bit anyway. But, his son seemed to grow up and take on a lot of things that the old Master used to do.

There’s a slave,” Jesse looked at Captain Spike, his brown eyes were clouded and dark, “she’s not a bad woman, not at all, pretty too. She’s about thirty, her name’s Kendra and she’s got a young son, about six or so. He’s called Robin and Kendra, she’s a field slave’s woman, name of Wood, she claims that this boy is Master Riley’s.” Spike raised his eyebrow again, “does Mrs. Riley Finn know of this child?” he asked soberly of the servant. “I believe so, Captain,” Jesse nodded, “that and the new one Kendra claims is also Master Riley’s.” When Jesse mentioned this new child, Spike stood up from the sofa, “another baby?” he grumbled, looking at the portrait once again. “Not yet, Captain,” Jesse looked down at the floor, “baby isn’t due for months yet. But, everybody on the farm, they believe it ‘is’ Master Riley’s.

You see, Captain,” Jesse stammered again, apparently not sure if he should reveal all of this private information. “My wife, Mahalia, she’s a good friend to Missy Finn, loves her like a sister, she does. The young Mrs., she tells Mahalia things that maybe I shouldn’t be repeating. But, we like the Mrs., Mahalia and me, and we know she’s so unhappy that she married Master Riley. He doesn’t treat her right, you see. Not the way a man should be with his wife and he goes to the slave cabins, at least, Mrs. Finn believes he did, even after their marriage."

Spike clasped the fragile whiskey glass in his hand, his anger began to erupt. ‘Fucking asshole,’ he hissed silently about Finn, ‘he humiliates her, my Buffy. Debases her, I wager, then goes to other women. I’ll fucking rip his head off when I find him!’ Apparently, Spike assumed, everything that Xander Harris had heard, years before in Boston, had been true. His best American friend, the one Spike had not seen or heard from in almost three years, Xander, had told him, way back then some very ugly things about Riley Finn.

“Word has it,” Xander had muttered over whiskeys at his home, “that Riley Finn has a yen for sexual violence. I heard from my friend, Daniel Osbourne, he’s the short red haired Irishman we met in Philedelphia, remember William? Anyway, he’s engaged to my dear, sweet cousin Willow, but he’d never tell ‘her’ this. Anyway, Daniel says he heard that Riley Finn, fucking bastard, beat a high class whore almost do death. During the act, so to speak. The whore master had to send the poor girl away, she was ruined physically for work.”

Spike narrowed his blue eyes and glared at the portrait above the mantel place, “so, Jesse,” he stood and paced about the room. “Your Mistress, she’s not happy in her marriage?” The man averted his eyes once again from the Brit, “I shouldn’t have spoken so, Captain,” he sighed. “My Mahalia is gonna’ skin me alive if she finds out about this talk, but like I said, we like Missy Finn. She’s a good woman and we want her to be happy. No, Sir, Captain Spike, Mrs. Elizabeth Finn is a very unhappy woman, at least she was, until the Master enlisted and went to fight the War. After that, she, Mrs. Finn, seemed to be happier, for a while anyway. Until…” Spike glanced at the servant and tilted his blonde head, “until?” he asked. Jesse looked down at the floor again, “Mrs. Finn was happy, kind of, until your Army marched up here and took over her house. I think anyway.”

Buffy Summers-Finn was pacing, like a cornered cat, about her bedroom floor. She had gotten good at pacing, ever since she had married Riley Finn, that is. After he had enlisted in the Continental Army, had gone up somewhere to the Northern Colonies, Buffy had calmed down somewhat. Certain events since her husband’s departure had caused her grief and worry, but she had handled the situations fairly well. Until now that is. William Anderson had just ridden up to her husband’s doorstep and back into her life, this was past an ‘event’ it could turn out to be a castastrophe.

“Damn him,” Buffy grumbled as she turned to the walk in closet that ran across the east wall of her bedroom. “I’ll give that pompous, all mighty Captain in his Majesty’s service a ‘dinner’ to end all dinners.” She flung the door of the closet open and began to paw through her many beautiful dresses, finally settling on the one that would be just perfect for tonight’s supper.

After she had laid the silken perfection out on her huge marital bed, Buffy inspected herself again in the mirror. ‘I’ll wear my hair up, in a top knot,’ she decided with a smirk, ‘only because I just know that William would prefer it down!’ She began to plot other little details to really miff him, that overbearing and overwhelming man who held her life, her husband’s plantation and the people here in his hands.

Suddenly, in the middle of her plotting, Buffy scurried over to her desk, opened the locked drawer with her key and pulled out her personal diary/journal. Her mind was a whirl of emotions as she opened the rather large book to the middle and removed a neatly folded piece of lined paper. As she sat on her little vanity seat, Buffy unfolded the note and began to peruse the oft read words there; they began: ‘My Beautiful Buffy’


Flashback, Boston 1775 Buffy’s POV


“Did Charles send Lord Anderson away yet, Winnefred,” Buffy asked of her Maid, whom sometimes she called Fred. The tall, shy girl, who was actually older then Buffy herself, scrunched her face, nervously, “no Miss. Charles Gunn did not send Lord Anderson away, not today. He, he took a note from the man, Miss Elizabeth,” Fred stammered, avoiding her mistresses green eyes, and held it out to Buffy. Miss Summers sighed at her maid and placed her golden head in her tiny hands.

“Why did he do that, Fred?” Buffy asked quietly. “Now don’t be blaming Charles, Miss Elizabeth, please,” Fred pleaded softly, “the man, Lord Anderson, he near pleaded for Charles to take the note and see that you got it, Miss. Charles says that the man, this Lord, he said something about Charles knowing what it was like, something like ‘do you know what it’s like to want something so badly, something everyone says you can’t have.’ Something like that, Miss. Charles took pity on the man, took his note and asked me to give it to you. Please forgive us, Miss, it’s just that…”

Buffy looked up and met Fred’s soft, sympathetic eyes, they mirrored her own green ones. “I am truly sorry, Winnefred, about Charles and you, your impossible situation here.” The youngest Summers had been aware for some time that Charles Gunn, her father’s man servant was deeply in love with Winnefred, Buffy’s maid. However, the circumstances, being what they were, who the two would be lovers were, made a relationship, more so a marriage, out of the question.

“It’s just that, maybe you could read the note, Miss,” Fred whispered softly, “see what this man has to say. Would it be so bad? What could it hurt, Miss?” ‘A lot, Winnefred,’ Buffy thought to herself sadly, ‘it could hurt an awful lot.’ “All right, Fred,” Buffy sighed instead, “I’ll read the note and see what Lord Anderson has to say.” She took the folded paper from Fred, gently, and unfolded it. It began: ‘My Beautiful Buffy’


After she had read the entire note, which was more like a letter in length, Buffy’s eyes were filled with tears. She tried to wipe them away, quickly, so that Fred could not see her weakness. Finally, Buffy reached into her desk and retrieved a pad of her own personal pink stationary, the ones with her monogram of ES embossed in the left hand corner in gold. Buffy quickly scribbled her words of response on the fragile pink paper and folded it neatly. “Please see that Charles gives Lord Anderson this note, immediately, Winnefred,” Buffy murmered as she turned to look at herself in her desk mirror. The maid turned to leave her Mistresses’ bedroom, “and Fred,” Buffy added, “do you think you could do me a favour, tomorrow evening? Help me out with something?”


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


“I did mean to meet you, William,” Buffy sighed as she peered at her reflection in the vanity mirror. “I’m so sorry, for everything, but I wanted to come to the Park, to hear your pretty words and see you again.” A quiet knock on her bedroom door woke Buffy from her reverie, “who is it?” she asked softly, returning the note and journal to the drawer. “It’s me, Missy,” Mahalia called through the door, “I’ve got that nice Lieutenant with me, says he needs to speak with you Mrs. Finn.” Buffy stood up and quickly hurried to the door of her room, “come in,” she let the two people in her room.

“I am sorry to disturb you Mrs. Finn,” Lt. Abrams smiled slightly as he bowed, “but my Superior Officer, Captain Anderson, asked me to inform you that the matter you discussed has been handled. Orders have been issued that no resident of this Plantation be bothered or harrassed in any way. Also,” he young man added, before Buffy could thank him, “Captain Anderson asked me to tell you that he is quite looking forward to your dinner engagement this evening.”

Buffy frowned momentarily and rolled her eyes, ‘dinner engagement, oh brother,’ she sighed in exhasperation. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” she finally responded with a nod. “Mrs. Finn,” Lt. Abrams began again, hesitantly, “may I speak frankly, Mrs.” Buffy nodded, “why not, sir,” she sighed again, “everyone around here seems to do nothing but speak frankly.” The Lieutenant smiled shyly then cleard his throat, “Mrs. Finn, Captain Anderson, he has this portrait, a sketch really. I believe he is the one that drew it, Maam.

It’s in charcoal and a lovely likeness, of a young lady, he takes it everywhere with him, Maam. I wondered for the longest time, who this beautiful woman in the drawing was and when I first met you? I realized, Mrs. Finn, it was you, all along, the drawing I mean.” Buffy stood, her eyes lowered, unable to look this man in the face. “I am sorry for the boldness, Maam,” the Leiutenant, “but for some reason, I thought you should know Mrs. Finn. Thought it seemed important.”

“Tell your Captain that dinner is 7:00 sharp, Leiutenant,” Buffy whispered to the man, who left immediately after her dismissal of him. “Missy,” Mahalia whispered softly, “that Captain, is it him? The English man from up there in Boston. The one your Daddy sent away, wouldn’t let you see?” Buffy nodded miserably, tears slipped down her cheeks, “yes, Halia, it is he. But believe me, when I say this, dear Halia; the man who is downstairs, right at this moment, is not the young man that I met in Boston. Not the one who sent me that beautiful note through my Father’s gates. This Captain Anderson seems to have become more monster then man.”

Spike scrutinized Buffy as she daintily tasted her roasted chicken. He had eaten most of his dinner, while his companion had merely picked at hers, mostly moving the food about her plate. Over his wine glass, Spike peered at her, in her emerald green, silk dress, so refined and lady like. ‘She has no idea, none, how that proper little dress is making her eyes shine like jewels.’ With a scowl, Spike noted again that she wore her golden hair in a top knot, with just whisps of hair tendrils gracing her cheeks. “I prefer your hair down,” Spike stated simply as he sipped his wine. Buffy shrugged indifferently and continued to manuveur her grits around the fine Finn china they were using.

“I prefer to eat alone,” she finally retorted, not bothering to look up at him. Spike slammed his wine glass down on the table, nearly breaking it and stood up from his chair. With just three strides, he closed the gap around the dining room table and reached out to pull the clip that held her golden tresses up out of her hair. “I said,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “that I like your hair down about your shoulders.” Buffy’s loosened hair fell about her shoulders all the way down her back, just inches above her waistline.

“How dare you?” Buffy rasped angrily as she glared up at him with narrowed eyes, “you have no right to touch me, William, ever. I am a married woman, it would suit you to remember this.” Spike clasped Buffy on her arm with his rough hand, “you’re married to the wrong man, Buffy,” he hissed roughly, “that doesn’t suit me at all.” She pulled from him and tossed her fine linen napkin onto the table, nearly upsetting her own wine glass, “this meal is over, William,” she stated haughtily, “at least for me.” He followed her to the door, stopped her before she could exit the huge dining room.

“I’m sorry Buffy, please don’t leave me now. I just can’t stand the fact that you, the lady your are, the esteem I hold you in, it means nothing. Does it? You have enslaved yourself to a man that is little more then a monster. Why? If only you would have met me, that night in Boston. We…” Before he could utter another word, Buffy turned to him and spat angrily, “you talk of monsters, Captain? What are you? Your reputation precedes you, Lord Anderson. You are well known for destroying the dreams of my neighbors and fellow Colonials, by burning their beloved farms to the ground.”


A/N: Oh, I went ahead and submitted this. I hope someone reads and reviews (groveling). Oh, next chapter, another BTVS/ATS character will make an appearance…hint: male/broody/tall!

Uhm, I’m submitting this with an apology to readers and reviewers here. I can’t get into the ‘view review’ section to respond to my reviews on any of my fics. I feel terrible; I love to respond! Anyway, thank you, all and please review. I hope to be online soon.
Luv, spuf

REBEL HEARTS



Chapter 6: ‘Definitely Confused!’


“You talk of monsters, Captain? Your reputation precedes you Lord Anderson. What are you? You destroy the dreams of my fellow neighbors and Colonials by burning their beloved farms to the ground?” Buffy had said it all, in just a few sentences. All the horror and ugliness that Spike had tried to keep at bay for these past two years. She was right, really, his Buffy was, but it still did not stop him from trying to defend his actions, explain himself anyway.

“My Superior Officer, Colonel Wesley Rhys-Smythe, he ordered me to burn that farm to the ground, Buffy,” Spike responded harshly, his eyes averted from her fiery green orbs. “The family there, the Crawfords, they were harboring Continental soldiers. It is a standing order, Buffy, dear, that we burn the lodgings of anyone harboring Patriots in the Army. Even if they are the owner’s own sons.” Spike finished in a quiet, weakened tone. He was well aware that his shame was written all over his face.

“Oh,” Buffy hissed as she glared at him, “is it just that some orders, no matter how harsh, are carried out a little easier then others, Captain?” Buffy turned to flee the confining walls of the dining room, “dinner is over William,” she spat back at him. “Buffy,” he pleaded, “please stay. We need to talk…” She hurried to the door, only to run smack into Mahalia, who entered the room cautiously.

“Missy,” the servant eyed her mistress with concern, “is everything all right here?” He watched Buffy try to hem and haw her way out of an explaination with her servant, only to finally give up in frustration and turn to lead him back to the table. ‘Bless you Mahalia,’ Spike chuckled to himself as he sat in a chair even nearer to Buffy’s spot at the dining table.

Spike gave the servant a look of ‘you are not needed any longer’ and sent the woman scurrying from the dining area. Buffy sat at her spot, head hung down with her eyes focused on her dinner plate. “You need to eat more, Princess,” Spike murmered as he picked up his discarded wine glass and took a drink. He noticed Buffy roll in lovely green eyes in frustration.

“William,” Buffy whispered even if she did not look at him, “why? Why are you here, now? I know how some of these things work, William, in England and here in the Colonies. You did not have to be commissioned to come back here, join in this War of ours, against your King. Your Father, Lord-Whats-His- Name, could have relieved any combat duty for you. What are you doing here?” She finally got the courage to look him in his sky blue eyes, reluctantly, of course.

“My Father’s name is Lord James William Anderson, Buffy. And you are correct, I did not have to be commissioned to come here. After your so called heros, Jefferson and the lot of them signed that ridiculous piece of paper you all seem to so cherish. No, Buffy, my dear sweet little rebellious hell cat, I did not ‘have’ to come back here. I chose to.” She kept his gaze, a haughty, proud look on her face, at least she hoped anyway.

“After our mucked up last night ‘together’ in Boston,” Spike began to explain with a scowl, “I caught my ship back to England. Went straight home to Anderson Mannor and had a talk with my Father, James, about my future as a British Officer. He insisted, of course, that I take a commission closer to home, in England. I, being the impetuous, head strong wanker I’ve always been, demanded that he, my Father, pull some strings and get me sent back to the Americas as soon as possible.”

“Can you imagine why, sweet Buffy?” Spike felt a bit vindicated when Buffy turned her eyes from him and blushed hotly, but was not able to give him an answere. “Father tried to change my mind. Told me I was being foolish, that our Country, England and the Colonies would soon be embroiled in a major conflict for your Independence. But, I, being the rather poetic ponce that I’d been reduced to, by you by the way, did not care. Love and all that rot would win out in the end and I just had to get back to America, save you from yourself and your hideous marriage. Take you away to England and make you my…”

“That’s enough, William,” Buffy rasped as she blinked back a tear that threatened to fall from her eye. “It is pointless to go on about what could have or should have been. This is war, we, you and myself, we are enemies. Seperated by an ocean and beliefs that are miles apart from each other. You told me, I believe, that your Father was a British Officer once?”

William nodded, his blue eyes were mere slits now, his handsome face was clenched tightly as he glared at her. “Then answere me this, William,” Buffy sighed as she took her own wine glass in her hand and sipped it, gingerly, “your Father. The great Lord James Anderson, would he have burned that Virginia Farm down to the ground?”

William flinched then sat up straight, “if he was so ordered to Buffy,” he answered honestly, finishing the rest of his drink quickly. “Besides, Buffy dearest,” he continued, pouring himself another glass, “my Father served in his Majesty’s Army at the time of your French/Indian Wars, here in the Colonies. Do you have any idea of the atrocities committed in that War? On both sides?”

With a smug countenance, Spike realized, by Buffy’s puzzled look, that she had no idea just what horrors had been done in the name of Countries and Kings some 20 years before this. In the battles between the French/Indians and the Colonial/English back in those earlier years, so many horrible acts had been committed that most historical records had to be burned or hidden from public view.

“That was then, William,” she said simply, with a shake of her lovely head, “this is now. Besides, tell me this. When your Father served here, in that War, your mother and you? You were safe, at home, in England?” He nodded briefly and sipped his wine again, never taking his eyes from her. “So, then,” she continued, “your Mother, she was not in any danger of foreign enemies, coming to her home? Trying to seduce her away from her husband, home and beliefs?” ‘Bitch,’ he hissed to himself, ‘this is entirely different.’

“My Mother is dead Buffy,” he admitted, “but she was devoted to my Father, as he was to her. However, there is one major difference between ‘my’ Father and your Riley Finn, Buffy. My Father was and is a good man, not the monsterous bastard that your husband is and apparently always has been.” Buffy made her escape good this time, from the dining room, leaving Spike quite alone and very unhappy.


Flashback, England, 1775 Spike’s POV


“Why in the bloody hell would you go back to that God Forsaken Colonial nightmare thousands of miles away, boy?” Lord James William Anderson was pacing, no, make that storming about his fine Mansion’s parlour, lecturing his only child, William Michael. Actually, the father was yelling at his idiot son, not really lecturing him at all. “Actually, Father,” William was responding fairly even tempered, for him anyway, “it’s quite beautiful in America. But you know that, surely.”

The older man stopped storming and gave his son ‘that look’ of his, the one where he raised his left brow and surveyed William like he was a complete idiot. “No,” Lord James sighed in exasperation, “it’s more than ‘that’ William. You are not telling me everything, so do so now. Let’s have the whole story and for God’s sake, do not give me that rot about God, Country and King again. There’s another reason you are so quick to get your Commission and head back to the Colonies.”

“Father,” William began quietly, lighting a cigarette and sipping his port, “my Mother, you loved her more then anything else in the world. Did you not?” His Father looked over at the portrait of his late wife, Darla, that hung over the mantel of their huge parlour mantel piece. “I loved your Mother more then anything in God’s creation, son,” he whispered sadly as he surveyed the beautiful woman in the painting.

“You, your poor twin brother, James, I loved you close enough as her. But she was my life, Will.” William stood and went over to join his Father and stare up at the lovely woman in the picture, the one pleasant thing that he himself remembered fondly from his childhood.

“You wold have gone to hell and back for Mother, wouldn’t you Dad,” he asked the older man gently. “Yes,” his Father answered hoarsely. “Then,” William murmered gently, almost a whisper, “you should undertand why I need to go back, find ‘my Buffy’ again. She’s ‘my’ life now, Father, and I need to go back, save her from the disaster she’s about to enter into. I intend on bringing her back to England with me, as my wife, even if I have to kidnap her and drag her here.”

Lord James eyed his son, soberly, “Pretty is she?” he smiled gently as his son. “Beautiful,” William answered simply with a nod and huge grin. “Smart and headstrong, like your Mother?” the Father continued as he glanced back up at Lady Anderson’s portrait, longingly. “Smart,” William sighed, oh yes, “headstrong? Immensely, to the point of being a stubborn little brat, but she’s ‘my’ stubborn little brat, Father.”


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


Buffy lay in her empty bed, lonely and definitely confused at this point. Part of her wanted to hate William Anderson, with a passion, but the other part of her? The poetress, the young carefree woman she had once been? Before an arranged marriage to a man she now nearly hated, Riley Finn, and this War had hardened her heart, and a lot of her inner feelings?

That part, the Buffy of Boston, three years before this, she still cared for the now near stranger downstairs. He had occupied her thoughts and dreams for almost three years now. Some nights, Buffy pretended she had indeed escaped that Boston tomb, Summerland, on a cool Spring night, back in 1775. Met William in the Parkway of Boston and then what? Gone with him to England, as he wrote in that note she kept locked away in her jounal? Much like she locked away all of her hopes and dreams the day she walked down the aisle with Riley Finn. ‘William is right,’ Buffy thought sadly, ‘Riley Finn is a monster, always has been. But, Will,’ she began to weep quietly, ‘I am his wife.’


A/N: Okay, for those of you keeping up with the plot lines in this fiction, I know I promised in last chapter’s A/N to introduce ‘tall/dark/broody and male’ into this plot in this chapter. However, I’ve decided to submit this one, sans ‘broody’ man and weave him more into the plotline then I intended. Don’t worry, this ATS/BTVS character is no threat to our Spuffy! Thanks for reading, please review. Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 7: ‘Confessions’


A/N: Thank you to everyone reading this. Thank you for the reviews. If you like this story, please give my newest one a read… ‘Na Grach Croi’ as I really like it because I’m writing Buffy’s character so differently then I usually do. Thanks. Please read and review this ‘baby’ of mine. Thanks, Luv, Spuf


Spike was stomping about the front porch of Finnwood, mostly just glaring at his Officers who lingered about on the steps and chairs there. ‘Bitch,’ he hissed to himself as he thought about Buffy, upstairs probably hidden in her room, still. Buffy had stayed sequestered upstairs in her bedroom since the night before and their disasterous dinner together. ‘Probably writing that worthless fuck she’s married to, telling him how she misses him and such. Christ, makes me want to gag!’

He had worked himself into a fine fury by this time and his poor Lieutenants had taken most of the brunt of his pent up rage. “Do any of you actually do anything constructive?” he screamed at Lt. Abrams, then glared at Lt. Doyle with menance. “Why don’t you all just toddle off down to those makeshift barracks and check on your men. Think maybe you can all handle that? Or is it too much for your bloody pea brains?” The six or seven Lieutenants bolted up from their various spots on the porch and took off like lightening down to check on their men.

The truth was, Spike thought as he watched his Officers scurrying in fear away from him, that these men were the best there was. They had stuck by him, their novice Captain, through thick and thin, the horrors of war and such, never breaking ranks. Abrams was as loyal as they came and Doyle was a good man, a boy really, only nineteen-years-old and already mature beyond his years. Even gave him the nickname of Spike, because of his so called hardened attitude in this God forsaken War.

‘They’ve listened to my rot for days,’ Spike thought guiltily, ‘I have got to get myself together and ‘do’ something about Buffy.’ He strode out to the front lawn area and gazed up at what he knew to be Buffy’s bedroom window, longingly. ‘You can’t hide up there forever, luv,’ he smirked as he lit another cigarette.

“And you ‘will’ come down and join me for dinner tonight, as promised,” he muttered as he took a deep drag on his smoke. “You better, sweet. Wouldn’t want to have to drag or luscious arse down in front of my Officers and your servants, would I?” With a deep laugh, he strode off down to the barracks to see what was going on with the troops.

It was precisely 6:30 PM on that Saturday evening, Buffy noted nervously. She had spent the better part of the last hour preparing herself, in her bedroom, for dinner with William, as promised in her agreement with him. The pale blue silk dress she wore was lovely, true, appropriate enough, she supposed, for a dinner with a man who was not her husband.

Buffy tried to ignore the fact that the really quite gorgeous dress was just a tad too low in front, showed more bosom then was really wise at this point. And her hair? Why hadn’t she put it up in the top knot as she had last night? ‘Because he’ll just yank it down again,’ she thought with a shake of her head. ‘Yeah, that’s it Buffy, tell yourself that it’s pointless to do it up. He’ll just make sure it comes down, even if he has to make it so. Sure, don’t let yourself believe for one second that you want to please him.’

William was already at the dinner table when Buffy entered the dining area. He stood immediately when she neared the table and hurried to seat her himself, cutting poor Jesse off in the mean time.

“You look gorgeous, luv,” William whispered in her ear, causing an unwanted shiver down her spine. When he had returned to his own seat and Jesse had left the dining room, Buffy noticed that William was eyeing her, quite appreciatively with his bright blue eyes. “I mean it Buffy,” he began softly, his smile was dazzling, “you’re beautiful.”

His eyes traveled down her neck to her chest area slowly and Buffy was just beginning to feel a tad ‘uncomfortable’ again. That’s when his gaze halted at the Roman Crucifix that she wore about her neck. He gave her a puzzled look and tilted his head to one side. “Are you Catholic, Buffy?” he asked with genuine interest, “I thought you were Baptist or Church of England.”

Buffy snapped to at William’s inquirey, “Riley and his servants follow the Baptist doctrine,” she answered softly. “My Grandparents were straight from Armagh County in Ireland.”

“My Grandparents were Irish, settled in Boston, William,” Buffy continued matter-of-factly, “of course I was raised Catholic,” she finished with a girlish giggle that delighted Spike.

“So was I,” he grinned at her look of surprise, “my brother James and I both were, of course. My Mum was born in County Donegal, by the sea. She and Father insisted we be raised as Catholics.” Now it was Buffy’s turn to look puzzled, he noticed, “brother?” she asked confused. “I thought you were an only child, William,” she shook her head. “Where did I get that idea from?”

Spike felt a look of pain sweep across his face but shook it off and answered honestly, “I had a twin brother, Buffy. James, named after my Father, he was just minutes older then me, so he was the oldest. He died, when we were about seven or so. I lived, but that’s how I got this shock of white/yellow hair, after affect of the illness. Did you think this color was natural?” Spike chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood in this most unpleasant conversation.

“I’m sorry, William,” Buffy whispered, honestly, “for your loss and mentioning it. I don’t know why Xander Harris never mentioned that you had a brother, but…” He shook his head quickly, “Xander never knew. I don’t talk about my family much, Buffy, for many reasons.” Spike toyed with the wine glass in front of him, casually and changed the whole James subject. “How is Xander, luv,” he asked just as casually.

Buffy gave him a sad look, which startled him, ‘perhaps Xander is dead,’ he thought with genuine concern. “Xander and Anya, my second cousin, married two years ago, William,” she informed him. “I suppose that it’s natural, you not knowing and all, I’m sorry for you both. I know you were great friends once. Like I said back in Boston, this War would make enemies of all of us, even best friends. And, sadly, it has.” He felt a twinge of regret in his heart, knowing that she was right; Spike had not heard from Xander in almost three years, since the beginning of this whole mess in the Colonies.

“Xander enlisted in the Continental Army a while back. He is serving under General Washington, as is my husband,” she finished with a sigh and averted her eyes from his. Buffy noticed that William flinched at the mention of Riley, but he quickly nodded and took a good drink from his glass. “They have a baby, a son, Xander and Anya. Another one on the way,” she tried to engage him in some happier talk. It worked for he smiled at her warmly, “how old is the boy?” he asked happily. “He is nearly a year old,” she grinned shyly, “Anya writes me constantly and of course I respond as often as possible.

“I suppose old Xander went and named the child after himself,” he chuckled good-naturedly, “he always was a bit vain.”

Buffy nodded and added, “yes, they named him Alexander for his first name. They, however,” she paused a moment and then smiled at him, “gave him the middle name of William. Xander insisted on it, after his best friend.” ‘He looks as if he’s going to cry,’ Buffy thought with regret, ‘I should not have said that.’

Spike could not say anything for a few minutes and they ate their supper in silence for a while. Finally, Buffy cleared her throat and stated, “the Parrish Priest from the nearby town, he comes to say the Morning Mass for Andrew and I, here on the Plantation.

Andrew was raised Catholic also and the poor boy could never make it for Mass in the Church, so Father Rayne comes here.” He nodded at her, still visibly torn at the thought of Xander giving his only son his name as a middle one.

‘I miss him,’ he thought sadly of Harris, ‘him and that bloody sense of humour of his.’ Then he snapped out of his thoughts and asked simply, “may I take Mass with you tomorrow, Buffy. I have not been to Confession in well, forever, and it might do me some good.”

She blushed slightly but nodded at him, “of course, William. Father Rayne would not deny any believer Mass or Confession, British Soldier or not.” Buffy smiled slightly at him, evoking a grin on his part, “thanks, luv,” he murmered.

After they had finished their meal, Buffy stood to excuse herself from his company. “Supper will be at 2:00 PM, tomorrow, William,” she said evenly. “On Sunday, the entire Farm has chicken for supper, early in the day. We fry it down here. Have you ever had fried chicken, William?”

She grinned when he shook his blonde head ‘no’ and seemed puzzled again. “Then you are in for a real treat. It’s the most delicious way to have chicken, however, it’s quite fattening, I fear.”

William burst out into laughter, “no need for ‘you’ to fear ‘that’ my dear Buffy,” he smiled at her, dazzling again. “You’re just fine the way you are luv, I don’t think you could ever be ‘fat’ as you put it.” She blushed hotly, but returned his smile, again, “thank you, Will,” she giggled. “Oh, there’ll be yams also. They are native to Africa and our cook has the most wonderful way with them. They’re like a big, orange potatoe. Only better!” He suddenly got quiet and pensive and Buffy thought it best to take her leave now.

“I’ll say goodnight, William,” she whispered as she turned to leave. “Andrew likes me to read to him, although he can read better then most anyone I know. It’s our time together and I promised the next chapter of The Illiad to him tonight.”

Spike stood abruptly, “Buffy, if I may ask. What is wrong with the boy, Andrew that is?” He saw the pain in her eyes, that and fear mingled in with it.

“He was born with weak lungs, poor lad,” she sighed sadly, “some days he can barely take in enough air to survive. But he’s such a sweet boy, so kind and smart as a whip. When his parents died Riley took him in as his Ward. Everyone felt it best since South Carolina air is more condusive to his frail health. In fact, if we, Riley and I are not ‘blessed’ with children, for some reason, Andrew will inherit the entire Plantation.”

Spike watched the look of sorrow dissapear from his Buffy’s lovely face. When she had mentioned the two words, Riley and blessed, together, her expression became one of contempt. “I must go now,” she said quietly, “Andrew is waiting for me.”

“You are right, Buffy, luv,” William was grinning at her over his glass. “Chicken, fried, is the best way to eat the fowl.” Buffy smiled at him warmly, trying not to be taken with the childlike expression of joy on his handsome face. He had devoured every bite of his meal with glee and it was nice to enjoy each other’s company, especially on the Sabbath, in such a relaxed way, for once.

“Is that cinnamon, on the yams, I mean,” he asked, his face scrunched up in wonder. “Yes,” she laughed heartily, “it is, William. I guess you should know that, when you go home to England and all. Perhaps you can introduce our Southern cooking to your people there.” His smiled dissolved at that remark, his blue eyes became dark with some inner sorrow.

“There’s apple pie for dessert,” Buffy offerred softly, sipping her tea. “Thank you, Princess,” he sighed. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a minute then Buffy thought to ask, “are your mens’ accomadations acceptable? Yours and your Officers?” She had no idea why she cared so much, but she did for some reason.

“They’re fine, Buffy,” he responded shortly, “thank you.” He watched her as she nodded and went back to sipping her tea. ‘Rather be upstairs, with you, escounced in your comfortable bed, sweet,’ he mused as he watched the dainty way she set her cup on the plate before her. ‘No,’ he shook his head ruefully, ‘I’d rather find another guest room in this Castle of yours and make love to you for days, hidden from all the world. Just you and me, Princess.’

The Priest, that morning at Mass, Father Ethan Rayne, had been a nice enough bloke, Spike reasoned. A bit too good looking for a Priest, however, he felt, a twinge of jealousy had overcome him when they were introduced. ‘For an old man, and a Man of the Cloth,’ Spike surmised, ‘he’s a bit too lively and good looking for my taste. Didn’t like the way he surveyed my Buffy when he got here, either.’ Of course, Spike realized that he was being a complete arse in the matter, a Priest was not interested in Buffy Summers that way. But…

The old boy, Spike went on to remember, Father Rayne that is, had taken his Confession without batting an eyelid. Even when Spike had confessed to the local Priest that he coveted another man’s wife. In fact, Spike had made it quite clear that he intended on seducing this married woman away from her husband and home, eternal damnation be, well, let it be damned. The odd part had been, the Priest just raised his right brow and nodded with the utmost understanding.

“She is quite covetable, my son,” Father Rayne had sighed with sympathy, “Mrs. Finn that is. And I know, Captain Anderson, that you love her, deeply. I saw it in your eyes the moment I met you. However, it is a sin to covet another man’s wife. Say six Hail Mary’s and try to think on something else besides the lovely Elizabeth Finn. Even if I so believe, in fact I know that her husband is worthless, a true sinner and is certainly not good enough for her.” Spike had been stunned that the Priest had been so kind in his treatment of his own shocking confessions, but there it was.

Buffy had left upstairs to go check on Andrew, with the promise that she might join William later that evening, in the parlour. He hoped she was not just trying to placate him with false promises and all, but he accepted her word and allowed her to go see to the poor, ill boy. Leiutenant Abrams came into the parlour and saluted at Spike, “there’s a man at the front door, Sir,” he explained.

“Say’s his name is Angel O’Connor and that he is a Loyalist, devoted to England and King George. He is also one of the nearest neighbors of this Plantation, Master of Connor Pines some five miles from here. Claims to be Master Riley Finn’s best friend also. This O’Connor person, he says he must speak with you immediately Sir. Says it’s most important.”

Spike sighed gruffly, “oh all right, Leiutenant. Show this Angel O’Connor in. Then have Jesse or Mahalia fetch their Mistress. I have a bad feeling about this bloke and I want Mrs. Finn to deny or verify it.”


A/N: Well, it seems that Spike has a kind of psychic intuition about people, doesn’t it? Tee hee. Anyway, next chapter we’ll find out just how ‘bad’ Angel O’Connor really is. There will be some slight (!) Angel bashing in that one! Thanks for reading, please review. Luv, Spufette

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 8: ‘Buffy’s Interests’


A/N: Just the teensiest-weensiest bit of Angel bashing in this chapter! Please review and give me your thoughts on this fic. I’m interested to know if my historical lore in the plot line is believable; if the language used is close enough to the times? And if, of course, you like it or not. Thanks, Luv, S


When Spike first laid eyes on Angel O’Connor, took the hand that the tall, dark haired man offered in a shake, he knew. There was something almost sinister about this O’Connor bloke and as hard at the man tried to cover it, Spike could detect the darkness of his soul. ‘His hand,’ Spike thought, startled momentarily, ‘it’s ice cold and it must be nearly 80 degrees outside.’ This Angel, ‘who the bloody fuck is named Angel, for God’s sake,’ Spike smirked; this O’Connor was rambling on about some rot right now.

“Have a drink,” Spike offered some of Finn’s best brandy. “Thank you,” Angel nodded whole-heartedly, “I shall. I came here often, before Riley left for the War. Tried to talk the man out of it, make him come to his senses and all. There is no way that the Colonials or Patriots as they call themselves will ever defeat His Majesty’s fine Army. Besides,” O’Connor added, smugly, “what man in his right mind would go off to War, of his own accord, and leave a beauty like Mrs. Finn behind, eh Captain?” Spike merely grunted, “hmmm” and sipped his brandy as he eyed the taller, darker man with dislike.

Angel O’Connor had plopped down on the sofa, his booted legs placed up on Buffy’s fine china coffee table. Spike resisted the overwhelming urge to kick the bastard’s feet off of the table and punch his stupid jaw to wipe that bloody smirk off the older man’s face. ‘Prick,’ the Brit thought with contempt, ‘makes himself too damn comfortable in my Buffy’s house.’

“So,” Spike began evenly, if not a bit gruffly, “what’s your story O’Connor? What brings you here to Finnwood?” The dark haired man smirked even wider, “as I said Captain Anderson,” he purred, “I ‘am’ Riley Finn’s best friend, we grew up together. I feel, as that, that I am obliged to keep an eye out on his beautiful wife, Elizabeth. Even though Riley and I are miles apart on our political beliefs, Sir, I still am his friend, therefore, I feel that I should step in as proctector of his interests, including his wife and his Ward, young Andrew.”

‘Oh, I just bet you do, you stupid fuck,’ Spike hissed to himself as a wave of harsh jealousy hit him. “In fact,” this moron, Angel, continued with a false frown, “if our dear Riley does not make it back from this ridiculous War, I intend on taking on Finnwood as ‘my’ interest. To protect Mrs. Finn’s and young Andy’s own interests, of course. I think Riley would want it that way, don’t you agree, Captain?”

Spike was just about to take out his gun at his hip and blow this bloody fuck to hell when he was interrupted by Buffy’s entrance back into the parlour. “Hello, Buffy,” Angel had the audacity to greet her, the tone in his voice was pure honey.

“My name is Mrs. Finn, Angel O’Connor. And you well know that you are no longer welcome in my home, Sir. I would be most obliged if you leave, this minute and not return again. At least, not until my husband has returned from battle and can receive you himself. However, I doubt you will be welcome here then either. Good day. And to you, Captain Anderson.”

Buffy turned quickly and fled the parlour, scurrying up to her bedroom to hide there once more. “That fool,” she rasped as she sat down at her vanity table and began to brush her long, golden hair out, angrily. “How dare he come here, after, after that night when Riley had just left and he tried to…”

It was only minutes before there was a soft tapping at Buffy’s bedroom door. “Yes,” she sighed, knowing full well it was Mahalia on the other side. “That Captain Anderson, Missy,” she called through the door, “he wishes you to join him downstairs in the parlour. He sent that awful O’Connor man away, Mrs. The Captain would like to apologize for his lettin’ that rotten man in your house.” Buffy sighed again and nodded, more to herself then anyone else, “all right, Halia,” she called back, softly, “please tell the Captain that I will be down momentarily.”

When Buffy looked back to her mirror, she realized that her hair was quite shiny, it resembled spun gold. ‘Just the way Will likes it,’ she smiled at her relfection. Deciding to just leave it down, she rose to meet with William and try to explain, as she knew he would surely ask her to, why Angel O’Connor was not welcome here. And, why she, Buffy, detested that so called best friend of Riley’s so much.

Spike watched, almost amused, as Buffy paced about the Parlour, quite agitated. He had already apologized for allowing O’Connor in the house, had no idea that the man was not welcome and all, but Buffy would not be swayed from her nervous antics.

‘I’ll kill that bastard,’ Spike promised himself about this so called, Angel. “What is O’Connor to you Buffy,” he finally asked, halting her from her pacing.

“Angel O’Connor is nothing to me, William,” she sighed in frustration. “In fact, he is ‘nothing’ at all, at least as far as I am concerned.” Spike raised his left scarred brow and thought for a moment, ‘put this next question just right, mate,’ he advised himself.

“He, O’Connor, he’s done more then just not support your allmighty cause, your Patriots, hasn’t he Buffy dear?” She averted her beautiful green eyes, so full of fire at the moment, but then nodded silently in answere.

“Oh, very well, William,” she sighed and finally joined him on the sofa. When she sat next to him, he noticed that it was far closer then he could have hoped. “Since you insist on knowing the whole sordid mess, I will tell you. However, you will not like it and I hope you do not make a rash, bold move because of it. Understood William?” Now Buffy raised her own left brow at him in question and he nodded this time in answere.

“Angel O’Connor,” she began with hesitation, “is a monster. A hideous, cruel man with no compassion or grace of any kind. He was indeed my husband’s best friend, and do not flinch, William,” she ordered gruffly with a serious expression, “every time I mention Riley as my husband. Or I will not finish this ridiculous tale you are so interested in hearing.” Her mouth was set in a hard line and Spike fought the desire to kiss her right then, “go on, luv,” he encouraged gently.

“Angel O’Connor was indeed my husband’s best friend; he stood up for Riley at our wedding. Although their political beliefs and all were far from agreeable, Riley and Angel remained good friends. Then Riley, in an unusual act of unselfishness, enlisted in the Contenintal Army and arranged to leave to join General Washington up North. He was not gone, to the War, for even 72 hours before Angel O’Connor rode up to my house and snaked his way in here.”

She paused to watch William not only flinch at her words, but actually swallow hard and try to fight his anger from his eyes. It was almost comical to see, but Buffy continued on with her tale.

“At first, Angel,” and she snorted, most unladylike, at his name, “tried to ‘seduce’ me with kindness. Words of friendship and sympathetic understanding. He made it quite clear that he knew, very well, how diverse and shall we say dabased Riley’s tastes in,” Buffy hesitated then shrugged, “how my husband’s tastes in ‘marital’ relationships could be. God, Will, he probably had joined Riley at least once or twice in his ‘pre-marriage’ activities.” She felt her face go quite hot and flushed, her stomache felt ill, suddenly and she had to take a deep breath to keep from swooning.

“Buffy, luv,” Spike whispered, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, “say nothing more. Not if you don’t want to, Princess. I should not have asked. I was jealous, hateful and cruel, myself. Please don’t go on if…”

Buffy shook her head violently, “no,” she rasped harshly, “you asked. I will tell you most of it, anyway.” He nodded, still regretting that he’d ever brought this painful subject up to her.

“Angel realized, quite quickly, which is a miracle in itself, seeing as how incredibly stupid the man is.” This brought a smirk to Spike’s face, but he just took her tiny hand in his, pleased she did not remove it. “Angel realized quickly,” she sighed as she continued in a low voice, “that his false ‘sympathetic friend’ ploy would not sway me. So, he changed his tactics. He became surly, intimidating, or so he thought anyway. Threw Riley’s faults at me in the most hateful manner, using the ugliest and most disgusting terms. Even my husband’s post marital indiscretions were not off limits to Angel. By the time he had finished, I still made it clear that he had no chance with me and I told him to get the hell off of my land. And, stay the hell off!” Buffy’s whole body spoke of strong defiance and it pleased him, greatly.

Buffy had finished the story, Spike assumed, but her last words were barely audible to him. He felt sick for her, with worry, with jealousy, with rage. ‘She’ll never be safe,’ he groaned inwardly, his heart sank with the knowledge. ‘That fucking moron, O’Connor, will not give up. He’ll come at her as much as possible, in all kinds of ways. Like a fucking snake, ready to strike. Especially after me, this Army, after we have left this place behind.’

His vision suddenly became quite blurred with white, hot anger and he bolted up off the sofa. “Where are you going?” Buffy gasped, a sick, concerned look in her own green eyes. “I’m going to go blow that bloody moron to Kingdom Come, Buffy darling,” he replied, quite calmly in the situation.

“No! Will no!” she leapt up to grab his arm. “I cannot have it. I will not have it. Angel O’Connor is a fellow American, no matter how obnoxious or evil that he is. I will not have it, Will. You promise me, now, that you will not go after that monster. Promise!” She ended with a yelp, desperately clutching at him and searching his eyes with hers.

Buffy watched William, warily, as he seemed to ponder her words, then visibly calm down, right before her eyes. The anger in his beautiful sky blue eyes slowly dissapated as he began to breathe more evenly by the second. “Promise me,” she demanded again, her voice a mere whisper.

“I promise, Princess,” Will mumbled, never taking his eyes from hers. She realized she still grasped his arms, roughly and that his own hands had somehow found their way to her waist. He rested them there, even now, as the look in those blue orbs of his changed from anger to desire in a matter of seconds. Before either one of them said another word, William pulled Buffy into a crushing embrace and crashed his lips to hers, kissing her hungrily.

Buffy had kissed him back, he knew she had, how could he not know? Spike felt her responses to his greedy lips on hers, felt her part her mouth just slightly to allow him to kiss her more deeply. However, as soon as they had started their dance of kisses, Buffy broke their contact and pushed away from him. “Buffy,” he groaned as he took a step closer to her, his arms outstretched before him.

“No Will,” she rasped and stepped back from him even further. “We cannot do this, not now, not ever. I am a married woman.” Before she could slip past him and out of the room, William grabbed her by her slim arm and yanked her back to him.

“You are not going anywhere, Buffy,” he growled at her, “we need to talk about this and you are not running off from me.” She pulled her arm from him and hissed, “no more talks, William. No more touching between each other, kissing, definitely not. This is no different then when Angel tried to seduce me away from Riley months ago and also in my own house. Goodnight, William.”

Spike didn’t even bother to keep his voice down as he screamed after her, “we will talk of this Buffy. Soon. And it is different, I love you. Want you and you want me too. Buffy!” He screamed desperately, but she had already fled the parlour.

With a deep, heavy sigh, Spike looked around the room, hopelessly and rested his gaze on the bar in the corner. ‘She does want me,’ he assured himself again as he reached for the decanter of good Irish Whiskey.

Buffy had tried to sleep, honestly she did, but rest had not come as of yet. It was now close to 10:00 PM and she was sitting on the window bench, looking out over the front courtyard area of the house. You could see the fires of the some of lodged British troops from here and for some odd reason, it calmed her a bit. Mahalia and Jesse would both be asleep by now, little Jacob curled up in his crib next to their bed. Andrew had been asleep for hours, it’s all he seemed to do lately, Buffy shook her head sadly.

William? What would he be doing? Sleeping? She doubted that as he was quite angry when she had last seen him. No, he was still awake, in his room provided by her, probably drinking some kind of liquer and cursing her very name. Buffy had locked the door of her bedroom, even before she undressed from her day clothes and donned the little white nightgown that she wore to her lonely bed. ‘I am a fool,’ she actually giggled, ‘locking my door like some silly school girl who fears for her virtue.’

The sound of heavy footsteps invaded her thoughts, especially when they halted right outside of her bedroom door. Buffy stood suddenly and slowly made her way across the room towards the sound, startled completely when the door knob rattled loudly.

“Bloody hell!” came William’s booming voice and Buffy clasped her hand to her own mouth, trying to stifle a cry. Before she could make a move to do ‘anything’ at all, her bedroom door burst open and Will stumbled inside. He didn’t hesitate, not even for a heart beat; he slammed the door shut behind him and pulled a heavy table in front of it. The table would replace the lock he had just broken when he kicked the door in.

“Will!” Buffy gasped, “what are you doing in here? Get out!” William spun around to face her, his blue eyed gaze burned like fire right into her very soul. He had been drinking, that was obvious, but how much? It was hard to say. Right now, Buffy had other things to worry about, such as how she could get herself out of this situation and without being compromised by a man that she did ‘truly care for.’

“We are going to talk, Buffy. Now!” William closed the gap between them and pulled her flush to his strong body. His left hand entangled itself in her long hair and he pulled her head back to force her to look him in the eye. “We’ll start,” he rasped harshly as his right arm held her to him, “with just why you did not meet me that night in Boston.”


A/N: Oh, Spike…sigh. Well, we’ll have to wait until the next chapter to see if Buffy escapes with her ‘virtue’ intact, shan’t we? Oh, and please don’t be angry with me, about Spike being so ‘forceful’ and such, he really does love Buffy in this fic, he’s just real confused right now. Thanks for reading, please, please, please review (begging now). Even if you don’t care for the fic, I appreciate knowing your thoughts. Thanks again, Luv, Spuf

Rebel Hearts



Chapter 9: ‘Consolation’


“Answer me!” William demanded of her, his blue eyes burned a hole right through her and into her very soul. “Tell me why you did not meet me that night, in Boston. Lie to me, if you have to, but just give me some explaination, here and now!”

Buffy was shaking uncontrollably, her body was convulsing in a near fit and she was unable to stop it. “I, I could not…” she began to try and defend herself, verbally anyway.

“I tried, but…” He roared like a human lion and pushed her back onto her bed, “liar!” he cried desperately. “If you’d truly wanted to, needed to, like I needed you to be there…you would have made it. Nothing could have stopped you, nothing, Buffy.”

He threw himself on top of her and reached up to the top of her little proper nightgown, then ripped the front of it open as easily as if he’d ripped an envelope made of fragile paper. “Mine!” he growled as he began to run his lovely mouth down her neck to her now exposed breasts.

There was an urgent rap at the bedroom door and Mahalia’s voice of reason broke the violent scene that was unfolding inside. “Missy?” Buffy’s maid called with genuine concern, “you okay in there? Jesse and me, we’re worried.”

Spike stopped his forceful ministrations on his Buffy’s breast long enough to growl, “get the fuck out of here! Buffy and me want to be alone!” His head snapped back to face her, his muse, his Goddess, his Buffy and he rasped huskily, “now, where were we?”

Buffy looked at him as if he were some kind of a monster, her green eyes were wide and frightened. It only served to spur his lust and rage on even more.

“So,” he sneered as he grabbed her right breast in his rough hand, “let’s get this straight, shall we?” He knew he was far too drunk to really understand or hear exactly what Buffy might even try to tell him, but he was past caring at this point.

Buffy was speechless, something that she had never really been before. A part of her wanted to console this tortured man, this enemy of herself and everything she believed in, now at least. The other part of her wanted to throw his taut, strong body from hers and declare her loyalty to her new found Country, her husband, no matter how undeserving he might be of it.

“Will,” she panted as he devoured her flesh like an animal, his lips were anything but gentle as he suckled her neck, just above her pulse point there.

“Please, Will,” she begged with a breathless whisper, but a strong conviction, “please stop. We will talk of this, I promise. But if you do this, force your love on me, there will be no turning back. No sanctuary, no quarter or forgiveness, for either one of us.”

He seemed to hesitate and pulled his head back to eye her, his lids half closed from pain or passion. “No sanctuary?” he asked with his blonde head tilted to the left, slightly.

From the other side of the blocked oaken door, Mahalia’s worried voice rasped, “we’re here, Missy. Jesse and me. We fetched that nice young Lieutenant Abrams. He’s here to talk some sense into the Captain.”

Buffy watched as a myriad of emotions played out on William’s handsome face. What was once passion and even anger, quickly turned to horror as he realized what he was about to do to her.

“Captain,” came Lt. Abrams strained voice from outside the bedroom door, “please, Sir. I do not think you are in the best frame of mind. Please, come back downstairs, now.”

William reared back and looked at Buffy as if he was just now seeing her, truly, for the flesh and blood woman she was. What he had almost imposed on her.

“Buffy,” he moaned, more of a gasp really, a painful rasp of guilt and regret. “It’s all right, William,” she whispered.

Then more loudly, “Captain Anderson will be out in a moment, Lieutenant. Please, everyone just go back to bed now. Jesse, Mahalia, tend to your son Jacob. Everything will be fine.”

Spike stared at Buffy, his mind was ablaze with so many emotions that he could hardly set them straight. There was lust, most definitely, and of course love. He loved her, his Buffy, so much that he had given everything up, back in England to find her again. Then there was the rage at the fact that she had betrayed him. Stood him up, back three years ago and broke his heart. He had tried to mend his beaten and cracked black heart. Came back to the Colonies, searched her out to sweep her off of her feet like some stupid, insipid poetic ponce.

“Buffy,” he whispered in horror as he stared into her golden/green eyes, so wide with confusion. Spike heard Lt. Abrams mutter something to Buffy’s house servants, something like ‘go back to bed. It’ll be fine, I assure you.’ Then he heard footsteps as they receded down the hallway and into the distance. Buffy pulled him into her arms, loosely, and held him almost tenderly.

“William,” Buffy murmered as she stroked his platinum head with her hand, “go back downstairs now. We’ll talk of this and many things, tomorrow, or the next day, but we will talk. It’s all right. Just go back down and rest in your room. Do you think so little of me, Will? That my heart is so fickle and my mind so small that I would ever try and explain my thoughts and actions to you while you are so drunk?”

William shook his head, numbly and pulled back from her and the bed they lay on. “I, I am so sorry, Buffy, luv,” he stammered in shame as he hung his head.

“All right then,” she mumbled as she pulled the torn material over her bosom and stood up from the bed. “Remove the table from the door and go to bed, Will, please. I promise, I do, that we will speak of this later.” He nodded and did as he was asked, removed the heavy table from in front of the doorway.

When he had moved the table and opened the shattered oaken doors, he turned to her. He knew his face was a mix of sorrow and guilt and he was ashamed.

“I’ll have Jesse fix your lock in the morning, Princess,” he vowed evenly. “Do not worry, your man servant will make it right. However,” and Spike looked at Buffy with all of the sincerity that his drunken state could allow, “please be sure to lock your door, every night from now on. I cannot promise that I will have any more control over myself, not where you are concerned anyway, then this night.”

Buffy nodded at him and he turned to flee the bedroom of his love and the man she was chatteled to.

Spike woke up with a mother of a headache and hangover in the morning. Lieutenant Abrams must have wisely allowed him to sleep quite late because the sun was already hovering far too far overhead to be too early. He stumbled out of his bed and realized he’d slept in his clothes. ‘Bloody hell, I’m trashed,’ he grumbled as he glanced in the wall mirror of the room. ‘Look like hell,’ he sneered at his reflection in contempt as he remembered last night and what he had almost done to Buffy. The guilt and remorse instantly became unbearable and grabbing a clean uniform, he stumbled out through the back of the house. There was a creek, a fairly large one that lay about a mile to the west of the house. Spike decided to bathe in that creek, there would be privacy and it would be good and cold. ‘Just what I need,’ he derided himself, ‘a good cold bath. That’ll wake me up.’

When he’d bathed and returned to the house, Spike found it to be unusually quiet inside. Jesse and Mahalia, who were usually already about the place, taking care of household needs, were no where to be found. Spike sensed Buffy nearby and stepped out onto the front porch. He found her there, alone on the porch bench, staring out into the distance, apparently deep in thought.

“Buffy, luv,” he whispered to catch her attention, “I…” Buffy turned to look at him, he saw right off she had been weeping, a lot it would seem. A shot of pain, sorrow and guilt swept through him and made his next words even more difficult to say, “I’m sorry Princess, about last night. About so many things and…”

Buffy was not surprised that William was here, now. She was fully aware that he had left the house and trotted off down in the direction of the creek, presumably to bathe there.

“William,” Buffy whispered sadly, “I accept your apology, but that is not why I am so sorrowful this morning. It is something else that troubles me and I am sick with worry and regret of my own.” He gave her a confused look, then joined her on the bench.

“What is it, Buffy dear?” he murmered as he gently touched a loose tendril of her hair.

“It is sad news, from the servants quarters. The woman, a field worker’s wife, Kendra was her name, she died early this morning. Her poor little baby, it was way too soon to be born and tried to come anyway. A little girl she was, Mahalia told me this at sunrise this morning, her and that poor Kendra never made it through the birth. She felt her hot tears begin again and wiped at them quickly, for some reason, she did not want Will to actually see her cry.

Spike flinched slightly when Buffy told him the sad news. ‘Isn’t that the woman Jesse told me about?’ he thought for a moment, ‘the one Riley was supposed to have been involved with?’ He resisted the dire urge to wrap his arms about Buffy and hold her tightly, ‘she knew,’ he realized. ‘Buffy knew it was true, that that poor dead child was most likely her worthless husband’s offspring.’ Buffy was watching him, his face, carefully.

“I know, William. At least, I was pretty sure anyway,” she sniffed, trying to keep from spilling tears. “It is only one of Riley’s indiscretions that Angel O’Connor threw at me that night. The poor little baby was probably Riley’s and Kendra was definitely his mistress. Oh, it’s not false pride on my part that I weep. I am sorrowful and pained because that poor little dead baby, her mother, what chance did they have? Where were their choices in this miserable existence of theirs and ours, sometimes. Men like Riley, they have all the control, make all of the decisions for everyone, even if they are poor, stupid or even evil decisions. I cry for the poor little dead baby and her sad, miserable mother, her son, Robin and her man Wood. And only feel anger and contempt for my husband, who is not even here to contend with this horrible situation he created. Coward that Riley Finn is.”

“What is worse,” Buffy’s voice shook slightly, “is that although I wish to see that Kendra and the baby get a Christian burial, I do not know who will say the words over them. Father Rayne is a good man, but he is a Catholic Priest and the servants practice the Baptist doctrine. The Bapist Minister, the one who married Riley and me, he is a cold, intolerant man. Reverend Caleb Montgomery, the village Minister, he will be scandalized to come here and eulogize them. Especially when he realizes that I plan to have the baby and Kendra buried together, in the Finn family cemetary. It is there,” she pointed to the south of the farm, on that knoll.”

Buffy noted the scowl that crossed William’s brow. “The baby, her mother,” she explained sternly, “they have as much right to be buried in the Finn Cemetary as any of the rest of the family. Besides, I have heard that Riley’s Mother was a very kind and good woman. She would have wanted it this way, too, I’m sure.”

William smiled softly at her, took her hand in his and whispered, “you are a good woman, Buffy darling. Much too good for your husband or me.”

Buffy was looking at him, with that innocent, wide-eyed stare that he loved so much. It tore at his heart, that this beautiful, wonderful woman, his own Buffy, would be enslaved to a man like Riley Finn. ‘She’s better then all of us put together,’ he thought to himself, ruefully.

“Buffy,” he said quietly, “I’m a Captain, in the British Army. As such I have the ability to eulogize at burials, especially my own fallen troops’ funerals. I’ll say the words for the baby and her mother, tomorrow. The sooner they are buried, the better for everyone. I believe the husband, Wood, he should dig the grave, the boy should attend too.”

The look of stunned gratitude that Buffy gave him ripped at his heart and mind. Spike felt like a monster himself for what he had tried to do his Buffy last night. “You would do that for me, Will?” Buffy whispered in awe, “you would do that?” Spike smiled warmly at her and tucked that loose tendril of her honey blond hair behind her ear, out of sheer habit, “I would do anything for you, Buffy, darling.”

Buffy wondered about her bedroom aimlessly. It had been just hours since William had offerred to say the Christian words for the poor lost souls, now laying in the empty building by the Finn Cemetary. She stood staring, out the window of her husband’s fine house and thought about what William had said to her earlier. ‘You are a good woman Buffy, darling. Too good for either your husband or me.’ He had said that, Will, to herself, the woman who had dissapointed him more then anyone in his life. “I would have met you, Will,” Buffy sighed, allowing more of her tears to fall, “I tried. I swear I did.”


Flashback, Boston 1775 Buffy’s POV


“It is nearly 4:00 PM,” Buffy was giggling at her maid, like a young school girl. “We should probably leave for the Parkway soon, I do not want to keep Lord Anderson waiting.”

The maid returned her mistress’s laugh warmly, “this is so very romantic Miss Buffy. Your Lord will be so pleased when you arrive. I’ll make sure to make myself scarce so you two can speak alone.” Fred winked at Buffy with glee and went about fetching Buffy’s wrap she would wear over her dress.

“Oh,” Buffy scrunched her face up, “I’d like to wear my other pink wrap, Fred. I believe I left it on the coat rack in the front hallway.” Her maid hurried out of the room to fetch the proper wrap and Buffy brushed out her long, golden hair, for the tenth time in an hour. ‘I am so excited, I can hardly think,’ Buffy hummed to herself with joy, ‘I cannot wait to see William again.’ She sighed, her lids half closed at the memory of his lips on hers.

Buffy’s sweet reverie was interrupted, rudely by a worried Fred who rushed back into her room.

“Miss Buffy!” she exclaimed frantically, “you’re Father, he’s home early from the plant. Miss,” she hesitated, her dark eyes filled with sympathy for her mistress, “he knows. About you and Lord Anderson. He is livid, Miss. Swearing and yelling downstairs like a mad man. I don’t know who could have warned him of your plan to meet the Lord. I swear, Miss, it wasn’t me and I know Gunn would never, ever betray you.”

Buffy rose from her vanity, her anxiety level had careened out of control instantly when her maid had told her of her Father’s knowledge. “Is he on his way up here,” she asked the maid nervously. Her question was answered by the roar of Hank Summer’s booming voice, right outside of her bedroom.

“Elizabeth Anne Summers!” he screamed as he entered the room.


Present Day, South Carolina 1778


Buffy sat at her present day vanity, her blonde head hung down as she focused her tearstained face on the little silver brush that lay on the table.

“You said I was a good woman, Will,” she shook her head sadly. “If you believe that, then how could you doubt that I would have done everying possible to meet you?”


A/N: Well, seems Buffy ‘did’ want to really meet her Lord in the Parkway, didn’t it? Now, the question is, will Buffy ever let Spike in on this past secret of hers? Please read and please review. Thanks for reading! Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 10: ‘Tough and In Charge’


They buried the poor doomed baby and her mother the next morning in the Finn Family Cemetary. With only Buffy, the man, Wood, the young boy Robin and Andrew in attendance. Andrew had insisted, even though the mere trip up to the small knoll took it’s toll immediately on his underdeveloped lungs.

William quoted some passages from the Bible and made them sound almost poetic, full of some hope for the two beings that never had any chance of hope in this world. Buffy was more grateful to William then she dared to show to anyone, so she merely stood next to him as he read the words from the Good Book.

Now and then, Buffy would steal a glance at the boy, Robin Wood, as he was named. She had seen the boy once or twice, about the Plantation, but his mother made sure to keep him inside as much as possible. Buffy had supposed the other slave children may have teased poor Robin, because it was obvious to anyone who had laid eyes on Riley that this slave child was ‘his’ son, no one elses. Robin had Riley’s eyes.

Buffy had promised herself, right then and there, as they buried Robin’s mother, that she would rectify this, somehow. She did not care who was scandalized or angry at her for doing so, Buffy intended on seeing that the boy, Robin, got some kind of inheritance from Riley, even if her errant husband got home from the War in one piece.

Robin would at least have a basic education, the local laws of South Carolina be damned. When the makeshift service was over, poor Wood, the husband of sad, dead Kendra, had come over to thank both William and Buffy for giving his wife a funeral, tears filled the big man’s dark eyes.

By the time Buffy, William and Andrew had returned to the house, she was sobbing and took her leave of the men. She had sequestered herself in her bedroom, Buffy was calling it ‘her’ bedroom now, leaving Riley’s name or the term ‘master’ from the place.

After she had sat at the window bench of the bedroom stared out at the vista for nearly an hour, Buffy lay down to try and nap. Dinner, with William, was as usual, at 6:30 PM that evening and she had every intention of honoring her promise to dine with him. Especially that evening above all others.

“The ham is delicious,” Spike said caustiously as he eyed Buffy from above his wine glass. His Buffy had been very quiet for nearly the entire meal, and Spike attributed that to the sadness from earlier that morning.

Buffy had gotten through the service, fairly well, but by the time she, Andrew and himself had gotten back to the house, she had broke down in tears and departed upstairs to her room. There Buffy remained until it was time to join him for dinner and since the minute she had arrived in the dining room, she had been near mute.

“I will tell the cook that you enjoyed the ham, William,” Buffy quietly assured him. “Thank you again, William,” she added in a near whisper, “for saying the words for them. It meant so much to me, to Wood and the boy, Robin also.”

Spike nodded and sipped his wine again, “tell me, Buffy,” he began carefully, “have you heard from Riley, lately that is?” Her head snapped up from her plate, abruptly, but she visibly regained her composure and shook her head slightly, “no. But then again, correspondance can be difficult, especially from the front lines.”

‘Hmmm,’ Spike mused, ‘I’ll wager you are not corresponding with your worthless husband all that much, either, are you Princess?’ “I see,” is all he could respond to her with.

He decided to change the subject, “tomorrow,” he began “I’m riding with Lt. Abrams and his men to scout around the neighboring country. Truth is,” Spike smirked slightly, “it’s just an exercise in galloping about, looking like we are tough and in charge around these parts.” Spike grinned at Buffy, delighted when she smiled ever so slightly above her tea cup.

“We shall leave first thing, at sunrise and be back by supper tomorrow night. Hope you will join me for dinner, right luv?”

Buffy nodded, then, “I promised you, William. I do not break my promises, not lightly anyway.”

He scowled for just a moment then, “Buffy, we have not really talked. About the other night that is, and the night in Boston, when you broke a very important promise, at least to me.”

She gave him her patent ‘deer looking down a musket’ expression and opened her mouth to respond when Mahalia came scurrying into the dining room.

“Missy Finn,” she exclaimed, “it’s poor Master Andrew, he’s findin’ it hard to breathe, Missy. Please come, he needs you!”

Buffy leapt from her chair, nodded a good night to William and almost ran out of the room to the stairs. By the time she reached poor Andrew’s room, Buffy realized that William had followed her upstairs. He nearly pushed past her to the young man’s bed and leaned in to check the sounds of his breathing.

“Mahalia,” William said with composed urgency, “if you will, get some mustard, clean wraps and a fresh candle and I have matches. Please hurry Mahalia, time is important here.”

Mahalia hurried from the room and Buffy joined William by the bed, “what are you doing?” she asked anxiously as she took Andrew’s clammy hand in hers. “It’s a way to treat the croup,” William responded quickly,

“I know it is more common in babies, but some of my troops have come down with croup-like symptoms more then once. If we apply the treatment, just right, right away, we can help the boy breathe better. When Mahalia comes back, have her fetch Jesse down to the barracks, there’s a doctor there. He’ll do better with this then any of us can.”

Andrew gasped for breath desperately and Buffy felt truly afraid for him. She noticed, however, that the boy gave Captain William Anderson a brave look of thanks and relief.

Later, after the British Doctor had been fetched and come to treat Andrew properly, Buffy joined William in the parlour, briefly. “The boy will be fine now, Buffy,” Spike assured her as he sipped a brandy.

“It seems I owe you, now more then ever, Will,” she murmered as she focused her stare on her wedding picture above the mantel. Spike noted the sad look in her emerald eyes, the way she tilted her head to one side.

‘She’s miles away,’ he thought sadly, ‘miles away from me, in her mind, even though she is so close I can smell the vanilla scent of her hair.’ He could tell she was deep in thought as she surveyed her and Finn’s portrait, a somewhat guilty look in her green eyes. ‘Yes,’ he mused silently, ‘perhaps you do owe me, Buffy luv, but what I want from you; you’ll never give of your own free will. You are too good, dear. Too pure and loyal, even if your fuck of a husband does not deserve your marital devotion.’

William and his small group of men, including Lt. Abrams had departed, as promised, from Finnwood to ‘scout’ about the countryside. Captain Anderson had left Lt. Doyle to keep an eye on things while he was gone, and Buffy felt more then secure to peruse her rose gardens near the house. Even now, Buffy was working in her fair sized garden, wearing a pair of good, heavy gloves, weeding and tending to the various hued buds and blooms.

‘The gardens are beautiful!’ she thought proudly, ‘they shall rival dear Jennifer Gile’s own gardens this year!’ Buffy remembered with quiet joy, the night in Boston when she had sat with William in the Gile’s gardens.

‘He has no idea,’ she shook her head sadly, ‘none at all how wonderful a memory that night is to me. How I…’ Buffy’s warm reverie was disturbed by the sound of a lone horse, coming up the front pathway of the house.

By the time she had reached the front porch, Buffy realized that Angel O’Connor had just dismounted his horse and now stood grinning like an idiot at her.

“Why are you here Angel O’Connor?” Buffy asked evenly, trying to keep the hatred and panic from her voice. “I wanted to speak with ‘you’ Mrs. Finn, alone,” he answered smugly. “My man, Saul. He informed me that your Captain Anderson was out and away from Finnwood, thought I’d take the opportunity to speak my mind. Without unwelcome ears to hear.”

Buffy cringed, but stood straight up to her full 5’1” height, “unwelcome or not,” she hissed, “you know full well you are not welcome yourself here, Sir. Go off from here, or I’ll…”

Angel swaggered up closer to her and eyed her like a full course meal, “you’ll what, Buffy,” he sneered. “Just what will you do, now that your Captain is amiss and there is not another white man on your property to throw me off. What will you do, Mrs. Finn?”

Jesse had just made an appearance behind Buffy and she felt the cold steel of Riley’s pistol being placed in her hand. Buffy made sure to conceal the weapon behind her dress then glared at Angel, “I do not need any man to throw you from my property O’Connor,” she spat with contempt, “I am most capable of that privelege on my own. But, speak your business then leave.”

Angel smiled, a smile that Buffy was sure the odious man ‘thought’ was quite charming. “I’m going to be honest with you Buffy,” he chuckled, “I plan to have Finnwood for myself.”

‘Oh, there’s big news,’ Buffy thought sarcastically, but she held her tongue and listened to Angel’s next words.

“In fact, even if dear Riley makes it back from the War, I intend on commandeering Finnwood for myself. I am sure, once the British have won this uprising, and they will, that the King’s government will be most happy to reward loyal Colonials. I cannot think of a better way to be rewarded then to have Finnwood as my own. That includes everything and everyone on it.”

Angel took another step closer to Buffy, signaling her to pull the pistol that was hidden behind her skirt out into full view. Buffy cocked the pistol and aimed it right at Angel’s chest and heart. The tall dark man stopped in his tracks, a look of shock on his face.

“Now, O’Connor,” Buffy hissed, her own smug smile in place, “if you place even one of your filthy unwanted boots on my front porch, I’ll shoot you,” she warned with menace. “Be warned, Sir,” she continued strongly, “I am not the best shot, so even though I may aim for your cold heart, I might miss. I might hit another area of your body, one that would probably be more appropriate as far as justice goes, but I am sure you might miss having.”

Buffy heard Jesse stifle a laugh behind her and looked square into evil Angel O’Connor’s dark eyes. “All right, Buffy,” he muttered heatedly, “but remember who will own this farm, when this is all said and done, and that would be me. It might behoove you to think about your own best interests when this is over. Your’s and any offspring that you and Riley have. Though I doubt those will be forthcoming any time soon. My dear friend seems to only be able to impregnate slave women with his seed.” Angel turned and nearly leapt on his horse, then spurred the animal off down the pathway away from the house and Buffy.

With a sigh, Buffy lowered the gun and slumped, wearily where she stood on the front porch. “I’m sorry, Missy Finn,” Jesse mumbled behind her, “sorry about everything that bastard, Master O’Connor, said to you.”

Buffy turned slightly and actually grinned at her man servant, “why Jesse,” she chuckled with anxious relief, “I didn’t know you swore, ever.”

Jesse nodded proudly, “every chance I can Missy,” he acknowledged with his happy grin.

“Well,” Buffy sighed, “we’d better get inside, Jesse. Mahalia will want to hear all of the particulars, as soon a possible.”

The very young Lieutenant Doyle suddenly appeared from nowhere, “Mrs. Finn,” he said anxiously, “are you all right? I am sorry, Maam. Captain Anderson left specific orders that you not be bothered by anyone, I am afraid I have let him and you down.”

Lt. Doyle did not look any older then Buffy, “it is fine Lieutenant,” she assured the worried young man. “I handled Mr. O’Connor, quite well. Don’t you agree Jesse?” she asked the servant with a giggle. Jesse just nodded, a huge grin on his face.

Spike and his men had gotten back, as promised, around 4:30 PM. After a warm bath, water provided by Buffy’s man servant, Jesse, he dressed in clean clothes and retired to the parlour to have some of Finn’s finest brandy.

It bothered Spike, a bit, to imbibe his hated rival’s alcohol, but he figured that he might as well, ‘I intend on having his wife,’ he reasoned, ‘might as well drink his liquer too.’ With a hearty laugh, Spike rested on the sofa and waited, impatiently, for 6:30 and Buffy’s promised appearance.

He had half closed his eyes, savoring the fine brandy he was sipping, when Jesse appeared before his eyes.

“Captain,” the man greeted with hesitation, “I’d like to talk to you. Tell you somethin’ that happened today, while you and your men were gone.”

Spike sat up and put the brandy glass on a linen cloth that rested on the china table before him. “Of course, Jesse,” he nodded, “tell me anything you want.”


A/N: A short chapter. Keep the flow of the plot lines going. Please, please read and review. The problem is, I think, that if author(esses) don’t get reviews we lose some interest in our own fics? Anyway, thank you for reading. Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 11: ‘What a Woman!’


A/N: Still no response ability so…thank you to everyone!

This next chapter is for fun, kind of, that is. It is the calm before the storm for our couple. Spike is, after all, somewhat ruthless and he wants Buffy, so…


Spike watched Buffy, carefully, as they sat quietly and ate their meal together. He was trying extremely hard not to mention the events of the day, the ones he had not been witness to, but had told to him. Jesse had relayed every detail of that morning’s happenings, even the part where Buffy threatened that wanker Angel O’Connor’s manhood. In the most lady like way, of course. A smirk played upon his lips as he eyed the object of his passion, Buffy, toy with her wine glass.

‘She drinks wine tonight,’ he chuckled to himself. ‘Her confrontation with O’Connor must have unhinged her a bit more then she would be willing to admit.’

Actually, Spike was furious. Furious that that bastard, O’Connor had dared show his face at Finnwood again, after what he, Spike had warned him the last time. Then, to think that Buffy had to face down this cheeky bastard by herself, well, Jesse was there, but he was a slave. That in itself was no threat to someone as pompous and self-important as Angel O’Connor, simpering fool he may be.

Spike had to chuckle, inwardly, at the thought of Buffy pulling a pistol on that fuck, ‘what a woman,’ he sighed in admiration. As a Captain in the British Army, however, he was less then thrilled with Lt. Doyle for stepping in a tad too late in the matter.

“What?” Buffy asked William, evenly enough, as she sipped her third glass of wine. ‘I am a fool,’ she chided herself ruefully, ‘I have never been able to handle alcohol in any form, much less three glasses of wine. Any more and I will be swinging from the crystal chandelier in my husband’s fine living room before 9:00 tonight!’

Buffy began to giggle at that vision in her head. ‘Look everyone! Buffy Summers-Finn swings from her unfaithful, idiotic, hypocritical husband’s chandelier after drinking wine from his family heirloom stemware! And with a British Captain in attendance, no less! See how she she sways on her swing of fine crystal…her half naked body afloat in the air above the exquisite Italian Renissance furniture!’

‘Her beloved British Captain is captivilated, no, he’s captivinated, no…he is ‘captivated’ by the ‘His’ muse’s, Elizabeth ‘Buffy’ Summers-Finn (oh the heck with it, leave the Finn off!) sweet, nubile body. The one that is unmarred by pregnancy, present or probably future. For, there will be no children with Riley Finn, she, the proper if loyal Buffy, will make sure of that. With the help of her devoted, and ancient wisdom of her wonderful friend and servant, Mahalia.’

Unable to help herself, Buffy burst out in peals of laughter at her inner, silly thoughts, ‘oh, I am tipsy and right on the way to drunk,’ she mused. William eyed her suspiciously, she felt it anyway, but she noticed that smirk of his on his very nice lips.

‘They are very nice lips indeed,’ she giggled as she returned his gaze. ‘And, he kisses so devinely, even when he’s trying to force me to…’

“Buffy, luv,” his deep, wonderful voice interrupted her wicked thoughts, “perhaps you have had enough wine, sweet.”

She pouted and picked up her half empty glass, defiantly, “perhaps,” she snickered, “but, perhaps not!” With a saucy little grin, she finished off the sweet liquid in her glass, not even pausing to take dainty, lady-like sips as she should have.

“Buffy, you better be careful, dear,” Spike warned cautiously, “you’ve had a little too much wine. Better slow down, luv, else you’ll have a major headache in the morning.”

He grinned despite himself, she was adorable, even tipsy and Spike wondered if now might be the time to ‘make his case’ once again, for her affections. Spike eyed Buffy with cautious delight, “you’ve had a hard day, Princess,” he acknowledged, “maybe you should get to bed now and…”

Buffy giggled coyly, “oh, you would like me to go to bed, wouldn’t you Will,” she cooed. “Just so you could try and join me, later. Take advantage of me, use me and…”

He frowned deeply, “I would never, ever use you, Princess,” he growled as he stood from his seat. “For ‘when’ you and I make love, Buffy, my sweet, I intend on having you totally sober and fully aware of just who is making love to you.”

Buffy, who even in the last few days never ceased to amaze Spike, rose from her chair, a bit unsteadily, but she rose all the same.

“Oh,” she cried haughtily, “so, you think that ‘you’ will make love to me, William Anderson? That I’ll succumb to your passionate words of devotion for me? Your silly prose and stupid smirk or even your gorgeous blue eyes? I suppose,” she continued in a very surley voice, “that you think I’ll give into your ceaseless ramblings of seduction.”

“Angel O’Connor has tried this, Captain, and did quite well. He really pushed his point in fact, however, like I told him, I am married to Riley Finn. Stupidly married to him? Maybe. Unhappliy? Certainly, but married I am. In the eyes of God and the Colony of South Carolina. Maybe, if you are truly canny, you can throw my bastard of a husband’s faults at me. Turn my silly, simpering and weak womanly mind to you, much like that idiot Angel O’Connor tried and failed, I might add!”

She began to pace about, her growing frustration apparent to anyone who witnessed it.

“Oh, you men, you are truly cut from the same cloth, all of you. You think that we women, your true objects of ‘passion’ and ‘love’ are some idols set on pedastels that are far above the flesh and blood world we live in.”

“Well,” she hissed as she poured another glass of wine for herself, “I have news for you, Lord/Captain/Mister, oh whatever, William Anderson, we are not idols, or Angels or Goddesses, we are women, humans like yourselves. We are flesh and blood, with needs, wants and desires that probably none of you, simple men that you are, could ever hope to understand!”

Spike sat, stunned beyond words, at least for a moment or two. Before he could respond to his darling Buffy, she plopped down on her dinner chair and eyed him with a look of exasperation.

“Why,” she mumbled, her voice tinged with an unsure note. “Why, Will,” she continued shakily, “even though you are incredibly handsome, with your azure eyes, high cheekbones and really nice lips,” she smirked as she surveyed his face.

“Why, even though I should not complain, and I’m really not,” she murmered, shakily with half closed lids over her gorgeous green; “why are there now two of you?”

That did it. Spike strode around the huge oak dining table and literally swept Buffy off of her feet.

“Sorry, luv,” he explained curtly, “but it’s time for you to get to bed. I would let you go upstairs by yourself, but I’m afraid you will trip and break your precious neck.”

He carried a very groggy Buffy out of the dining room, and ran into Mahalia, hovering about the hallway door.

“Please follow me upstairs, Mahalia,” he asked politely, “your Mistress is indisposed and I need to carry her to her room. I would appreciate your accompanying us, for her sake especially, her sense of propriety and all. Personally, if I was less of a gentleman, I would sweep my lovely Buffy upstairs and take total advantage of her, especially in her inebriated condition.

However, I love your Mistress, insanely, devotedly and most eternally, love her with all of my heart. And, I was raised better then to abuse my one true love and I think our Buffy would appreciate you being there, to ‘care for her’ as she needs.”

Mahalia broke into a wide grin and quickly nodded her head, “yes Captain Anderson,” she chuckled, “I’ll go tend to Missy Buffy. Shame though,” the servant muttered, “that a fine woman like Mrs. Finn and good man like you can’t come to ‘some’ agreement on the spark that goes between the two of you.”

“Will,” Buffy murmered groggily, “where am I?” She glanced around and recognized her own bedroom, Riley and hers. “Oh,” she groaned miserably.

“Will!” she hissed as she tried to bolt up from her bed, where he had laid her. “You should not be in here…”

William grinned at her, then winked wickedly, “oh, but I should, some day, sweet,” he chuckled warmly. “However, for now, I will leave your maid to help you ready for bed and tend to your needs. I will say goodnight, Buffy darling and I hope that you sleep well. Also, I hope you will not be too ill in the morning, luv.”

He smiled at her lovingly, his expression seemed to change to longing as he met her gaze with his blue eyes.

“Oh, Will,” Buffy called to him just before he exited her room, “I need to tell you something.”

William halted and nodded his head to her, “Jesse should not have told you about O’Connor. I handled him quite well,” she stated evenly.

“And,” she continued with an air of pride, “I happen to be a very good shot. I just wanted to scare that son-of-a-bitch more then usual.”

Her platinum blonde, British Captain grinned widely in response, then turned and left the room.

Spike left the massive bedroom of his love and her hated husband. He hurried downstairs and out to the front porch where two of his Lieutenants sat smoking and chatting together.

“Abrams,” Spike barked, bringing his trusted Officer to his feet. “I need a word with you, Lieutenant. There are some orders I need you to carry out, in the next few days. It’s most important that this matter be handled with the upmost legality and tact.”

Abrams looked at his Superior with an unsure eye, “of course, Sir,” he responded automatically.

“Good,” Spike chuckled, “I think you will appreciate my plan, if anyone does Lieutenant.”


A/N: Kind of a short chapter for me. I have got to get the Spuffy loving in here soon! I can’t keep putting it off, I know. Anyway, please read and review. Reviews, good or bad, make the next chapter come sooner! This chapter was kind of ‘fun’ to write and is supposed to lighten the mood before some angst. Thank you, everyone for reading. Luv, Spufette

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 12: Part I ‘Go Away From Here’


A/N: Thanks again to everyone who is reading this!

Summary: Mmmmm, ruthless Spike in this chapter! He wants Buffy and he’s pulling out all of the stops to get her…

A second part to this chapter appears right after the end of this part I. Thanks.


Buffy realized, immediately, when she woke up the next morning that William had been right. She had a hellacious headache and her tummy felt slightly sick from it, that or she was incredibly hungry.

When she slid out of bed and stood up, she felt dizzy and unsure on her feet. However, Buffy wanted nothing more then to rinse her face and neck in the large washing bowl Mahalia had thought to fill for her. It sat on the dresser, next to it was a huge pitcher of cold water to refill it and fluffy white towels to dry with.

After Buffy had rinsed her face and neck, twice each, she ran the welcome cool liquid through her long hair. Once she dressed, she brushed her hair one hundred and three strokes, three extra for good measure and did it up in a top knot. Avoiding the urge to hide herself, once again, all day up there in her room, she slipped quietly out of the door and went downstairs.

Buffy also avoided the strong temptation to seek out William and thank him for his aid to her last night. Frankly, she was quite embarrassed by her ridiculous behavior, since she remembered rather clearly, under the circumstances, just what she had said to him. Instead, she headed right to her massive kitchen in search of Cook’s good strong, hot coffee and perhaps a good muffin or bun to fill her quesy tummy.

Spike stood, smoking as usual, on the front porch of Finnwood, looking out at the expanse of front yard that ran up to the huge gates and gate house. Captain Anderson had spent most of the morning, stomping around, barking useless orders at his Lieutenants and checking on the troops.

‘Have to look like I’m doing something important, I suppose,’ Spike shook his blonde head with a dirisive chuckle. Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, he allowed his thoughts to travel upstairs to Buffy, still enscounsed in her rather huge marital bed, he supposed.

A hard shot of jealously coarsed through his body, ‘you fucking bastard, Finn,’ he growled angrily, ‘you don’t deserve Buffy.’ He swallowed hard and looked up to where her bedroom lay, “Buffy ‘is’ mine!” His whisper was harsh and determined.

Even though Spike considered himself a true British Soldier, a good Captain, even, his heart had never really been in this whole thing. This War with the Colonies and all. Actually, he could have cared less if the Colonies had just up and left the rule of King George and England. He, Spike, only was in this place because of Buffy; his actions during this War had been feuled by bitterness and anger, and some minor sense of loyalty to England, his King, his own Father, Lord James Anderson.

If anything, because he was now fighting against Buffy’s beloved Cause, Spike had no chance of winning her affections. At least not any chance of her giving in to him, willingly that is. It hurt him, deeply, as he had loved her from the moment, in Boston, three years before, when he had first seen his Buffy stroll down that long staircase in the Gile’s family mannor.

A strong feeling suddenly came over Spike; he sensed Buffy was close by him and he tossed his cigarette on the ground. When he entered the house, he immediately headed for the parlour and sure enough, found Buffy sitting on her fine Italian blue silk chair. A cup of coffee sat on the little table next to it and she lay back in the chair, her eyes closed in repose. Her tiny hands were clasped on her lap and she seemed to be asleep.

Spike stopped dead in his tracks and just stared at the vision before him, in awe. ‘God, Buffy, you’re beautiful. You look like an angel to me, so tiny, but strong in heart and body. So very perfect for me, always. Why didn’t you meet me that night in Boston, luv? I love you so much. How different our lives might have been.’

He felt tiny tears threaten to spill and he wiped them away quickly, ‘we would have married, that night, if it were up to me. I’d have taken you back to England, you’d be my wife, now, there’d be children, at least two, probably. A son, maybe, or daughters, ones that look just like you, Princess. They would fill our lives and house with laughter and happiness.’

“You can come all the way in, Will,” Buffy called softly, her eyes still closed. “You do not have to hover about the door,” she giggled, “I am ill, of my own doing, not contagious.”

William laughed and strode over to the sofa to sit across from her. Forcing her heavy lids open, Buffy smiled softly at him, ‘he is worried about me,’ she thought, as a wave of affection for him overcame her. Brushing her own feelings aside, Buffy began thanking him for his aid the night before. That and apologizing profusely for making a fool out of herself and saying silly things to him.

“It’s all right, luv,” he chuckled as, his eyes never left hers, “you were overcome with wine, I understand, really.”

She cringed slightly, “I shall never drink, that much anyway, again. Too much alcohol and Buffy do not mix well,” she gave way to another giggle.

“But, Will,” she scowled slightly now, a serious look on her face, “there is something I must discuss with you and as soon as possible. Will you sit, quietly and listen to me? Let me tell you these things that I must and settle ‘this’ between us, once and for all?”

Spike nodded in agreement, his heart started racing in his chest. He did not like the serious tone in his Buffy’s voice, nor the somewhat sad expression on her lovely face.

“Could you please close the door, Will,” she sighed, “Mahalia and Jesse are loyal to me and do not gossip, however, there are others in the house that are not so discreet, I’m afraid.”

Now Spike really did not like the sound of this, but he closed the door and quickly returned to his seat. Buffy sat up in the chair, met his gaze bravely, even as she worried her bottom lip with her blunt little teeth.

“It is about what was said last night, what you have been saying since you came here. I cannot fault you alone, I haven’t been stern enough with you, not really. Not where my marriage and wedding vows are concerned, anyway.”

“Don’t say it, Buffy,” he murmered gruffly, never averting his eyes from her huge green ones. “Don’t tell me about how you love Riley Finn and how you need to be devoted to him. It’s a lie, you know it and so do I.”

He stood up and strode around the china table to kneel in front of her. When he placed both of his large hands on either side of her golden head, he literally trapped her in place on the chair.

“Do not do this, Will,” she whispered shakily, “you agreed to listen to ‘me’ and let me say this. Remember?” It took great effort on his part, but Spike nodded and bit his tongue, let her continue.

“I do not love Riley Finn, that is true,” she mumbled and blinked her eyes, “but, I am married to the man. I took vows in front of God and family with him, wrong or right. Now, he is not even here to defend himself to either of us, or lay claim to those vows we took together. You are a Catholic, William and as such, you know how our own Church looks on marriage vows, the sanctity of them. There can be no ‘us’ as in you and me. Ever, no matter how…”

“I’ve heard enough!” Spike growled as he clasped Buffy to him and crashed his lips against hers. She struggled against him, but he was definitely the stronger of the two of them, there was no way he’d let her go. He leaned into her, pushed her back against the chair, he was almost on top of her, “There is an us,” he hissed harshly, then he began to kiss her neck roughly.

Buffy continued to protest, violently, kept up her struggle against him, but it only served to fuel his passion even more.

“Stop this,” she cried out, but not too very loudly.

“Make me,” he rasped as he attacked her luscious, soft neck again with his mouth. Somehow, in the passion of the moment, Buffy had miraculously gained some huge amout of physical strength and she used it to fling him away from her.

Spike landed on his back against the table, splintering it as he fell. Before he could regain his senses and stop her, Buffy fled to the door.

She paused at it, turned to face him, as he finally stood up, a bit wobbly, “go away from here, Will,” she pleaded desperately. “Just please, go away.”

Buffy ran up the stairs to her room, slammed the door and locked it behind her. She slumped against it with her back and slid down, slowly until she sat on the floor.

“Just go away, please Will,” she whispered as tears began to flow freely down her flushed cheeks. “If you love me, truly, love me like you say, just go,” she continued to whimper in anguish.

“I cannot be around you any longer, not have you near me, longing for me. As I do you. So please, for both of us, just leave this house and me behind.” Her tears flowed incessantly as Buffy wept as if her very heart would break in two.

Spike lit up his cigarette and flopped back down on the fine sofa in Buffy’s very fine parlour. ‘Bitch,’ he thought angrily, ‘self-righteous little bitch!’

He took a deep, deep drag from the cigarette and allowed the smoke to curl up and around his face, for some reason, he felt a kind of comfort in it.

‘Should’ve gone after her,’ he reasoned, ‘followed her right up those fucking stairs and made her…’

“Captain Anderson,” came Lieutenant Abram’s suddenly annoying voice to break his monstrous thoughts. “Captain?” Parker repeated, “a rider came just now. From Colonel Wesley Rhys-Smythe, Sir. They appear to be orders Sir.”

Lieutenant Abrams handed Spike the papers in his hands and turned to leave. “Stay,” Spike ordered the man, “sit down,” he motioned at the chair Buffy had occupied just moments before.

Spike opened the orders with a purpose and perused the words there. Before he had reached his Superior’s fine scripted signature at the bottom of the papers, the Captain burst out into a loud, throaty laugh. Poor Parker Abrams looked at his Superior as if he’d lost his mind.

“What is it, Captain?” he asked hesitantly.

Spike sat for a moment or two, then grinned wickedly at Lieutenant Abrams, “my Ace up my sleeve, Lieutenant,” he laughed again with the shake of his blonde head. “The answere to my prayers of the last three years. Go find Jesse and have him have his wife, Mahalia, go fetch their Mistress, Buf…I mean Mrs. Finn. Tell them to inform their Mistress that I’ve received orders from my Superior and she just might get her wish.”


A/N: I split this chapter in two. The second part follows immediately after this one. It will be a short, but I hope that it will speak volumes. Please read and review, I really, really love reviews, good or bad. Thanks, Luv, Spuf


Chapter 12: Part II ‘An Offer She Could Not Refuse’


Buffy washed her face and patted it dry, gently, before going back downstairs to face William again. Mahalia had tapped softly on her bedroom door, just moments before, summoning her Mistress back to the parlour.

“Jesse says it’s important, Miss,” Mahalia had explained, nervously. “The Captain, he says you need to hear the orders he got. Somethin’ about getting your wish.”

With a sigh, Buffy brushed out her hair again, just to bide time and reknotted it up on top of her head. She trudged slowly down the stairwell, trying to regain some of her composure to face Will once more. When she stepped inside the parlour, she spied him standing up, looking out the huge window that gave vision to the entire scope of the front yard area.

“William,” she murmered softly, causing him to turn and face her.

“Shut the door, please, Princess,” he requested softly, but with a hard look on his face. Buffy did as she was requested, then walked quietly over to the sofa to sit down.

“You sent for me,” she whispered, not able to meet his blue eyes.

“That I did,” he purred silkily in a tone that caused her to flinch a little.

‘Something’s up,’ she surmised, ‘William’s up to something. He could not have calmed down about my rejection of him this quickly.’ but she sat patiently, waiting for him to continue.

William came around the sofa and stood in front of her. “I received orders from my Colonel, Wesley Rhys-Smythe, that is, my Superior.” He paused as he eyed Buffy up and down slowly, “he informs me that my troops, myself, we are needed elsewhere. We will be leaving in two days.”

The man before her had stated the fact so simply, abruptly, that Buffy was a bit startled, and saddened. She hid her treacherous dissapointment and nodded, “I see,” is all she said, still averting her eyes from his.

If William expected her to sigh in delight, or cry, she was not sure, whatever he expected, he kept an even, if somewhat odd expression on his handsome face.


“You know, Buffy, luv,” he said in a quiet voice, as he struck a match to light a cigarette. “Matches, fire really,” he continued in a monotone voice, watching the flame burn low to his fingers, “they are amazing. Fire I mean, don’t you think?”

His Buffy looked at him, puzzled, but nodded silently.

“I mean,” he went on evenly, “fire is remarkable. It cooks our food, keeps us warm, lights a cigarette,” here he lit his own smoke and blew out the flame of the match. Then, just as quickly, he struck another match, “however,” he purred entranced by the little flame, “fire can be most destructive, can’t it, luv?”

She looked at him, wide-eyed and almost frightened; Spike felt like he had all the power in the world at that moment. The match went out and Spike tossed it into a tray that sat on the splintered china table.

“As I was saying,” he began to pace slowly back and forth in front of Buffy, “fire is good, to a point. But,” he shrugged and sighed simotaneously, “it can be very, very bad and destructive, also.”

Spike felt so fucking powerful, it was intoxicating, but not near so much so as how he would feel in Buffy’s arms, he was sure. He stopped pacing, right in front of her, again and smiled like a hungry cat, “for example,” he purred again as he leaned closer to her, “one match, lit to the right place in this fine house of your husband’s, and it could start a fire so huge, that the whole farm would burn, eventually. You know?”

That got her attention he noticed.

“William!” she hissed frantically, “you would not. I know you could not. Please Will…”

He shook his head and shrugged, “orders. From my Colonel. No choice really, your husband is such a fine Continental Officer. Colonel Smythe feels we need to set an example, burn Captain Finn’s fine Plantation to the ground and…”

By this time Buffy had bolted up from the sofa and literally thrown herself into Spike’s arms. He, of course, took that opportunity to wrap them about her petite, shaking body and hold her tightly to his own tense form.

“Please do not, Will,” Buffy cried desperately, immediately hating her weakness. “I am responsible for everyone on this Farm, they’ll have no place to go, please Will!”

She considered even getting on her knees and begging this man for sanctuary of this place, the slaves, Andrew who was sick, again, upstairs in his gloomy room.

“There, there, Princess,” William cooed softly as he stroked her face, pulling the clip that held her hair up. Her long tresses fell about her shoulders and almost to her waist, Will began to stroke them.

“I know, luv,” he whispered gently, with false sympathy, Buffy now realized, “you and Andrew, you have Boston and your parents’ home to return to, after Finnwood is gone. But your slaves, servants, it’s really a pity. My poor sweet Buffy. Of course, I’m not sure how long poor young Andrew’s lungs would hold out up North in Boston…”

Buffy cringed and began to shake violently, “please Will,” she choked hoarsely, “please do not burn this Farm down. I will do anything, anything, just please, do not follow that monster’s orders.”

Buffy’s desperate pleas and offer were exactly what Spike was waiting to hear. He lifted her wet face up to meet his gaze, knowing that his eyes were boring into her emerald green orbs like fire themselves.

“There is only one thing you can do to save this Plantation, Buffy, my sweet,” he murmered as he wiped her tears, tenderly, away with his hand.

“What?” she whimpered, her eyes wide with understanding and knowledge.

“Invite me into your bed,” he responded huskily, “tonight. You do that, sweet,” he rasped, “and I swear to God above, I won’t light one match to this fine Farm.”

If he expected Buffy to swoon, get angry, push him away or even spit at him, he was delightfully surprised when she merely nodded and slipped out of his arms then headed to the door.

She opened it and called to Mahalia, “Halia, I need you in the parlour, now please,” she ordered evenly enough. Spike exhaled slowly, in relief, and watched Buffy as she averted her eyes from him and led Mahalia into the parlour, shutting the door behind them.

Buffy took a deep breath and looked straight into her beloved servant’s brown eyes.

“Mahalia, the bedroom, connected to my room; is it prepared for a guest?” The servant seemed to scowl, just for a moment then nodded vigorously, “yes Missy,” Mahalia responded, “but I’ll double check it. Freshen it up, if you want.”

William lit another cigarette, Buffy noticed, and stared at her, an odd smile on his face.

“Thank you, Halia,” she whispered. “Captain Anderson and I will be dining, privately, in that guest room tonight. I will give a menu for supper to Cook and I would like it prepared exactly as I will instruct her. I am going back upstairs to lay down for a while, but first, I wish you to come up in 15 minutes or so and see me. There are some things I need you to help me with. I would like a bath, first off and please ask Jesse to fetch a bath for Captain Anderson. Is that all right Captain,” Buffy turned to ask William, ‘so proper, are you not, Buffy,’ she mused silently.

“Yes, I would like a bath, Buffy, luv,” William answered softly with a smile, his blue eyes bore into her like fire.

‘I’ll be Goddamned,’ Spike smiled, smugly, ‘she’s going to go through with it. Sleep with me to save this fucking place. How noble of her, such a noble creature, my Buffy is.’

He felt a tug at his hard heart, a little saddened that she was only going through with this to save her undeserving husband’s Finnwood Plantation.’ Something about ‘that’ little fact bothered Spike, but he brushed aside his misgivings and his conscience, ‘Buffy is mine,’ he assured himself again. ‘She wants me, just too damn proud to admit it.’ Spike heard Buffy continue to give her servant instructions, “it’s of the upmost urgency, Mahalia,” she went on, “that only you and Jesse know of Captain Anderson’s and my dinner in the guest room, alone, tonight. Do you understand, Halia?”

The servant nodded and assured her Mistress that after they had served the supper, Buffy and the Captain would not be disturbed for the rest of the night.

“Jesse and me, Missy,” the woman nodded seriously, “we won’t tell anybody about this. Nobody’s business anyway, Missy.”

After Mahalia had left, Buffy turned to face William who had closed the gap between them and now stood right in front of her.

“You are wonderful, Princess,” he cooed lovingly as he reached out to take her in his arms.

Buffy stepped back from him and watched him tense up, then relax and rest his hands by his sides. “Is this plan to your liking, William,” she asked curtly enough, averting her eyes from his again.

“Yes,” he murmered, “thank you for the guest room. I do not want to make love to the woman I adore in her husband’s bed.”

It was Buffy’s turn to flinch, the tone in her poet, Will’s, voice seemed almost hard.

“I will take my leave from you then, William,” she turned to go. “Supper is at 6:30 PM. Jesse will bring you to the room. Good day, William.”

She left as quietly as she had entered the parlour, just minutes before.

“It seems like a lifetime from now, my love,” Buffy heard William call to her as she left the parlour door.


A/N: See, I can do short chapters, right? Well, Spike has really gone and done it now, hasn’t he? The question remains, will the two lovebirds actually go through with this, or will something (like Spike’s conscience) actually kick in and change the situation, greatly. I will give you a big hint: Spuffy is definitely in the next chapter. Thanks for reading, please review, constructive criticism is adored! Luv, Spuf

PS: My other fic ‘Make Her Own Way’ is two chapters from being finished here. I am thinking about submitting another period piece, however, I need input as to whether I should or not. It’s circa 1881 and is very long and completed. Thank you, Luv, Spuf

Rebel Hearts



Chapter 13: ‘Is He Not As Worthy?’


A/N: I’m not sure about this chapter, hope you like it. Please read the A/N at the end of this. Thanks, luv S


Buffy sat at her vanity table, the one she had brought from Boston with her, when she traveled down to South Carolina to marry Riley Finn. She stared into the mirror, the one she had gazed into since she was twelve-years-old, and pondered the reflection she saw there.

“Who are you?” she asked her reflection out loud. Her reflection could not answere, but Buffy continued to brush her long, golden hair, the hair that William loved to see down, about her shoulders and waist. Mahalia scurried about behind her, doing servant things, just to keep busy more then anything, Buffy supposed.

“I hope the bath I fetched for you and the vanilla I washed your pretty hair with suited you Missy Buffy,” her servant mumbled as she opened her Mistress’s walk-in closet. Buffy nodded at Mahalia, silently, then set her silver brush down on the vanity with a deliberate ‘thud.’

“Mahalia,” Buffy whispered as she held out her hand to her beloved servant, “please, come to me. I need you close, need to talk to you.”

“Missy?” Mahalia scowled at Buffy, her eyes were worried and her face concerned, but she took her Mistress’s hand in her own. Buffy dreaded to look her loyal servant in the eyes, afraid of the judgement she might see there.

“About the Captain and I,” Buffy choked out, her voice barely audible, “we, well, I mean he is holding this Plantation over my head. If I don’t ‘have supper’ with him tonight, alone, in the guest room…Captain Anderson will burn this Farm to the ground.”

Buffy was so ashamed, she could no longer meet Mahalia’s pretty dark eyes with her own.

“I understand, Missy” her servant mumbled as she picked up the silver brush and began to stroke Buffy’s hair, lovingly. “Can I say something, Missy Buffy,” Mahalia asked shyly.

Buffy noticed that it was the fifth time or so that her servant and beloved friend had used ‘Missy Buffy’ instead of Missy Finn or Mrs. Finn.

“Of course, Halia, you will say what you choose, anyway,” Buffy responded, her head hung down, gaze focused on her lap, but she smiled softly.

“He ‘is’ a good man, the Captain I mean. Jesse and me, we saw that right off, even though he burned that farm up in Virginia. The hardness in life can make a man mean sometimes, make him do bad things.” Mahalia continued cautiously, “it’s hard for a man like that to love and want another man’s wife, I know it, for sure. I was supposed to go to another man, on Master O’Connor’s place. Saul was a good man, but he wasn’t my Jesse, not by a long shot. That’s why Jesse and me, we made sure I got with our baby, Jacob. Thought Master Riley would be so scandalized he’d make sure Jesse and me were married, good and proper.”

“You see what I’m tryin’ to say Missy? Sometimes, men and woman, we do crazy things, make our plans and hope they go the way we want, but they don’t always. Your Captain, he’s crazy in love with you, so he’s doin’ what ‘he’ thinks is the only way to have you.”

Buffy glanced up at Mahalia’s lovely face, it was etched in sorrow. “Master Riley, well, like you know, he just laughed it off and told us to forget about it, when I told him about Jesse and me, and the baby. I was Saul’s and that was that. Then you came along, changed everything, Missy. Made sure me and Jesse were married proper and all. So, for us, our crazy plan worked out, maybe your Captain thinks his might too?”

“But, for now,” Mahalia continued, her face was a study in deep thought, “I’m more worried about you and why you doing this.”

The servant set the silver brush down and looked at her Mistress’s reflection in the mirror, she seemed to be talking to it as much as Buffy herself.

“What I’m tryin’ to say, Missy, is this; If you have to think, in your own mind, that you’re ‘havin’ supper’ with the Captain alone in the other room, cos’ you’re savin’ your husband’s farm? Well, then, so be it. If it gives you peace of mind and all. But, Missy, in your heart? What does it say? I mean, Jesse and me, we saw it right off, the spark between you and Captain Anderson. He’s the English man from up in Boston, isn’t he? The one you wanted instead of Master Riley?”

Buffy nodded sadly, trying not to cry, tears were not going to help any of them now. “Yes,” Buffy whispered miserably, “he’s that English man. But he is not the man I knew then, not my poet, William.”

Mahalia nodded, “ugliness, in life, it’ll harden a man, Missy,” she stated wisely, “a woman too. Makes them do some crazy things to get the love they want and gotta’ have. I’m thinkin’ that Captain Anderson is so wound up in you, that he ain’t thinking normal. Like he should. You never told the man, did you, why you didn’t run off with him back then? So, I’m thinkin’ that maybe, just for tonight, you could think, feel with your heart. When you and your Captain are making love together, maybe you could let yourself go. Enjoy him and your love making with each other. Take what he has to give you and give it back to him. Would that be so bad Missy? Would you think on it?”

Buffy, blushed bright red, but smiled slightly and squeezed Mahalia’s hand, “I’ll think on it, my friend. Promise I will.”

That settled, Buffy sighed and looked at her own reflection in the mirror as Mahalia went back to being all businesslike servant.

“You want that pretty green silk dress, Missy,” she turned at the closet to smile at Buffy.

“No thank you, Mahalia,” Buffy responded softly, “I am wearing something else. I will get it out and prepare it. Thank you, dear Halia, I do not know what I would do without you. You go on down and tend to your man and son now.”

The servant smiled warmly and left her Mistress’s bedroom quickly. Buffy stood up from the vanity and padded across her bedroom floor to the closet where there hung a full, gold gilded mirror. She eyed herself, skeptically, in the mirror as she untied the proper white robe she wore and let it fall to the ground at her feet.

“I wonder,” Buffy sighed at her naked reflection, “I wonder if William will like my body?” although, she already full well knew the answere to that. Riley does, certainly, but then, who cares if he does. And why in the world am I thinking about my husband’s likes at a time like this?”

Still naked, Buffy reached into her closet and searched for the outfit she wanted. She pulled it out, still wrapped in it’s paper cover, a sign it had never been worn once before. Laying it on the bed, Buffy unwrapped the beautiful dressing gown with near reverent care. Her heart skipped a beat when the treasure was completely revealed, she had not seen it since the day her Mother had given it to her, her Wedding day. It was beautiful, the emerald green dressing gown, with it’s tiny, dainty scattered white blossom design.

Made of the finest, sleekest Chinese silk, it was as soft as clouds must feel to the touch. Buffy wrapped the gown about her tiny frame with half closed eyes of sheer pleasure. When she opened her green eyes and looked in the full length mirror, she saw they matched the color of the gown, perfectly. The gown itself just flowed down her body, nearly to the floor and tied with a matching sash.

However, it was not just the shade of green, or the few white cherry blossoms that adorned the material here and there; it was the fit of the gown that completed the magic it weaved on Buffy’s body. Instead of fitting Buffy like a robe, or proper receiving gown, this beautiful work of art fit like a second, silken skin on her form. It left nothing to the imagination and Buffy knew that William would love her in it, and out of it.

She shook her head and shot herself a sarcastic smile in the mirror, ‘Buffy Summers,’ she sighed, ‘you are a real piece of work, you are. You know Will is going to love your body, your heart, your mind, he already does. So, why go to all this trouble?

Because,’ she blushed at her own reflection, ‘you need to feel special. You want to feel special and you know, in your heart, Buffy, that William is going to make you feel that way.’

Spike paced nervously back and forth on the floor of the room Buffy had lodged him in. ‘Why the fuck am I so bloody nervous. I’m worse then a school boy the first time he’s with a woman.’

Then he looked in the mirror on the wall, caught his reflection and shook his head, “because you wanker,” he hissed at himself, “Buffy is ‘the’ woman, the only woman for you.”

He lit another cigarette and looked at the match, carefully before he extinquished the flame. ‘Why, Buffy, luv,’ he sighed sadly, ‘why can’t you just admit that you want me, feel for ‘me’ like I do you. Then I wouldn’t be forced to do this, not this way.”

His conscience had been troubling him for a couple of hours now, and Spike had done his best to brush the pesky bloke’s words away from his mind.

But his troublesome conscience still persisted, “Buffy is another man’s wife, remember, your Mother raised you Catholic, William Michael Anderson. What would that poor dead woman think? Why are you doing this thing, like this, something you know in your heart that you must not?”

Spike had done pretty well to dispel the harsh voice, he simply repeated a mantra, “why does a man do what he must not? For her. To be hers.”

Shaking away the pesky voice, Spike surveyed himself in the mirror. He wore pants, of course, but for a shirt, he chose a simple, white broadcloth that tied at the neck. His naturally curly hair, he had slicked back as usual and though his clothes were simple, he felt they were appropriate. ‘Not goin’ upstairs to dance at a party,’ he smirked, ‘less we have to take off, the better.’

The little clock on the shelf of his room struck 6:00 PM and Spike practically jumped, he was so startled.

“Christ, I am a pathetic, stupid, love sick ponce if there ever was one!” he hissed gruffly. He poured himself a whiskey, then decided against drinking it, “don’t need a repeat of the other night,” he warned himself harshly.

“I don’t know, though, if Buffy tries to wiggle her way out of this, tonight, I might have to have a shot of courage to persuade her to go through with it.”

Spike grinned, despite his misgivings about the ease of his plan to seduce Buffy, “bloody little brat, if she tries to escape me, I’ll lock us both in that fucking room and wear her down.” (anvil alert) His chuckle was not forced and he felt more calm then he had in days.

Buffy sat, anxiously watching her clock on the bedroom mantle. At precisely 6:25 PM, she heard footsteps and voices in the connecting room.

“Thank you, Jesse,” she heard Will’s strong voice call to the man servant, then, a soft close of the guest room door.

“You can do this, Buffy,” she told herself as she took a deep breath, “this man loves you, truly. Is he not as worthy of your love and passion as your unworthy, traitorous husband?”

She slowly walked to the door that connected the two rooms and unlocked it from her side, “I can do this,” she assured herself again, “I ‘can’ do this.”

Spike was pacing like a nervous, expectant father, in the moderate sized, but quite plush guest room. He resisted his urge to pour a glass of wine, that had been laid out on the table there, along with a huge, covered silver platter. Just as he was about to lift the platter cover and survey the food underneath, he heard the connector door’s knob jiggle.

‘Oh, thank God,’ he sighed with relief, ‘she’s showing up, this time anyway.’ His face felt hot, flushed and he was more excited then he’d ever been in his 24 years of life.

As he watched Buffy, in awe, she entered the room and shut the door behind her. Spike was struck frozen in awe and admiration at the sight of her. Her hair was down about her shoulders and waist, it shone like spun gold and the gown she wore, it was mesmerizing. Emerald green, with a white design, the silky gown fit his Buffy like a glove and left nothing to the imagination.

“Jesus,” Spike gasped, ‘is she naked under there?’ he wondered, even more arroused then just minutes before.

“Good evening, William,” Buffy murmered, shyly as she walked to the table and waited for him to seat her.

“Buffy,” he rasped, pulling her chair out to help her sit, “you look amazing, Princess.”

Buffy blushed hot and pink, making Spike’s pants fit even tighter between his thighs and he hurried to sit in his own chair, to hide his arrousal from her. Though, God only knew why he would hide it, she knew exactly why they were there, in that plush guest room, how the night would end.

“Thank you, William,” she whispered as she lifted the platter cover to reveal fried chicken and potatoes. “I hope this supper is all right,” she continued softly, “I know how much you like our fried chicken so I thought…”

He just gazed at her, silently for a moment or two then finally responded, “it’s perfect, luv. Absolutely perfect, just like you.” She blushed again, but rewarded him with a soft smile, she seemed happy that he was pleased with the meal.

They ate in silence for a while, at least William did, Buffy was too nervous to eat much of anything. Will kept staring at her, as if he was looking at an aparition, or perhaps an angel, she was not sure.

‘Get over yourself,’ she chided, ‘he is looking at the woman he is about to bed. You are hardly an angel, Buffy Summers.’ When she looked up from her plate, she caught him, staring at her again, his head tilted to one side. ‘Why does he have to be so damn adorable when he does that,’ she sighed with a shake of her head.

“What is it, luv,” Will asked with concern, “you’ve barely eaten. You worry me, Buffy dear, you don’t eat enough I think.” Buffy set her fork and knife on the table and reached for her glass of wine, “I should not drink this, Will,” she explained simply, “but I need to. I need to get my courage up for this.”

Spike felt a tug at his heart, ‘she has to get up her courage to sleep with me? Christ, Anderson,’ he thought to himself with disgust, ‘how can you do this to the woman you love?’

“Buffy,” he began softly, tossing his napkin on the table, “come here to me, please.” She wiped her mouth daintily and slowly rose to join him at his side. He took her in his arms and pulled her to his lap, then embraced her tightly to him.

“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered as he nuzzled her warm, soft hair with his mouth, “love you so much. I just, I can’t tell you how I think about you, always. Nightly, since Boston, three years ago. You are like the sea to me, luv, and I’ve been drowning in you forever. What can I do? You’ve been so close to me, finally, the last few days that I’m sick with want for you. Do you know something,” he turned her face, gently, to meet his gaze. Her green eyes, they were so wide and innocent and guileless, it near broke his heart right then and there.

“Ever since I came to this place, to your house,” he continued in a low, husky voice, “I’ve lain in your guest room, in my lonely bed and willed you to come to me.”

She turned her face away from him again.

“Willed you to come to my room, my bed…like a bloody school boy, sick with love. I ‘am’ so sick with love for you that I can’t even stop myself from blackmailing you into sleeping with me. Oh,” he sighed harshly, “I’ll probably burn in hell for it, of course, but I don’t care anymore. I just want you. I want an us, my sweet Buffy.”

When he finished, he buried his face in the back of her head, in her golden hair he loved so much.” Spike was so embarrassed by his weakness, that he could barely register his own shock when she reached back behind own head, to embrace his neck with her tiny left hand.

“Will,” she whispered, so low he barely heard it.

“Yes, my darling, darling Buffy,” he kissed her brushed aside her locks to place a gentle kiss on her warm neck.

“Before we do this, I need to tell you something, something important. I need to make you understand, so neither of us have any misconceptions as to exactly ‘why’ this happening, here and now.”

Buffy lay her head back against Will’s strong chest, her eyes were half closed in memory, or pleasure from his embrace, she was not all that sure.

“I understand,” he rasped sadly, “I understand completely and…”

She shook her head firmly, “no. You do not understand and you will not, can not until I explain to you many things. I will start with what happened that night in Boston and I ask that you listen to me, with your heart, your mind and your soul.” She felt him nod into her neck and felt the courage to go on with her sad, unhappy tale from the past.

“First,” she sighed, “please believe me when I tell you, I had every intention of meeting you in the Boston Parkway.” She felt him tense up beneath her, but continued, “in fact, I was on my way, when my Father appeared home, quite early from his factory. He was livid, ranting and raving about the house, downstairs, like a mad man. Before I could make it out of that tomb I lived in, he had stormed upstairs and into my bedroom. To say Papa was frightening, especially in this condition, would be an understatement. He was terrifying.”

William clasped her more tightly then before, causing her to gasp slightly. “I do not know for sure, who it was that betrayed us, but I do have my suspicions. There was a kitchen maid, a vindictive woman, older then me, but not my parents age, yet. Her name was Maggie and she had worked for my parents for years. Anyway, I always suspected her feelings for my Father were stronger then an employee’s should be. She detested my Mother, resented me and I think she is the one that warned Papa of our meeting, out of jealousy for our family, no doubt.”

“It makes no difference, I suppose, now, anyway,” Buffy continued sadly, “Papa found out and turned on me it a fit of rage. He confronted me, called me filthy names and threatened to send me off to Riley Finn, immediately if not sooner. I did try to stand up to him, told him that I was going to meet you, Riley, Papa and the whole of Boston could be damned for all I cared.”

William chuckled softly behind her and she actually smiled from it. “Papa stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind him,leaving Winnefred, my maid and myself behind. When I tried to leave the room, I found the door locked, from the outside. I was furious myself now, and more determined then ever to meet you.

Papa must have known me better then I thought, because when I tried to climb out of my bedroom window, there was an armed male servant standing guard on the ground below it.”

Spike felt sick, his eyes had teared up earlier and now he wanted to roar with anger at the whole, unfair situation.

‘She was going to come, to meet me,’ he choked on the words, ‘her fucking Father ruined it. Passed our death sentences without a thought so she could be sold off to that fuck Riley…’

“Papa kept myself and Winnefred locked in that room for two nights and three days. I do not know if the poor man servant was supposed to shoot me if I crawled out the window, or you if you showed up. However, you didn’t show up, you left for England.

I was even foolish enough, once I had escaped my Father’s watchful eye, to try and book passage to London on the next ship out, search you out there. Sadly, it occurred to me that you probably hated me by this time and I realized that our time had passed; I had lost you and was doomed to marry Riley Finn.”

When she finished her story, Spike felt her little body shaking and he knew she was weeping, as he was. He spun her around to face him again, his eyes desperately searched her wet green ones to seek the truth there.

“You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” he asked her hoarsely, “you would have met me. Married me, even, wouldn’t you have?”

She was sobbing by this time, but she found the strength to nod her golden head.

“Oh God, Buffy,” he groaned, pulling her into him and nearly crushing her little body with his strong arms.

“I’m so sorry, luv, so fucking, stupid I am. I just thought you dismissed me, like some fool from your life. I am a fool, my darling, darling love.”

Spike began to pepper her wet, hot face with kisses, cradling her tiny body to his, lovingly. “You are not a fool,” she cried with a pout, the pout he loved so. “You are a wonderful man and I just wanted to tell you everything, so you knew…well,” she seemed to hesitate.

“Knew what, Princess,” he smiled at her through his tears.

“So that you knew that I want to be ‘with’ you. Not because of some stupid Farm, but because I long for you too, Will. Since Boston, I’ve longed for you.”

A/N: Okay, that being out in the open…Now Spuffy can really happen! Hope this chapter wasn’t too hokey! Next chapter NC-17 rating. Thank you for reading, please review. Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 14: ‘We Belong Together’


A/N: Another spufette dilema…I cannot write sex scenes, period! I try and try, but…oh well, please read this anyway. Luv, S


Spike stood up from the chair, his arms still wrapped about Buffy, as he lifted her up and carried her over to the plushly covered bed. Before he lay her down on the rich, blue satin cover, that had been turned down, slightly, Spike stood Buffy up and untied the sash that held her emerald green gown together. The gown opened to reveal her creamy, silken skin, causing him to gasp in admiration of her body. He quickly slipped the garment off of her slim shoulders and long arms, tossing it on a nearby setee.

“You’re beautiful Buffy,” he whispered reverently, “like a work of art.” She blushed slightly, averting her eyes from his, making him smile at her, even as he felt the hard ache between his inner thighs yearn to just push her onto the bed and thrust into her sweet little cunny.

“I am afraid, Will,” Buffy whispered, her eyes still avoided his.

“Don’t be, luv,” he murmered as he pushed a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear, “I will not hurt you, sweet. Never would hurt you. I promise I will be tender and gentle and everything you want me to be.”

She shook her head, “no,” she whispered shyly, “I do not mean I am afraid of ‘you’ but that I am afraid of my feelings for you. So afraid of the fact that I want you so much, so much that I am willing to throw away marriage vows and everything I have come to believe in, just to be with you.” Now, she raised her face, met his gaze with her own and saw the true love and passion in Will’s honest, lovely blue eyes.

“I do want you, Will,” she admitted in a low, feminine voice that belied the hardships that she had been through in the last few months.

‘He has no idea,’ she realized, ‘no idea of how I have hated my marriage to Riley, this place, Riley’s home, not mine, never mine. If it had not been for Andrew, Jesse and Mahalia, the other servants and slaves on this door to Hell itself, I would have ran months ago, back to Boston and my home. I hate this land, because it is Riley Finn’s land, but the people here? They are in my heart, my mind, forever. I would not, I could not ever let any of them down.’

William reached out and ran his long, slim fingers down her cheek, which brought out so many pleasant feelings and emotions in her. He wrapped one arm about her bare waist, the other arm and hand he placed on the back of her head, then pulled her face up to meet his.

“I love you,” he moaned, huskily as he kissed her lips with his wonderful, warm mouth.

Somehow, Buffy found herself laid on the rich, soft satin quilt of the bed, so quickly, yet gently, that she barely realized it until she looked up and saw William undressing himself. He made fast work of the clothes he wore and she felt herself growing hot and flushed as she watched every move he made.

She became aware, that while Will was not as tall as most men she knew, he was certainly built like a far larger man. His bare chest was well muscled, as were his upper arms. Not that she was surprised; after all he and she had been intimate enough for her to feel the strength in his body, just as he must have felt her curves. When he slipped his trousers off of his slim hips, Buffy gasped in surprise. Will wore no underclothes, of any kind, which should have shocked her, but simply caused her to blush in shy pleasure.

‘He is beautiful,’ she acknowledged silently, ‘like a sculpture by Michelangelo.’ He grinned at her, almost shyly, she thought. It simotaneously sent shivers down her spine, even while it made her stifle an innocent giggle.

Spike kneeled on the bed next to Buffy, surveying her body with the eye of an art lover.

“You are magnificent,” he murmered in awe, his eyes traveled from her sleek, soft neck, down to her ample breasts, lower to her stomache, which was pale as the rest of her. When his gaze rested on the soft, golden curls that covered her sex, he swallowed hard and shook his head quickly, just to clear his lust addled mind.

Without really thinking, he reached out his left hand and let his fingers settle on those lower golden curls. To his delight, when he touched Buffy’s sweet folds, he felt them drenched wet in want and need, that seemed to match his own.

“Oh, God Buffy,” he whimpered as he lay his body across hers and took her lips with his mouth. They kissed deeply, their tongues dueled in a passionate battle together until he pulled back, briefly, “I’ll be gentle,” he promised in a raspy voice. “I swear, I’ll never hurt you. Love you too much.”

She clasped his face in her tiny hands, searched his eyes for the truth of his love that dwelled there, “I know,” she whispered with a soft smile, “you would never, ever hurt me Will, dear. That, I know.”

“What do you want me to do, Buffy?” William asked with a tilt of his head, his eyes gleamed with affection for her.

“Make love to me, Will,” she sighed dreamily, her eyes half closed in pleasurable anticipation, “just make love to me like it is the end of the world and we are all that there is.”

William moaned in response to her request and she felt his whole body tremble against her own. “We ‘are’ all that there is in this world, Buffy my love,” he murmered as he kept his eyes glued to hers, “at least to me, we are.”

She pulled his face down to crush his lips against hers and parted her lips to allow his tongue to enter her hot mouth. ‘This seals it,’ she realized, ‘this is the bond between us, always.’

Spike felt like he was in Heaven. Everything he had longed for, wanted and dreamed of for three years was now in his grasp. Buffy was here, with him, willingly and completely. When she had finally agreed that she wanted him, wanted him to make love to her, like he had dreamed of, he realized, for maybe the first time, really, that there was a God in Heaven. And God loved William Michael Anderson, wanted him to be happy, felt he deserved happiness and love from Buffy.

“I love you,” he whispered into Buffy’s warm little ear as he carressed her body with his hands. His mouth skimmed her forehead, nose and cheeks before returning to her mouth and demanding entrance for his tongue.

“I love you,” he whispered again and again as he parted her long, silky legs with his knee and positioned his long hard shaft between them. “This seals it, Buffy my darling,” he whispered huskily, his eyes bore into her green orbs with love, passion and conviction. “There is no going back, no retreat, no regression from this bond we are about to form between us.”

She gazed into his eyes, her green eyes were full of such warmth and affection that he felt like crying, but he held back his tears.

“I know,” she murmered softly, “no going back, no retreat or regression. We will be bonded from this.”

‘Be gentle,’ his conscience kept repeating in Spike’s mind. ‘She has been so hurt, so abused by that monster she is married to. God only knows what he has done to her.’

Spike tried to push the thoughts of the horrors that Buffy’s husband may have inflicted on her. This was certainly no time to be thinking of Riley Finn’s abuses on Spike’s beloved Buffy, not while he was preparing to sink his cock into her very hot, wet little cunny.

‘Okay,’ Spike told himself, ‘forget the moron she’s married to. It’s immaterial. Buffy has always belonged to you, William Anderson. Always will, so just make love to her, like she wants. Give her some happiness even as you take your fill of her, take her love and warmth, her heat and passion that belongs to only you, man.’

He kissed Buffy’s mouth tenderly, then thrust his manhood up into her, illiciting a loud gasp from them both.

“Oh, Will,” she moaned huskily as he began to pull out of her slowly, then push back into her.

“Oh, Will,” she moaned as she thrust her own hips up to meet his. “This is so…” She felt him grin against her mouth with his own as he pulled slowly out, then thrust back into her just as slowly.

“Is so what, my sweet,” he gasped as he pushed into her and nibbled her bottom lip.

“It’s so wonderful,” she sighed, wrapping her legs about his slim hips, aiding him in his downward thrusts with them.

“God, yes,” he rasped as he pulled out, half way then pushed, just a little harder this time, back into her. “It is wonderful, Buffy dear,” he whimpered, “but I’m afraid I won’t last much longer. You feel so good to me, Buffy and I want you to be happy, do you believe that, darling?”

She nodded against him, their foreheads were pressed together and they strained to hold onto the moment for as long as possible.

“You are everything to me Buffy,” he groaned as he strained to keep his control of his release, “more then anything in the world, I want you, want you to be happy.”

Buffy never felt anything like this before, it was so new, so raw and honest. She felt as if she were flying and Will looked like he felt it too. It gave Buffy such a strong sense of feminine power, such an overpowering strength, something she had never felt before.

“Harder,” Buffy heard herself beg William, “please, Will, harder,” she repeated huskily.

“Oh, Buffy,” he gasped again as he succumbed to her pleas and began to pummel her with his body, bringing her closer to release, or what she thought might be release anyway. The truth was, Buffy had never experienced that kind of release, ever, in her almost twenty years on earth.

William was kissing her, wildly on her mouth, nearly bruising her lips with his own, using his blunt teeth to ravish her. She didn’t care, not one bit. All she cared about, at this moment, was William and her, their union together and their mutual pleasure.

“Now,” he growled loudly as he continued his physical assault her her tiny body, with his manhood, his mouth and hands.

“Now,” she rasped. They orgasmed together, nearly roaring each other’s names as they reached their climaxes and professed their love for each other. Then, when it was over, for now, anyway, William collasped on top of her, spent and sated, as she was.

Later, Spike stood before the bedroom window and stared out at the moonlight that shone down through the glass pane and into the room. Buffy was asleep in the bed and every now and then, he glanced at her lovingly. He would be with her, at this very moment, in their shared, warm bed, if he had not needed a cigarette to smoke, just to finish off the worry he felt.

She had sated him, no question, worn him out and calmed his mind and body completely, but being a creature of habit that he was, he needed the smoke to finish his pacing. The truth was, Spike was in a quandry, one that he should have seen coming, but neglected to, mostly because he chose to ignore it’s inevitability.

Her little body called to him, begged him to join her in their bed, even though she was sound asleep, a contented smile on her face. His heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her, saw that sweet smile and realized it was their love making that had inspired it. The problem was, Spike knew it would near kill him to have to leave Buffy in less then 48 hours from now.

‘I’ll fucking die,’ he assured himself, ‘I’ll just die without her, especially now. Now that I’ve had her, in my arms, been inside her and shared our love together.’

After they had made love the first time, Spike had reluctantly gotten up from the bed and sought out the large pitcher of water that was placed on the dresser. He poured it’s contents into the huge wash bowl next to it, dipping the clean white cloths that had been put beside them. Buffy had lain, completely revealing her body and soul to him as he cleaned them both up, washing away the signs of their love.

When he had wiped her, lovingly, on her sex, she moaned again and clenched her thighs about the cloth and his hand. He had been so mesmerized by her reaction, that he could only ask her if it felt good. She nodded and pulled him down to her, then to his delighted surprise, Buffy nudged him on his back and began to fondle his cock with her tiny, warm hand until she brought it to hardness again.

Without missing a beat, she had raised her body up and then lowered it onto his shaft, straddling his hips with her legs and encouraging him to sit with his back to the bed’s head board. At the same time, she pleaded with him to kiss her mouth, neck and breasts, which he did, gladly.

Buffy proceeded to ride him, slowly, rotating her slim hips on his. When she begged him to place his hands on her own hips, to help her hasten her movements, he nearly lost it. It had not been long before they both orgasmed again, together and moaned the most erotic things to each other as they did.

Now, Spike was completely lost in Buffy, more so then ever, something that did not exactly surprise him, but scared him non the less.

‘I’ll never be able to leave her, for my Country, or my King,’ he repeated to himself, ‘she’s marked me. As I have her.’ He put the cigarette out in a little tray on the window table and stumbled back over to the bed.

Before he crawled back into the warm sheets with his love, he thought about the possibility of taking Buffy with him. When he left this damn Plantation with his troops and trudged off to fight this fucking War that he truly hated.

‘I could,’ he nodded, staring down at his angel, asleep in their bed, ‘I could take her with me. Who could stop me. She could be my mistress, my love, my concubine, my wife, eventually, anything she wants to be for me, just as long…’

Then reality set in for Spike as he realized the futility of such a plan, the risk involved. ‘How long could I keep my Superiors from trying to take her, for themselves?’ he told himself, angrily. ‘A week? Two or three days? They would be killing each other and me, over Buffy. With me dead, who would protect her?’

Spike shook his head, sadly and tried not to let the tears fall from his eyes as he watched the rise and fall of her chest in her repose. ‘I might die without her,’ he reasoned, ‘but she will surely die, physically, emotionally or both, if I selfishly drag her off with me.’

“Will?” Buffy murmered to her lover as she forced her tired eyelids open to seek him out. She saw him, standing right over her, still naked and lovely, watching her intently. “What is wrong,” she asked with concern as she propped herself up on her elbows, ignoring her naked breasts.

“Nothing, sweet,” he smiled at her tenderly, “just having a smoke, coming back to bed, right now.” He slipped under the covers and took her in his arms, spooning her to him, possessively.

“Buffy,” he said after a moment or two, “I love you.”

She nodded and whispered, “I love you, Will, I do.”

He snuggled her closer, “Buffy, I have to tell you something.” She tensed up in his arms, “go ahead,” she whispered anxiously.

“When this is over,” Will began as he kissed her face, she felt some wetness from his eyes on her cheeks, “when this bloody War is over,” he continued, “I’m coming back. To this place, to you. I don’t give a fuck if Riley Finn is here or not, I’m coming for you. I’m taking you away with me, far away where no one can come between us again. No one can stop me, Buffy,” he rasped, desperately clinging to her, “we belong together, you and I. You are mine and I am yours, nothing can change that. Do you understand me? I will come back for you and take you with me, for always.”

Buffy ran her hand down Will’s chiseled cheekbone, “I understand,” she whispered never breaking from his gaze, “I want you to come back for me.”


A/N: I am trying to update this story as much as possible. Thank you for reading this fiction. It means so much to me. Please review if you can, thanks. Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 15: ‘I Will Be Back’


Spike’s Father, Lord James Anderson, had always told his son, whom he always called ‘William’ that there were certain things, in a real man’s life that he always remembered in great detail.

“Your Wedding day,” Lord James would laugh, “and of course, your Anniversary, or at least you should son, for you own sake. The birth of your children, the exact moment they came into the world. And sadly, the pain when one of them passes away, along with the only woman you’ll ever love in your life.”

Unfortunately, Spike’s Father could remember all of those things, especially the loss of Spike’s twin brother and his own wife, all within a few years of each other. However, one thing that Lord James Anderson had not told his son, was that he would always remember, in great detail, the first time he made love to the woman he, William, would love forever. Spike certainly would always remember his ‘time’ with Buffy, it was forged into his mind, heart and soul.

“Go to sleep, Will,” Buffy had giggled after the last time they had made love. “You will never wake up in the morning and be able to discreetly sneak back to your regular room. We would not want your Lieutenants or troops to realize what their proper Captain was up to, now would we?”

She had winked at him, even though she blushed, something he found adorable, especially while she was stark naked beside him in bed.

“Who gives a fuck,” Spike growled as he pulled Buffy even closer to his own naked form and began to tickle her, mercilessly.

“Stop it,” she crowed, tiny tears of laughter slipped down her lovely cheeks, “I give, Will. I give.”

‘Yes,’ he thought to himself as he gazed at her lovingly, ‘you do give, my love. You’ve given everything of yourself to me.’

Buffy awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside the guest room window. William had his strong arms wrapped about her waist and chest, possessively, although he himself was still asleep. She lay there, gazing at her lover for a few minutes, her mind a blur of wonder and great feelings of affection for her ‘beloved enemy.’

Trying as best as she could not to wake him, Buffy dislodged herself from his welcome arms and rose from the bed quickly. Quietly, she moved to the setee to retrieve her gown and wrapped it quickly about her body, then she slipped out of the guest room and back into her own bedroom.

It was not even five minutes, and amazingly, Mahalia knocked lightly at the hallway door. Buffy let her servant in, careful not to meet her gaze.

“Did everything go okay with your supper, Missy,” Mahalia asked, a sly, knowing grin on her face. “Yes, it did,” Buffy mumbled softly with a slight smile.

“I think that I would like breakfast served up here, this morning, Halia,” Buffy added, “in the guest room that is.”

The servant grinned at her Mistress and nodded, “of course, Missy, I’ll have Cook make it up right away. Would you like a bath, Missy?”

Buffy nodded herself, “yes, please and please fix it up in the large tub, the one in the room on the other side of the guest room. Please bring lots of warm water, Mahalia,” Buffy added, “Captain Anderson will want to join…I mean, the Captain will want a bath also, I am sure.”

Mahalia grinned at Buffy, nodded eagerly and scurried out of the room to head back downstairs.

“Princess, where are you,” Buffy heard Will call from the guest room.

“I am here,” she responded, “I will be right in.” She brushed her hair out, straightened her gown then returned to join William in the guest room bed.

“Hey,” he murmered as she slipped off her gown and joined him in the warm bed. Spike immediately wrapped his arms about her and pulled her flush to his body, “thought you’d deserted me, luv,” he pouted at her.

“Never,” she whispered, then smiled when he kissed the tip of her nose. “Hungry?” she asked, seriously.

“Famished,” he replied truthfully, “could eat a horse.”

She giggled saucily and actually pinched his arse, tenderly of course, “well, not a horse, Will, but a good breakfast. I am having one sent up, but first…”

Buffy flung the covers off of their bodies and sat up in the bed, her hands pulled at his arms, “give it a few minutes, Will, dear, and we will have a fine bath together. That is, if you would want to take a bath with me?”

Her mouth had formed into that pout he loved so much and Spike felt his cock harden quickly, “oh, yes. I want to bathe with you, but first…”

He pulled her back to him, spun her around so her back was on the bed and began to kiss her face and mouth, hungrily.

After their bath and breakfast, Spike reluctantly left the sanctitiy of the guest room ‘their room’ and went downstairs to check in with his Lieutenants and their troops.

“Come down to me later,” he pleaded softly, kissing Buffy’s sweet lips with his, “later, two hours at the most. Come down and just sit with me, in the parlour, with the door closed, please Buffy darling.”

She nodded shyly and shooed him out the door, “go play soldier,” she giggled merrily, “I’ll see you later, in the parlour. Gosh, Will,” she paused a moment, “I hope that Lt. Abrams is not the wiser to our tryst last night, I would not want him to shoot his own Captain. For breaking orders that is…”

Buffy began to laugh wildly and blew him a kiss as he left the room and headed downstairs to check on his troops.

Buffy and William sat on the parlour sofa, a mere inch between their bodies as they held hands.

“I feel like a nervous school boy,” Will hissed with a roll of his blue eyes. “I should be making love to you, not stealing kisses and holding your hand, so properly.”

She raised her eyebrow at him, her lips twitched in a slight smile, “I am afraid that stolen kisses and hands held between us is all we can manage right now, darling,” she chuckled. “Tonight, however, that is another story.”

He looked at her as if he was starving man, shown a table that held a feast. “Tonight?” he grinned happily.

“Tonight,” Buffy responded evenly, as she leaned in to allow another stolen kiss by him. “Of course,” she continued, her eyes suddenly misty with tiny tears, “I would want to spend our last night together. You do also, do you not, Will?”

William flinched and flung his arms about her, pulled her to his body, “oh God, my precious love,” he rasped hoarsely, “of course I want to be with you tonight and forever. As I said this morning, my Buffy, I ‘will’ come back for you, after this War is over. If England wins or loses this War, I will come back for you, never forget that. It would take all of the demons of Hell to stop me from returning to you, and even then, they would not succeed in halting my return for you.”

That night, Buffy and William were together, all night. They made love until early in the morning, never ceasing to even eat or drink. No minute or second was wasted on anything but giving and taking their mutual pleasure to and from each other. The sun was far from up, but Buffy was exhausted and she found it hard to keep her eyes open, even to listen to Will’s sweet words to her. Still, she did her best to hear each of the sweet things he murmered into her ear as he ran his hands, tenderly over her body.

“I love you, Buffy” he murmered as he skimmed his lips down her body. “I love you, Will,” she sighed in pleasure. Later, his head rested on her right breast, he recited poetry to her, including the first words of William Shakespeare that he had ever said to her. The quotes were from Romeo and Juliet, which seemed appropriate, after all, for them both. By the time he had recited various lines of the Bard’s play, and both Buffy and him were so exhausted that they could no longer speak, they fell asleep together. But, not before they mingled their tears of grief that this would be the last night together before William would have to leave.

Spike woke up first and propped himself up on his left elbow to watch Buffy in her last moments of sleep. She was a vision to him, as always, her golden hair was splayed on the pillow beneath her beloved head.

‘Wake up, my darling,’ he willed her silently to awake, ‘I need you. Want you.’

As if she had heard him, Buffy slowly opened her green eyes and smiled shyly at him, “morning Will,” she whispered as she reached out to touch his face.

“Good morning sweet,” he murmered, his voice strained with want and desire. “Buffy,” he began with a scowl, “I am sorry to bring up an unpleasant subject, so early and at all really, but I must. I want you to know that you will be safe, after we leave this morning. From the likes of Angel O’Connor that is.”

Buffy’s lovely green eyes flew open in shock, “how?” she asked.

He smirked, despite himself and brushed her locks from her face. “Well,” Spike chuckled, “I had my very trusted Lieutenant Abrams pay Mr. O’Connor a visit yesterday afternoon. Abrams offerred O’Connor, with the aid of Lt. Doyle and a few of his men that is, they offerred Angel O’Connor a commission in the British Army. I mean, he being such a Loyalist and all, so devoted to the English Crown.”

Buffy gasped and threw her tiny hand over her mouth, her eyes were even wider, “you didn’t Will,” she tried to stifle her laugh. “Yeah, I did,” he laughed loudly, “bugger made a fuss, all right, but in the end, his sense of duty to the King won out. He’ll be leaving with us this morning, when we go. You’ll be safe, at least safer, now luv.”

They both broke down in fits of laughter, cuddled so close together that it was hard to tell where one began and the other one ended. Soon, however, Buffy and Spike grew somber, the realization that this was the last few moments together had set in to them both.

The morning sun had risen to almost straight above their heads. Buffy and William sat on the parlour sofa, silent, mutual sorrow overwhelming them.

“I will be back for you, Buffy,” he whispered, kissing the tiny palm of her tiny hand.

“I know,” she mumbled lowly, a traitorous tear slipped down her cheek. They sat, their eyes trained on each other, both of their cheeks were stained with tear tracks.

“I love you,” he rasped, his hands pulled her head and shoulders to him.

“I know,” she repeated automatically.

“Buffy, please, say something besides ‘I know’ I don’t think I can stand this. Please just…”

Buffy raised her hand to Will’s damp cheek and gazed into his blue eyes, “I love you,” she whispered. “I love you, and I know you love me, but it’s not going to change the fact that you must leave today. In less then minutes, from me, this place, us, for now anyway.”

She was so sad, so miserable to see him go and she did believe he was just as miserable as her. With a deep breath, Buffy raised her chin up, “go,” she ordered bravely. “Go now, Will, before I cannot let you go. Because, you must go, it’s your duty, your calling. No matter how you and I hate this, this rift between our worlds, you must go, please.”

In all of his 24 years, Spike never, ever felt this kind of pain. Not even when he found out that his twin brother had died, or his Mother was not coming home, that she had passed away. No, not even when Buffy had unwillingly stood him up three years before, did he feel this lost and sorrowful. He stood up, taking Buffy with him in his arms.

“See me off,” his plea was whispered and desperate. Buffy nodded against his chest and led him to the parlour door, where he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her deeply on the mouth.

“Go, now, please Will,” she whispered when they broke from their kiss. “I will watch you ride off from the parlour window.”

Spike pressed his forehead against hers gently, “I will look behind to see you at the window, for as far as I can see. I love you, Buffy. Always will. And, I will be back for you, I swear it.”

He kissed her lips again, then reluctantly left the parlour and her behind. Spike did not dare look back at her before he had gotten outside and to his horse, he might have not been able to leave.

Buffy watched William Anderson mount his horse and spur it to ride away from her house, and her. All the way down the long pathway to the front gate and gate house, she watched in sorrow, tears fell from her eyes onto her cheeks. She had felt his tears, on his cheeks when he kissed her goodbye, they mingled with her own.

While he rode off, Will kept looking behind him at her, looking for her in the window of the parlour.

‘I’ll be back, I promise,’ she heard him say earlier and she believed him. Before he had spurred his horse to go on, Will had turned to face the parlour window and smiled slightly at her. He had placed his left hand over his heart and nodded at her. Buffy returned the gesture, knowing exactly what he had meant by it.

“Come back to me,” she murmered to him as she watched his form retreat further and further from her. “I know you will come back for me, Will. If you possibly can.”


A/N: I know this chapter, especially, is a little hokey and all, but this is 1778 and all!!! Thanks for reading, please review, even if you don’t like it. Luv, Spuf

Rebel Hearts



Chapter 16: ‘ More Confessions’


As Spike rode away from Finnwood and his beautiful love, Buffy, his heart splintered into a million pieces. He barely noticed Lieutenant Abrams as he rode up to join his Commanding Officer.

“Captain Anderson,” Abrams began quietly, “it must be very difficult,” the Lieutenant hesitated, then, “it must be very difficult to have to part from such a fine woman as Mrs. Finn. For her, too, Sir. I know I am out of place, to bring this up to you, but I really feel that you will find your way back to her, Elizabeth Finn that is Sir. I just wanted to let you know that.”

Spike looked at the man in surprise, suddenly realized that this bloke was more then just a Lieutenant in the King’s Army, he was a human, with insight, emotions and feelings. ‘I wonder,’ Spike mused, ‘if Abrams has a lover at home in England?”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” he nodded at the man, “and yes, it is near impossible to leave Elizabeth, Buffy that is, it’s killing me.”

Neither man said another word, just rode on down the road that led them further and further from Spike’s love, Buffy.


‘One month later’





Buffy sat on her parlour window bench, the letter still in her tiny hand. She reread the words on the simple white paper, words that had not shocked her, no, instead they caused Buffy to mostly feel a sense of detachment.

The Contenintal Soldier, the one who had brought the papers to Buffy’s door, seemed more anxious then she did. Again, Buffy began to peruse the words written on the simple, if official paper:

Dear Mrs. Riley Finn:

I regret to be obliged to inform you that your husband, Captain Riley Finn, was killed in the service of his Country, these Independent States of America, on the 27th day of September, in the Year of our Lord, 1778.

Captain Finn died a hero while saving the life of a fellow Officer on the battlefield located outside of Wheeling Township in the new State of Virginia.

As required by Military Law, Captain Finn was buried on site, with his other fallen comrades-in-arms, in a nearby cemetary. Please be assured, Mrs. Finn, that your husband received an honorable Military burial, that befits his rank and service, and that the eulogy was in accord with his religious beliefs.

I send you the greatest regret at your loss and the upmost respect to you and your late husband, Captain Riley Finn. Please know that General George Washington, himself, sends his condolences and ‘thank you’ for your great sacrifice to our Independent States.

Enclosed in these documents, please find personal artifacts of your husband’s and his Military records.

With Deepest Sympathy,


W. Shepard, Colonel, Independent States Army


Buffy felt one lone tear fall from her right green eye and slip down her cheek, silently.

‘Oh, Riley,’ she sighed sadly, ‘you finally did it, became the hero you always wanted to be.’

She stood up and wiped the one tear from her face and walked to the parlour door, slowly. She was not, Buffy realized with no great surprise, heartbroken in any way that her husband was dead. There had been no love between Riley and she, at least on her part, very little on his, she was sure.

‘Now if this was a letter from the British, informing me that William was gone, then I would be desperate and lost,’ she admitted to herself.

Although, in truth, there would never be any way that Buffy could ever know Will’s fate in this War. Buffy would only know, if he came back to her, as promised, alive and well.

“Jesse, Mahalia,” Buffy called through the open parlour door, “please come here to me. I need to talk to you both.”

The couple hurried into the parlour and Buffy had Jesse close the door behind them. She cleared her throat and looked both of her husband’s loyal servants in the eyes, “your Master, my husband, Riley Finn is dead,” she stated evenly in a clear, calm voice.

“He is buried in Virginia, near where he was killed and will never be coming home to Finnwood.”

Buffy was not sure what reaction she expected from the couple before her, tears, fear or shock, even relief, perhaps, but Jesse and Mahalia simply stood there. They looked mildly surprised, maybe, but certainly not upset, just as she, poor Riley’s wife was not too shook up by the news.

Buffy thought for a moment then said clearly, “I would appreciate it, if neither of you spoke a word of Mr. Finn’s death, not until I give the word, to anyone that is. No servants on this land, no neighbors or even poor Andrew must know about his death, yet.”


If either Jesse or Mahalia thought their Mistress’s request ‘odd’ they did not show it. They both nodded and agreed to Buffy’s orders and prepared to leave her presence.

“Jesse,” Buffy halted the man servant, “I wish you to go and fetch Father Rayne for me. It is imperitive that I see him, immediately, here at the Farm. I am in need of Confession, as soon as possible. You may tell ‘him’ alone that Master Finn is deceased, but he is not to tell anyone else, not until I say so. Is that clear?”

Jesse consented to this new request and hurried out to make his way to the local Parrish in search of it’s Priest.

Less then two hours later, Father Rayne was escorted into Finnwood’s parlour to see Buffy.

“Elizabeth,” the Priest greeted her warmly, but with the right amount of sorrow in his voice, “I am sorry, my daughter, for your loss.”

Buffy stood up and allowed Father Rayne to take her hand in his, lead her to the sofa to sit down. Both the Priest and she crossed themselves at the mention of her dead husband. Jesse had shut the door behind him as he had left the parlour so Buffy felt the privacy to immediately begin the discussion she had asked Father Rayne to come for.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” Buffy began evenly, her eyes never left the Priest’s. “It has been over two fortnights since my last Confession and I have sinned most grieveously since then.”

Father Rayne, who sat next to Buffy on the sofa, took her tiny hand in his and repeated, faithfully, “tell me of your sin, my daughter, the Lord above will surely forgive you.”

Buffy hesitated a moment, then continued in a somewhat shakey voice, “I am a sinner, Father,” she stated clearly, “my husband is dead and the news of it has not caused me the pain it should. I am a heartless woman, God must feel so, to not shed the tears of a true and faithful wife for her husband. Instead, I feel relief, Father, that I will not have to receive him home, fear him any longer. So surely I will be damned.”

If the Priest was shocked by her Confession, Buffy did not see any sign of surprise or judgement in his blue eyes. After a moment of silence, in which Buffy averted her eyes from his, the man seemed to ponder her Confession at length.

“Elizabeth, my daughter,” he sighed, “perhaps I am wrong, myself, in this matter, however, it is no surprise that you have hardened your heart to your late husband. All who knew him, knew what kind of man he was, how he hurt you and many others around him. I cannot think that our Lord above would fault you for not being heartbroken at his death. No, we must just hope that Riley Finn has gone on to a better place and pray that he is at peace now. Can God expect anything more from you, my child?”

Buffy raised her green eyes and again met the Holy Man’s warm, loving blue ones with them. “There is more, Father,” she whispered to him.

“Go on, Elizabeth,” he urged her, somberly.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned, most grieveously. I have slept with a man who is not my husband, before my husband’s death. I willingly and without thought to my marriage vows, took this man to my bed and committed adultry with him. I will most surely be damned for it.”

Again, Father Rayne, while he scowled slightly, did not seem particularly shocked by her Confession to him. “I see,” he said simply with a nod of his head. “This man,” he began again, slowly, “the man you committed adultry with, my child, do you have feelings for him? Other then lust, daughter?”

Buffy flinched a bit at the Priest’s words. “Yes,” she sighed softly, “yes Father, I care for this man. I love him and he does love me, too, I know this.”

“Yes,” it was Father Rayne’s turn to sigh, “Captain Anderson loves you very much Elizabeth, this I also know.”

Buffy gasped slightly and gave the Priest a look of surprise. “You know?” she asked him in disbelief.

In another surprising move, Father Rayne chuckled a bit, “Elizabeth, Captain Anderson and you, the looks between you? I saw the love between you two the first time I laid eyes on you here, at Finnwood, together. I am not stunned, or shocked in the least to believe that you two acted on those feelings.”

“However, my daughter, you must repent of your sin of adultry. Say five, no, let’s make that six Hail Marys. God will surely absolve you, my dear, and since you are now a widow, any transgressions in the future with Captain Anderson that is, will surely not be a sin in our Lord’s eyes. That is, when he returns to claim you, which he will undoubtedly do, as soon as he is able to.”

Buffy blushed profusely, but nodded and began her cant of the six Hail Marys in Father Rayne’s presence. When she had finished, she bit her lower lip, gently and nervously returned her gaze to the Priest’s forgiving stare.

“There is more, Elizabeth, I can see this,” Father Rayne stated gently. She nodded, almost shyly, which was odd since she had just admitted to her Priest that she had committed adultry, willingly, and felt no real sense of loss over her own husband.

“Forgive me Father, for…” Buffy found it hard to go on, especially with the ‘sin’ part, for deep inside, she felt no remorse for her next Confession. In fact, she felt nothing but joy and completeness in her next words.

“I am with child Father,” she announced quietly, “and this child, which I already love more deeply then anything, is a creation of my adultry with Captain Anderson. So,” she took a deep breath, “I cannot lie to you, or God, who would surely realize my lie at once. I want this child, I embrace it with all of by heart and soul, like I embraced his father to me.”

For the first time, since she began her Confession, Buffy saw some true emotion in the Priest’s wide eyes.

The Priest, Father Rayne, who, in the last few months since Buffy’s arrival here in South Carolina, had always been such a comfort to her, did not let her down, even now.

He took her hands in his and actually kissed the back of each of them, “bless you, Elizabeth,” he mumbled, almost tenderly. “For it is a blessing,” he continued, “when a child is conceived in love, such as this little one. Too many of the poor little lambs are not created in love, which is a pity and a true sin. This one, however, I believe, my daughter, has a good start since both of his parents love each other.”

Buffy was shocked, yet again, that Father Rayne was not admonishing her for her horrid sin, or at least scolding her somewhat.

“Tell me, Elizabeth,” he murmered, thoughtfully, “have you given thought to informing Captain Anderson that his is to be a father?”

Buffy jumped at the question, “no,” she hissed, “I could not. Oh, Father,” she cried desperately, “if I even got a letter through to Will, if I even could? He would rush off from his duty, leave his troops and hurry back here to me, our child. They would hunt him down, the British, shoot or hang him for desertion. No, I could not do that, I must not.”

“Yes,” Father Rayne nodded in agreement, “your Captain would most certainly do that and that would serve no purpose to any of you. Even if you could get a correspondance through to him, which is doubtful. Best to just hold tight and take care of the issues at hand.”

He stood up and began to pace, anxiously about the parlour, finally stopping before Buffy, his hands clasped behind his robe clad back.

“The important thing now, Elizabeth, is to protect your reputation and the future of this child you carry. We must come up with a valid solution to this dilema. Hmmm, I wonder…”

The Priest eyed Buffy carefully, “have you told anyone at all about your husband’s death?” he asked cautiously.

Buffy nodded, “only Jesse and his wife, Mahalia, I have instructed them both to tell no one until I give the word. They will stay quiet, why?”

Father Rayne nodded in satisfaction, “good,” he grunted, “keep it that way, for a while anyhow. Now,” he continued with a frown, “where did Riley Finn die, again?”

She handed the Priest her letter from Colonel Shepard, which he read quickly. With a sigh Father Rayne handed Buffy the paper back and thought for a minute, “I have a sister, a wonderful compassionate soul, who lives near this place, in Virginia. Her name is Tara McClay, she is a widow herself and a I love her dearly. I’m thinking, Elizabeth, that we must make a good and proper ruse, you and I. One that will still gossiping tongues and quiet any questions or accusations that might come up about this child, and you. I know you will not even consider going home to Boston, to your parents with this child. Poor Andrew would never make it there and you will not leave him, I know this. So…”

Buffy gave the Priest a questioning look, “ruse?” she asked quietly, “what kind of ruse?”

Father Rayne put his finger to his chin, in deep thought, “we must,” he hesitated, then went on, “we must convince everyone, except your trusted servants, Jesse and Mahalia, that this child is a product of your marriage, to protect everyone, that is. I have a tentative plan, one that must be fine tuned, but something, anyway.”

She sighed and slumped back onto the sofa, suddenly tired and overwhelmed with all of this. “I’m thinking,” Father Rayne broke her weary reverie, “that if we, you and I, perhaps Mahalia should come with, go up to my sister’s place in Virginia. Oh, for a just two weeks, perhaps three at most. We could put the word out that Riley Finn is injured in battle, no…” he paused, “better yet, ill from fever or something.”

“You will go to nurse him to health, accompanied by your trusted servant, Mahalia and myself as escort. No one would dare bother us, me, a Priest as escort to you both. Mahalia should bring her child, Jacob is it? With her. We will arrive in Virginia, at my sister, Tara’s home, and stay with her, sequestered and safe. Once we return here, to South Carolina, in the coming weeks, word will be spread that your poor husband, Riley Finn, succumbed to the fever. This way,” he scrunched up his brow, “no one can question the paternity of this child.”

Buffy was stunned beyond words. Her pious, proper, wonderful and compassionate Priest and good friend, Father Rayne was plotting to protect William’s and her child. It amazed Buffy and overwhelmed her that this Man of the Cloth would do anything he could to help her in this situation. “Father,” she whispered, “I cannot thank you enough, for everything, I…”

The Priest chuckled again, “oh, Elizabeth,” he sighed, “you are not the first woman in the world to get with child while your husband is away. I fear you will not be the last. In the mean time, we must make plans to spirit you off to Virginia and my sister’s wonderful home. You will like Tara,” he assured her, “she’s a good lass and has a good heart. She will understand, completely your situation and will help us in our ruse to protect this ‘love’ child of your’s and your beloved Captain’s.”

Buffy clutched her stomache, protectively, ‘beloved, he is,’ she acknowledged, ‘beloved, loved and missed beyond words.’


A/N: I decided to to submit this, I hope you all read and enjoy it. I know, since I am not Catholic, that I am probably off a bit on the Confession and wording and such. Please read and review this story and chapter. It means so much to me and other writers here when folks review. Thank you so much for reading.

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 17: ‘Blessings’


‘May 11th, 1779’


Buffy held the tiny baby in her arms, as she had since he had been born three hours earlier. The tiny baby boy suckled at her left breast, greedily, while his blue eyes seemed to peruse Buffy as if to ask ‘what the bloody heck?’

Mother giggled loudly and tweaked her tiny son’s soft cheek, gently, “greedy little thing,” she sighed wearily. “You have not stopped eating since you came into this world, I believe. If you do not slow down, little one, there will not be enough milk left for your sister.”

As if a sign, Mahalia, Buffy’s beloved servant placed a second bundle in her right arm, the child immediately began to suckle her Mother’s right breast, hungrily.

“There’s two of the most beautiful babies I ever seen, Missy,” Mahalia crowed proudly as she hovered about her Mistress. “You and the Captain, you sure did good with those two.”

Buffy felt a wave of pain and longing flash across her face and down to her heart, “yes,” she whispered softly, “William and I, we did very good.”

“What’s you gonna’ name the two little angels,” Mahalia asked quickly, changing the subject.

Buffy smiled again and bit her bottom lip, gently, “I have decided to name our son, James Michael, for Will’s twin brother. Michael is Will’s middle name, I wish I could give him their Father’s first name, but…” She trailed off then looked at their daughter, “I think I shall name my little angel, Joyce Darla, after my mother and Will’s.”

Her servant smiled down at the three of them, “them’s fine names, Missy,” she murmered, “Captain Anderson, he’d be so very pleased, I know. Wish you could get in contact with him, Missy Buffy. Let him know about this, but, I understand why you don’t.”

Buffy nodded sadly, she had received correspondance, miraculously, somehow from William, three times, right off. Then they stopped, the letters that is. Buffy had tried to send letters back, but she was more then certain they probably did not reach William. Really, how could they?

‘He probably thinks I am not writing him back,’ she surmised sadly, even if she would not tell him about their children, just yet, that is. The three letters from Will had come through Father Rayne, who Buffy had sent Jesse off to fetch, just hours before this moment. Buffy wanted her twins Christened, immediately, with their given names and she knew Father Rayne would want to be there.

If it had not been for the Priest’s ingenuity, back when Buffy confessed her pregnancy, she knew she would be in a world of trouble now. However, Father Rayne’s quick thinking and compassion had helped Buffy to face her daunting task and together with Mahalia and Jesse, the four had pulled off a ruse to cover the identity of the twins’ Father.

Now, however, Buffy wanted Father Rayne to officially help her name the babies, in the eyes of the Church, and put down, in his Bible, just exactly who had sired the two blessings.

“Father Rayne’s here, Missy,” Mahalia hurried back into the bedroom, leading the Priest behind her.

“Elizabeth, my dear,” he smiled warmly, “you are indeed blessed. Two little lambs to comfort you. God must truly be smiling on you my daughter.”

For the first time, since the babies had come from her body, Buffy burst into tears; of joy, fatigue, worry, who knew, but she was embarrassed by them all the same.

Father Rayne took the babies in his strong arms, “now Elizabeth,” he murmered softly, “you cry all you want. This is a happy time and tears of joy are better then any tears of pain or sorrow. You have much to be joyful about, daughter. What shall we name the little darlings then?”

Buffy told her Priest their names.

“Now, those are truly fine names, Elizabeth,” Father Rayne chortled, “and we shall bless them, using their names with the Holy Water I’ve brought.”

Spike stood outside his makeshift quarters and stared up at the moon in the black sky. His cigarette was nearly gone, he was alone by his tent, alone and heartbroken. Buffy had not returned any letters to him in the months since he had left her behind.

Which meant one of three things; his letters had not reached her, she was not responding to him, or her letters to him had not gone through.

Spike was sure it was the latter, ‘after our time together,’ he reasoned with a sigh, ‘the way we made love together, were so bonded with each other. I cannot believe she has forgotten me.’

With a wistful sigh, at the thought of his Buffy, who he always thought of anyway, Spike tossed out the finished cigarette.

After a moment or two of his quiet reverie, a feeling of pure joy came over him, one so strong, so unexpected and overwhelming, that Spike felt tears come to his eyes. It filled him with a new wave of hope and happiness.

“I’ll come for you, as soon as I can, Buffy darling,” he whispered to the moon. Please, wait for me, pray for me as I do you, always. I love you and know you love me also.”


A/N: Short chapter! Peace and Love, Spufette

: ‘Letters of Loss’ Chapter
18

‘Independent State of New Jersey, July, 1780’


Spike Anderson was not a cowardly man, never had been, never would be, however, he had never before had so much to live for. At least, that is how he saw it and now, this War nonsense was even less important to him. Somehow, he and his troops had ended up in the Colony of New Jersey, or Independent State of New Jersey, depending on how one looked at it. It was now July of 1780 and it had been almost two years since Spike had laid eyes on his Buffy, all the way down in South Carolina.
that reprobate of a husband of hers is even still fighting, alive or dead, home with my Buffy. Making love to her…’ Spike sighed sadly as he lit another cigarette and allowed the old familiar wave of jealously to wash over him. He smirked as he watched the smoke float from the stick, ‘fuckin’ things’ll probably kill me before a Patriot’s bayonette does me in,” he chuckled to himself. “Captain,” Lt. Doyle’s calm voice interrupted Spike’s thoughts, “Colonel Rhys-Smythe wishes to see you Sir.” Spike grunted and tossed the cigarette off to the side, “what the fuck now,” he hissed and followed the Lieutenant to his Superior’s quarters.


‘South Carolina, Finnwood Plantation, November, 1780’


Father Rayne sat with Buffy, in her still fine parlour, a cup of tea in front of him. In one arm, the Priest held nineteen month old tot James, in the other, the beautiful tot Joyce. Buffy eyed the letter that Father Rayne had brought to her, nervously. It was from Anya Harris, in Boston, that much Buffy could tell, miraculously, a letter had finally made it through from home. However, Buffy was less then excited about the news in it, fearing the worst, of course.

“The twins, Elizabeth,” Father Rayne cooed like a real parent, “they’re beautiful. Joyce looks like an angel and James is a handsome boy, like his father.” James smiled at Father Rayne and pointed at Buffy, who flinched, she always did, when someone mentioned the babies’ father, seeing as how only four people ‘knew’ that William Anderson was he, not Riley Finn.


“Daddy,” Joyce cooed at Father Rayne, who laughed loudly, “no, dear Joyce,” he chided the child, “I’m not Daddy.”

James pointed at his Mother again, “Mama loves us,” he crowed proudly at Buffy. “Yes, James,” Father Rayne chuckled warmly, “your Mama loves you very much.”

‘No,’ thought Buffy, suddenly, with a gentle smile as she watched Father Rayne coo at Joyce, ‘make that five people now know who James and Joyce’s father really is.’


‘Flashback January, 1780’

When Andrew Finn, Riley’s cousin and Ward, was first introduced to the twin babies, he had assumed, like everyone that the children were definitely Finns. However, around the beginning of January, Andrew and Buffy were sitting on the porch outside, watching the sun set. Andrew was holding eight month old baby James and staring intently at the child, a warm smile on his handsome, young face.

“James is such a handsome, strong lad, Buffy,” Andrew sighed, “pity you couldn’t name him William, for his Father.” Buffy was so stunned, she nearly bolted from her chair on the porch, but she had Joyce in her arms and had to stay put. “Oh, Buffy,” Andrew chuckled as he tweaked Jame’s little cheek, “I am fully aware of what a fiend my cousin, Riley was capable of being. His harrassment and evil behavior affected me, too, you know. Always said I’d die before I ever would have Finnwood. Too weak, I was, Riley would say, in mind, spirit and body.”

Buffy lowered her green eyes and began to weep softly, not over Riley, her dead husband, but over Andrew, William, everyone in her world who was in pain and loss from this War.

“Wouldn’t my Cousin just be green with envy, sweet Buffy,” Andrew chuckled again, “to see me, healthier then I’ve ever been, sitting out here on the veranda with you and Captain Anderson’s beautiful children. Buffy nodded, unable to speak from the emotional upheaval within her. “I liked Captain Anderson, Buffy,” Andrew said softly, while he seemed to scan the horizon. “I believe it was Captain Anderson that saved my life, that night when I got so sick. When we buried the poor baby and her mother.”

Again, Buffy flinched at the mention of death and buriel, there had been too much of it for the last few years and she was sick of it, angry for it.

“Don’t fear, Buffy,” Andrew reached over and patted her slim arm with his warm hand, “your Captain Anderson, nothing will happen to him. He ‘will’ come back for you, and his children. I know it, deep in my heart, I know he will be back for you all.”


‘Present Day, South Carolina’


“Are you not going to open the letter, Elizabeth,” Father Rayne scowled a bit as he eyed Buffy.

“Yes,” Buffy stammered slowly, “I am just nervous, worried, really, I fear for Xander Harris, Anya’s husband. Some bad news is in this letter, Father,” she sighed and tried to keep her nervous tears at bay. However, Buffy bravely ripped the letter opened and began to peruse it’s contents:


My Dearest Cousin Buffy,

I would like to first, congratulate you on the birth of your children, James and Joyce. I have written several times to do so, however, I fear that my letters have not gotten through to you as I have received none from you. Your Mother, Auntie Joyce told me of your blessings and I pray that you are all well down there in the Southern States.

Some sad news, I fear, my darling Xander was injured at the battle of Bull’s Ferry in the State of New Jersey in July of this year. He is, most thankfully, alive, but now has been de-commissioned from the Cause and is home with me in Boston. I thank God in His mercy for this blessing, even though my Xander lost sight in one eye from a British bayonette. Xander was hospitalized near Bull’s Ferry in a medical facility, along with other Patriots and some captured, wounded British Soldiers. General Washington has been adament that any captured British troops, if injured, must be cared for and cured, then released and sent home to their England. His words are ‘Gospel’ up here in the Northern States and are followed strictly.

My children, Alexander William (named for my Xander and you know who) and darling little Liz (named for you, of course) are fine and so happy to have their Papa back home with them. My darling Buffy, know that Xander and I, your parents and friends, here in Boston, adore you and miss you. May you find happiness, my dear, and above all, peace in your life and home.

I will try and write to you more often, as I discovered this route, through Father Rayne, to reach you, hopefully, that is. Again, all of our love, dear Cousin, and please be safe, all of you there.


Love Always,

Anya J. Harris


Buffy felt like she was going to faint dead away and nearly did. She heard Father Rayne cry out for Mahalia to come and help with her, before Buffy caught herself from slipping onto the floor.

“Is it bad news, Elizabeth?” Father Rayne asked anxiously.

“It’s my Cousin Anya’s husband, Xander, he lost an eye, up in New Jersey. He is home safe with his family now, however. Oh Father,” Buffy began to weep loudly, “William, I do not know where he is, or if he even alive.”

Father Rayne frowned then asked Buffy, “what does your heart tell you, Elizabeth? Does your heart tell you that your Captain Anderson is alive?”

Buffy nodded, miserably, “but, Father,” she sobbed, “I am afraid, afraid that he is hurt and unable to come back to me.”


‘New Jersey, December 1780 American Hospital’


“I am afraid, Captain Anderson,” some bloody American Doctor was saying to Spike, “that we have lost your Officer, Lt. Abrams, I believe was his name.”

Spike felt a shot of pain hit him and tears threatened to spill from his blue eyes. He nodded at the Doctor, who truly did look sorry about the whole thing.

“As for you, Captain Anderson,” the man pursed his lips in thought, “you were terribly wounded at Bull’s Ferry. The bayonette nearly cut your main artery of your leg. That is why we have not released you yet, to go home to England and…”

Spike bolted up from the bed, “I can’t go home to fucking England,” he hissed at the poor Doctor, “I’ve got troops, obligations. I’ve got to get back to South Carolina, to her, to Buffy.”

The Doctor nodded, sympathetically, “I know there is a woman, somewhere, in the South, CaptainBritish captives are able to travel, they be returned, immediately, to England.”

Spike sunk back down on the bed, miserable and sick at heart. He dismissed the bloody doctor with a scowl and frowned, even as tiny tears slipped from his eyes. ‘Fuck military orders,’ he muttered, as he wiped his eyes angrily, ‘I’m going back to Buffy, the minute I get out of this rathole.’


A/N: If you have been following this fiction, I know that my military, religious and historical facts are probably a bit skewed, sorry. For plot’s sake, I had to have Spike and Xander end up wounded together. Okay, that said, thank you all for reading this fiction and sticking with it. Please read and review, even if it is to ‘spank’ me for misrepresenting historical facts and all.
Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 19: ‘More Revelations’


‘February 7th, 1781’


It had been a cool, actually a rather cold winter in South Carolina and Buffy Finn was looking forward to the coming of Spring. Her children, the twins, James and Joyce were coming along quite well, they had learned to walk, together by the time they were eleven months old. Joyce had began putting sentences together by the time she was a year old and James followed right behind her.

In fact, both of the twins talked a blue streak, ‘just like their Father,’ Buffy always told herself.

Things were changing, for the American Army, they were beginning to win, more and more battles; more victories over the British. The tide was truly turning and Buffy had more hope then before for her new Country and it’s Independence.

Although the War raged on, all around their home, the State of South Carolina, Buffy and her family, Andrew, the slaves and servants on Finnwood, they survived it; weekly, daily, hourly. For some reason, Finnwood was never again bothered or occupied by British troops, in fact, if any, they were rarely seen anymore in the nearby area.

Father Rayne, who had made more and more appearances, lately, to Finnwood, was again sitting in Buffy’s parlour.

“Another letter, from Boston, my dear,” he smiled at Buffy warmly. “I believe it’s from that Cousin Anya of yours.”

Buffy took the letter from the Priest and opened it, gingerly. “Good news?” the Priest asked as he sipped his tea.

“Yes,” Buffy sighed in relief, “it seems that my Cousin Anya’s husband, Xander Harris, will be arriving here, on Finnwood, perhaps within the week. This is indeed very good news, although…”

Father Rayne raised his graying eyebrows, “although, Elizabeth? Is this a problem?”

Buffy shook her head, “no,” she responded quietly, “but why would Xander be coming here? Without Anya? I mean, of course, there is still danger, locally, but why come here, now?”

The Priest shook his graying head, gently, “I do not know, daughter,” he sighed himself, “but we must just pray that Mr. Harris arrives at Finnwood, safely and in good health.”

Buffy nodded, “of course, but this is very strange, indeed,” she whispered as she worried her bottom lip with her upper teeth.

“Missy Buffy,” Jesse, her man servant, called, excitedly as he hurried in to find Buffy playing with the twins in the parlour.

“There’s a big man, wearin’ an eye patch, he’s at the front porch. Wood seen him coming and fetched me. Must be that Harris man from up North, he’s here!”

Jesse seemed to be more excited about Xander’s appearance then Buffy might have been, but she jumped up from the sofa, her children in tow and scurried to the front door.
“Well,” Xander Harris laughed warmly when Buffy threw the door open herself and practically leapt into the man’s arms. “Quite a welcome, Cousin,” Xander chuckled, hugging his wife’s cousin tightly.

“Oh, Xander,” Buffy began to cry into his big chest, “it’s so good to see you. Someone from home and the old days. Come in, come in please.”

Xander followed Buffy and Jesse into the parlour, where Mahalia had taken the twins back into. Little James scowled up at Xander’s eye patch, “are you a pirate?” he asked in his little voice.

“No,” Xander broke out in laughter, “not really, but I’ve been accused of being sort of like one.”

Buffy grinned, “this is James Michael and the little blonde there is my Joyce Darla. I think that the eye patch makes you look rather dashing, Xander,” she added saucily.

Xander gasped loudly, bent down to peer into James eyes, “my God, you ‘are’ Will Anderson’s son, aren’t you? You’ve got his eyes,” he whispered, more to Buffy then the child. The tall, brunette man stood up and turned his full attention on little Joyce with a thoughtful look on his face.

“The little Princess, looks like you Buffy,” he continued, “but she’s got Will’s eyes too, doesn’t she? James ‘Michael’ and Joyce ‘Darla’ are fine names Buffy, dear,” he chuckled, “Very clever, how you got Anderson names in there, quite slyly.”

Buffy blushed three shades of bright red, “Xander,” she stammered softly, “I, Will, he was here, with his troops and he and I, we, well…”

Xander chuckled again, “honey,” he patted Buffy’s shoulder warmly, “remember, I knew exactly when and how old Riley died up in Virginia. There was no way that these two beauties could ever be his offspring. However, I’m sorry to have been so vocal, the children should not have heard and…” he frowned, apparently ashamed of himself for speaking so boldly in front of the twins.

“No, Xander, it’s all right,” Buffy assured him, still bright red, “I have never misled the twins about their Father. They know that Riley is not he. I’ve just never explained, exactly, who their father is, really. In fact, both of them have called several men, Daddy, a few times, even the local Priest.”

“Oh,” Xander pursed his lips, but leaned down to tousle both of the tots hair affectionately. “Buffy, dear,” Xander muttered, “may we talk privately, for a while. There’s some things I must discuss with you, get out in the open I guess you’d say. It has something to do with why I am here now.”

Buffy called Mahalia in, “please take the children up and put them down for a nap, Halia,” she murmered, suddenly a bit frightened by Xander’s appearance and his words.

“Yes, Missy,” Mahalia took the two tots by their hands and led them off to bed.

“Let’s sit,” Buffy motioned to the sofa, “I’ll pour you a brandy, if you like,” she grinned at her friend warmly.

“I’d like that,” Xander chuckled, “I’m sure your’s is the finest around and I could use a drink, after my trip that is. Took a little doing, but, I out maneuvered British troops, quite well, really, here and there.”

Buffy brought Xander his brandy and handed it to him, a sadness overcame her at the words ‘British troops.’

“Buffy,” Xander began carefully, his deep voice sounded troubled, “about William.”

She flinched, visibly, but met Xander’s gaze, her chin lifted proudly.

“He was wounded, Buffy, up in New Jersey, at Bull’s Ferry, same as me.”

Buffy felt a sinking feeling in her stomache and her throat clench tightly, “is he, is he dead, Xander,” she whispered, wide eyed and fearful.

Xander shook his head no, “he was captured, though, treated up in the hospital I was at. In fact, he was just realeased and well…”

Buffy hung her head, sadly, “per orders,” she mumbled her words etched with sorrow, “per General Washington’s orders, he was sent back to England, wasn’t he?”

Xander stared at her thoughtfully and frowned, “ well yes, those were the orders, dear.”

Tears began to pour out of Buffy’s green eyes and Xander put his drink down to embrace her. “I never told William about the babies, Xander, never. I was afraid he’d desert the Army, be tracked down and shot, I…”

Xander comforted her as best he could. “I know, Buffy dear, and I never told him that Riley Finn was dead, or about your babies, either. Even though I knew the children had to be Will’s. He told me about you and he, well, that you were here together, when I found him in the hospital up in New Jersey.”

Buffy was stunned, “why?” she gasped at Xander, “why didn’t you tell him?”

Xander stood up and paced a bit, “for a couple of reasons, honey,” he nodded at her, “one of them was one of your own. I was worried that Will would escape the hospital and high tail it down here. He’d have never made it, honey, never, he was too wounded. But, there’s more Buffy, and it’s near going to kill me to tell you this. I know this, because,” Xander hung his head down, “because it near killed me to have to tell Will this. I managed, somehow, in the hospital, just before he was released. Forgive me, dear Buffy, please.”

Buffy was totally confused and she knew her expression must have showed it to Xander.

“Forgive you, Xander, for what?” she asked, puzzled.

The big man sat back down next to her and took her tiny hand in his, “if it had not been for me, me and my ‘good intentions’ back in 1775, in Boston, I mean, then all of our lives may have been different.”

It was a reaction, truly, but Buffy pulled her hand from Xanders’ quickly, “what good intentions, Xander,” she questioned him, coolly, as she eyed him suspiciously.

“It was me, Buffy,” Xander mumbled, his voice full of sorrow, “I’m the one that told your Father, Hank Summers, about your tryst with William that night in Boston Parkway. I thought he should know, Buffy, I swear, but only because I did not want bad blood between you, him and Will.”

Buffy felt like she was going to faint, her Cousin’s husband, her own friend and Will’s best friend had betrayed them to her Father.

“Xander,” she could only whisper, miserably, “how could you?”

“Oh, God, please, Buffy,” Xander rasped in a shakey voice, “I swear, I thought it for the best. I thought if Hank knew, about you and Will, that with what I told him about Riley Finn’s disgusting reputation, I thought…” his voice trailed off.

Buffy stood up and stumbled over to the window of her parlour, just to look out of it, at the horizon. She found that she could not speak, just listen to Xander’s story of betrayal and his explainations.

“When I told your Father about you and Will, that day at his plant, I also spoke about the horrible things I’d heard of Riley. I’m sorry Buffy, please forgive me for speaking of Riley so but…”

Buffy turned from the window, “go on Xander,” she nodded evenly for him to continue.

“I thought,” Xander continued, his head still hung low, “that Hank would weigh the situation, see how you Buffy, would be so much happier with William. An English Lord, for God’s sake? Hank Summers’ only child married to a Lord, safe in England when all this War happened? Riley was so dispicable and when I opened your Father’s eyes to all of this, glimpse of a very bright future for you, William for a son-in-law. I just thought that maybe, old Hank would see things your way, you and Will’s. I mean, what Father wouldn’t want that kind of future for his daughter, with a good man like William Anderson, for a son-in-law, instead of a monster like Riley Finn. Besides, I felt, silly as it may seem now, that it might be a good start for you and Will, to have your Father on your side. I was shocked when Will showed up at my door, devestated and nearly out of his mind with grief that you didn’t show. I was a coward, darling Buffy, I couldn’t tell him the truth, then that is. I could tell no one, that is until I found William, wounded, in that hospital in New Jersey.”



Buffy found it difficult, but she shuffled back over to the sofa and sat back down, next to Xander.

Taking his big hand in her tiny one, she asked softly, “Will, when you told him…did he forgive you Xander?”

The miserable dark-haired man raised his eyes, looked into Buffy’s and nodded, “yes,” he whispered hoarsely, “he forgave me, everything. I told him, like I told you…I meant the best. Thought Hank Summers would see things your way, be reasonable and want the best for you, Buffy.”

Xander began to tear up and Buffy could not help herself, she placed her hand on his cheek and wiped a tear from it.

“Then I forgive you, Xander,” she murmered, honestly, “sad to say,” she added, “Papa, it turns out loves his plant and fortune much more then his wife or daughter. You could not have known that Papa would react the way he did. You are capable of being a sensible, compassionate man, my Father, sad to say, is not.”

They sat in silence for a moment or two, Xander, weeping softly, Buffy just numb. Finally, Buffy cleared her throat and asked quietly, “why, then, Xander?”

He looked up at her again, confused somewhat, “why what, dear,” he asked with a puzzled tone.

“Why did you not tell Will, in the hospital, about Riley’s death, the babies. You said you knew that our children, Will’s and mine, could certainly not be Riley’s. Why did you not tell William that Riley was gone, at least that?”

Xander wiped at his tears quickly, “I,” he stammered, “Anya and me, we both felt that it was something ‘you’ should tell William, Buffy,” he answered honestly.

“How?” Buffy murmered sadly through fresh tears, “how can I tell Will anything, he’s in England, per General Washington’s military orders.”

Xander actually grinned a bit, then shook his dark head, “Buffy, dear,” he sighed, “now why would you even think that Lord William Michael Anderson would ever listen to any military orders, much less from our General Washington. Don’t you think that Will would have skipped out of the hospital, first chance he got and find a way back down here, to South Carolina and the woman he loves?”

It was Buffy’s turn to be confused, “I do not undertand,” she murmered softly, but a spark of hope began to burn inside her heart.

“I tried to get him to come to the front door, dear,” Xander chuckled despite his own tears, “but he was concerned for your sake. Since he doesn’t know about Riley’s demise, he was worried his appearance at Finnwood’s door would make a problem for you. So, I left him down at your front gate house. He’s there now, waiting for you.”

Buffy bolted from the sofa and scrambled for the front door of her house without even grabbing the wrap she had had on earlier.

Before she got out the door, she could hear Xander Harris laughing in glee behind her, “yeah, like the whole Continental Army, His Majesty’s Troops, or even All Mighty General Washington himself could ever keep you and William Anderson apart?”

By the time she had made it down the front steps of Finnwood, Buffy had broken into a run, nearly stumbled, but caught herself and kept at a canter that would make a thoroughbred pony proud. She kept her eye on the gate house, all the way. Because, to Buffy Summers, at that moment, it was the nearest thing to Heaven she had ever seen.


A/N: Just two more chapters and we’re done! Please read and review, thanks.

I have been considering submitting, here, the first (kind of) Spuffy fan fiction I ever wrote and submitted anywhere. It’s a little ‘dark’ AU/Fantasy where most of the characters (at least to start) are not all that likable. Yes, including Angel, Spike and even Buffy herself. It’s very, very long, nearly 45 chapters and would have to be reedited before I would consider submitting. If you have an opinion on this, my submitting it and all, please review or just drop a note and let me know? Thanks, Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 20: ‘Reunions and Introductions’


A/N: This is it, the big reunion! Hope this chapter isn’t too very sappy! Thanks for reading and the lovely reviews. Luv, S


Spike saw Buffy the moment she came out of her fine front door and began to run towards him. How could he not? He’d been scanning the front of Finnwood, from his position in the gate house, the moment Xander had dissapeared into that door. A part of Spike had worried that Buffy would not come to him, a hold over, he supposed from their botched trysts before.

‘Bloody hell,’ he’d told himself time and again, ‘her husband might well be in that mansion. She could have children by now with Finn. No, surely Xander would have said something about that.’

Spike shook his blonde head and sighed as he watched Buffy near the gate house, ‘can’t even go out and meet her. That fool, Finn, might be watching even now. He didn’t seem to follow her though.’

This thought gave Spike some more hope for the reunion with his Buffy.

‘Here I was gonna’ come back, all high and mighty and rescue Buffy out of this fucking prison. Riley Finn or no. You are pathetic Anderson, so unlike the nickname your troops gave you. Some nerves like iron spikes you have, mate,’ he snorted in self-disgust, ‘reduced to hiding out in a gate house to reunite with the woman you love. God,’ he sighed as he watched Buffy near the gate house, ‘she looks like an angel.’

He chuckled as he watched the rest of her long golden hair fall from her top knot and flow about her shoulders.

“William!” Buffy flung the gate house door open and hurried inside. Before he could respond, Buffy had thrown herself into his open arms, nearly knocking them both to the ground.

“Buffy,” he rasped as tears began to flow down both of their faces and intermingle, just as their lips met in a sweet kiss. Will backed them both up to a wall where a bench was positioned and sat them both down on it.

“Oh, God, Buffy,” Will cried, holding her little face in his rough hands, “I love you so much. I wanted to come back, sooner, but…”

Buffy laughed through her tears as she pressed her forehead to his, “Oh, Will,” she sobbed happily, “I am so glad you are here, safe, finally.”

He smiled, lovingly, at her, that beautiful grin she remembered so well. “And,” she added softly, “you know I love you too, don’t you, Will?”

William laughed with her, “yes,” he murmered, “I know you love me, Buffy.”

That’s when Buffy first noticed the flinch of pain in Will’s eyes, when she wiggled on his right thigh. “Oh, Will,” she cried in horror, “you are still hurt?”

“Well, yeah,” Spike sighed, “there’s a pain, and a scar, luv. They’ll never be gone, I’m afraid, but it could be worse. I only have a limp in my right leg, at least I’ve still got it. Almost lost it and…”

Buffy began to cry again and buried her golden head into his chest, to comfort and for her own comfort from him. It made Spike feel stronger emotionally and physically then he had in a long, long time.

“My poor Will,” she sobbed into his shirt, “all hurt and mucked up. Then to come all the way down here, to get me.”

He felt a tug on his heart, again, when she reached down and stroked his right thigh, lovingly. “I wish I could make it all better, darling,” she whispered as she snuggled into his chest once again.

“You have, Princess,” Spike murmered, stroking her golden hair that had all slipped out of her bun. “I’m better already, just holding you.”

Spike suddenly felt spiritually uplifted, something he had not felt since before he left this place, Finnwood that is, over two years before. ‘Christ, I’m euphoric. Now there’s a poetic description if I ever heard one,’ he mused, kissing the top of Buffy’s soft head.

“Buffy, sweetheart,” he mumbled, “is it all right? I mean for you to be down here, with me? I came for you, it’s true, but I don’t want to cause any trouble for you. I’m worried, about your…”

Buffy looked up and met Will’s indigo blue eyes with her damp green ones, “that’s right,” she scowled, momentarily, “you do not know.”

William gave her a confused look, then asked, “know what, luv?” She sat up straight and placed her right hand on his chiseled left cheek, tenderly, trying to put all of her pent up emotion and love into her next few words.

“I am a widow, Will,” she whispered softly, never taking her eyes from his, “Riley never made it back from battle.”

Whatever reaction that Buffy expected from William, she decided to accept it, no matter what. William looked at her for a moment or two, silently, a battle was raging in him, she could tell by his blue eyes. She realized that Will was relieved perhaps even more happy, more then anything, but somewhat remorseful that he felt that way.

“It is all right, Will,” Buffy murmered as she stroked his cheek lightly, “I never once acted the grieving widow. ‘I’ cannot even play that false to any man, especially to God. I never loved Riley Finn and he was a despicable man in life. However, apparently he did actually do an unselfish thing and died trying to save a comrade. As Father Rayne told me, all that anyone could possibly do is pray that Riley is at peace. That much, I have done. You and I both know that my late husband was never an issue, not after your stay here that summer, anyway. You would have come for me, no matter, just as you did and I would have gladly gone with you. No matter.”

Will nodded and leaned in to give Buffy another chaste kiss and embraced her tightly, “God, Buffy,” he rasped with emotion, “I’ve missed you so much, love you so very much.”

“Buffy, sweetheart,” Will began cautiously, “if Riley was gone, dead this long, Xander, he must have known?”

Buffy thought for a moment, then finally nodded her head, “yes, he did. However, Will, he felt that I should be the one to tell you. About Riley, about many things. Xander,” she continued to explain as she stroked his cheek, tenderly, “he means well. You must know that, just like back in Boston, when he tried to ease the way for you and me, with Papa. Sometimes the best intentions, they backfire, go awry, this is true with Xander’s. Not meaning to, of course,” she sighed sadly, “the best intentions can cause much loss and sorrow.”

“Yes, they do, sometimes,” Spike nodded sadly. “Remember Lt. Parker Abrams,” he asked Buffy softly.

“Yes,” she nodded against his chest, “he seemed like a good man.”

Spike swallowed hard and mumbled quickly, “he was lost. Bull’s Ferry, where I was wounded, and Xander too. Terrible waste, I’m afraid. For both sides.”

Buffy tensed up then cooed softly, “I am sorry Will. Sad to lose a good young man like the Lieutenant. Hard to say the real loss, on both sides. The consequences will be felt for generations I am afraid.”

Spike pulled Buffy closer to him and suddenly felt his dour mood lighten a bit. “O’Connor,” he began carefully, then chuckled despite himself.

Buffy looked into Spike’s eyes, her green orbs were wide and questioning, “what ever did happen to Angel O’Connor,” she asked quietly.

Trying not to laugh, too obviously, Spike informed Buffy that Master O’Connor had been captured at Bull’s Ferry and immediately expatriated to England.

“The American Army Colonel felt that that’s how Angel O’Connor would have wanted it. I’m sorry Buffy,” Spike laughed out loud, “but the man was a pompous arse and at least he’s safe in his ‘beloved’ England now.”

Buffy, Spike noticed giggled wickedly, “a more fair outcome could not be truer,” she admitted.


The couple sat and just held each other for a while, then Buffy smiled up at her love, softly, “come up to the house with me, Will,” she ordered gently. “There’s someone, no, make that some people I want to introduce you to.”

William gave Buffy another one of those ‘puzzled’ looks, but allowed her to stand up and offer her hand to him.

“Besides,” she giggled, “poor Xander is probably getting quite drunk up there, worried that we are not inside yet.” He took it and stood up, then walked with his Buffy outside and up to the big, fine house.

Spike limped along beside his Buffy, a little ashamed that he was crippled, permenantly, but just happy to be by her side once again.

“I’m sorry, luv,” he apologized, almost shyly, “I’m not the man I once was. My leg I mean.”

Buffy and Spike walked up to the main house, arm in arm together. “No,” Buffy sighed dreamily, “you are even more of a man then ever, darling. How right your arm feels about me, Will,” she assured him.

“Yes,” he responded, “always right. You and me that is.” They went through the front door and ran right into the man servant, Jesse, waiting in the hallway, a devlish grin on his face.

“Good to see you Captain Anderson,” Jesse greeted Spike warmly. “It’s good to see you, Jesse,” Spike responded, offering his hand to the man, “but it’s not Captain anymore, just William Anderson, now.”

Jesse smiled, “no matter. Missy Buffy,” the man servant continued with a happy grin, “Mr. Harris had Mahalia bring the babies into the parlour. I put Mr. Harris up in the first floor master bedroom, thought he might need a rest.”


“Babies, Buffy?” Spike asked, puzzled.

“Yes, Will,” Buffy responded with a smile. “Come, into the parlor, everything will be clearer then.”

His love led him into the fine parlour, Spike remembered clearly. He spied Mahalia, Buffy’s trusted servant and good friend, hovering over two young, fair-haired children.

When Buffy and he entered the parlor, Mahalia hurried over to them, “good to see you Captain Anderson,” the woman giggled. Before he could correct the servant about his title, she grinned at both Buffy and him and hurried out of the parlor.

“Again,” Spike mumbled to Buffy, “babies?”

Buffy led him over to the sofa, where two of the most beautiful children Spike had ever seen sat, playing with some blocks.

“Mine,” cried the sandy haired boy, of about two, as he grabbed for a block with the letter ‘A’ on it.

“No…mine,” responded the honey blonde haired girl, who appeared to be the same age.

“Mama!” the children cried out at the same time, their eyes on Spike’s Buffy.

“Mama?” Spike asked, his left, scarred brow was surely raised in question as he neared the two lovely children before him.

“Yes, Will,” Buffy smiled softly, “Mama. That is me. These are my children. This is James Michael and my little Joyce Darla.”

Spike leaned in and peered into the handsome boy’s face and saw a mirror image of himself and his long lost twin brother, James. Turning his attention to the small girl, he saw his Buffy there, but his own blue eyes peered back at him.

“They are our children…” but before Buffy’s last words could even leave her lovely mouth, Spike fell to his knees and pulled the two little tots to him in natural recognition, “mine,” he rasped huskily.

“Mine, Buffy. Your’s and mine.” Spike began to weep, freely, joyfully as he released his right arm from his children to reach out for their Mother.

“Why is our Daddy crying, Mummy,” little James asked shyly while his Father embraced his sister and him in his left arm.

“Because, silly,” little Joyce sighed, “Daddy is so very happy to see us.”

Buffy allowed Spike to pull her into the embrace of love he had about his children.

“Yes, James,” Spike heard his Buffy whisper lovingly, “your Daddy is so very happy to see all of us, finally.”



A/N: Okay, it was short but to the point. I hope it satisfied the Spuffy reunion squad!!! (tee hee) I hope that the kind of ‘far-fetched’ speaking abilities of the twins wasn’t too out there. I needed to have them say exactly what they did. Actually, I’m going to write another chapter (surprise/surprise!) and tie up some more loose ends. A hint, Father Rayne will be making an appearance in the next chapter (do I hear the Banns being read?) Much Spuffy joy in the next chapter. Please read and review this one. Of course, as soon as I finish this one, I’ll start another fiction. Thanks, Luv, Spuf

REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 21: ‘Where Ever You Go’


After he had collected himself, pulled himself together, as it were, Spike called Buffy’s man servant, Jesse, into the parlour.

“I wonder,” the Brit spoke humbly to the other man, “if you would go fetch Father Rayne, Jesse. If your Mistress agrees, I would like to request him to ‘wave’ the Banns and marry us, Buffy and me, immediately.”

Jesse grinned widely, “of course, Cap…I mean Mr. Anderson. I’ll go along and fetch the Priest right now. I’m taking my son, Jacob with me, he needs a little trip out.”

The servant hurried out of the parlor and Spike turned to face his bride, Buffy, “that okay with you, Princess,” he murmered. “Would you marry me, I mean?”

Buffy threw her slim arms about Spike and began to weep, joyfully, “of course I’ll marry you, William. I love you.”

Little James tugged at his mother’s dress, “you love Daddy?” he asked in awe.

“Yes, very much, James,” Buffy reached down and picked up her son, as Will did the same with their daughter, Joyce.

“Daddy loves us, too,” Joyce nodded and grinned at Spike.

“Yes, indeed your Daddy loves all three of you, precious,” Spike buried his head in Buffy’s neck and began to cry, quietly.

“Buffy,” William was sitting on the sofa of the parlor, his twin son and daughter on his lap. “You need to know,” he continued in a hushed voice, “that I will have to return, to England, I mean. At least temporarily. I can only hide from the Continental Army for so long, that and my own obligations to His Majesty’s service. As far as my own Army? They probably consider me dead, but the Continental Army knows full well that I am alive and will send me back to England as soon as they find me. Alone, I could probably escape them, forever, maybe, but with a wife and children. What I’m saying, Princess, is that once we are married, I must return to England, with my family. All of you.”

Buffy joined Will on the sofa and placed her hand on his shoulder, the one their daughter’s weary head rested against.

“It is all right, Will,” Buffy murmered to her soon to be husband, “where ever you go, that is where I go. Myself, our children. Our place is with you. There are no longer any ties to this place,” she swept her free arm about at the parlor and Finnwood in general.

“Not for me, or our children. This belongs to Andrew, as far as I am concerned and as far as this new Country, well…” She felt a wave of sorrow sweep across her face, “well, when this is over, all of this War. We will be back here, in my America. I know it, Will. And, for now, that hope is enough.”

Spike smiled at his Buffy, his heart was so full of love and hope for the future that he knew what she said was true.

“All right then, Princess,” he whispered as not to wake their sleeping children. “I promise you, right here and now. When this War is over and things settle down, we will be back. To Boston, if that’s your will, sweet. At least to visit your family and friends. They are going to win, you know that, don’t you, Buffy?”

He raised his scarred left eyebrow at her and smiled, a little wistfully, “your General Washington, the Patriots, they will win this. Your Independent States will become a Country, unto it’s own. I am sure of it, just as I am sure that when it’s over. Their fight for free rule, that your new Country will embrace my England, as brothers, comrades, once again. We are like battling siblings, England and the Colonies, at least like cousins who disagree. However, in the long run, the Colonies will prevail, Buffy and then, after a while, we can come back. To your home.”

“Hello, William,” Father Rayne chortled as he practically skipped into the Finnwood parlor. “I understand you want the Banns of Marriage to be waved and to be wed to our lovely Elizabeth, immediately?”


They married, Buffy and William, in the Finnwood parlor on the 10th day of February, 1781. Xander Harris stood up for William Anderson, while Andrew Finn stood for his beloved Cousin Buffy. Jesse and Mahalia witnessed the marriage, along with the twins, James and Joyce Anderson.

A surprise guest, a certain Miss Dawn Lee of a neighboring farm made an appearance at the bequest of the young heir, Andrew Finn. At fifteen-years-old, each, the two young people had seen more in their life time then any other ‘children’ of that age. Buffy was more then assured that young Andrew would do just fine as Master of Finnwood, no question, especially with such a fine ‘friend’ as Dawn Lee to ‘help’ him. However, the real problem, for Buffy at least, was her having to leave her beloved friends, Jesse and Mahalia.

“Dear Buffy,” Andrew was saying as he toasted the newlyweds with a glass of wine, “I was considering, perhaps I would ‘release’ Jesse and Mahalia, along with their Jacob. From my Cousin Riley’s service that is,” he added with a wink. “Thought maybe they would like to travel a little, perhaps to England?”

Buffy set her own wine on the table and hugged her late husband’s good-hearted cousin to her, tightly, “you’re a good man, Andrew,” she whispered, her tone shakey from new tears.

“A fine man,” William added as he patted Andrew on the back, in a very manly manner.

“Yes,” Dawn Lee chimed in, her eyes smiled under dark lashes at her young beau, Andrew, “he is a very fine man, indeed.”

Father Rayne had imbibed in a bit too much celebration after Buffy and William’s wedding ceremony, so he was easily coaxed into spending the night in a posh guest room on the first floor. Xander Harris had stumbled into bed an hour before the Priest, in his guest room and Andrew had left earlier to see his Dawnie home to her parent’s farm.

Buffy had bathed and dressed in the chinese silk wrap, the one she had worn the first night Will and her had made love. William and her were to spend their wedding night in the same room they had shared that summer when their children were conceived.

However, William was no where to be found, at least not in the ‘wedding’ bed room. After pondering her new husband’s where abouts, Buffy came to the conclusion that Will was probably enscounced in the twins nursery, adjacent to the very guest room she and he would occupy.

Sure enough, Buffy found William, on a chair in between the separate cribs that held his sleeping children. She noted that Will had not lost his whole expression or sense of awe at his new found children. He sat, his handsome head, resting on his folded arms that lay across Joyce’s crib edge. Buffy had a feeling that her husband had used this same stance, minutes before, to watch his son, his replica, while the boy drifted off to sleep.

“Will,” Spike heard Buffy call softly, “they will be here, in the morning, I promise.”

He turned to smile at his Buffy and reached out a hand to her, which she took and placed on her hip.

“They’re really amazing, Princess,” Spike whispered, still in awe of their creations.

“Yes, they are,” Buffy giggled softly and sat on Spike’s lap. “However,” she purred as she nuzzled her face into his neck, “like I said, they will be here in the morning. I promise that. Now,” Buffy murmered, silkily, “let’s go to bed, please, Will?”

A slow smile began on Spike’s face as he allowed his wife to lead him to the room where they would spend their wedding night.

“I’ve thought about this, Buffy, us together, every night and day since I left here before. It kept me going, kept me with some hope for us.”

Buffy laughed, gleefully, “oh, we’ll do more than just ‘think’ tonight, Will,” she promised as she led him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

“Buffy,” Spike gasped as he thrust into his wife, desperately, “God, luv, you feel so good.”

They had been making love for hours, to make up for lost time Buffy had explained with a sweet giggle. His Buffy was so responsive to him, her sweet little core was so wet and tight, made just for him.

“Mine,” he roared, again, as he reached his climax.

“Always,” Buffy actually growled in response, her petite body thrust up to meet her husband’s.

“And,” she sighed, dreamily, after they had climaxed, again, together, “you are mine.”

Spike, who had collapsed on top of his wife in sated pleasure, gave her a warm grin, “always,” he assured her. “We’re each other’s, always Princess.”

Lord William Anderson and his wife, Buffy Summers-Anderson lay in sweet afterglow of their frenzied, unbridled love making.

“Do you suppose,” Buffy sighed as she snuggled up against her husband, closer then ever, “do you suppose that we might have conceived another little Lord or Lady?”

Spike smiled, lazily down at his tiny wife, lovingly as he stroked her bare arm, “suppose we could have. Hope so, anyway,” he murmered.

Buffy just sighed another “mmmm,” into her huband’s chest. “This one,” she smiled, happily, “it will be born in England, you know. If there is a ‘this one’ that is.”

He nodded, “yup. That it will, Princess. My Father, he’d like that, Buffy. He’ll absolutely adore you and fall in love with the twins. Another grandchild? That would just be the icing on the cake for the old man.”

Buffy raised her blonde head and met her husband’s loving gaze, “so,” she whispered with a sly smile, “if it’s a child, if it is boy, this time…shall we name him William?”


Epilogue:


Listed below is the very brief history of the issue of Lord William Michael Anderson and his beloved wife, Lady Buffy Summers-Anderson:


James Michael Anderson: Born May 11th, 1779 in South Carolina, American Colonies

Joyce Darla Anderson: Born May 11th, 1779 in South Carolina, American Colonies

Elizabeth Anne Anderson: Born January 2nd, 1782 in Anderson Mannor, England

Marie Summers Anderson: Born March 8th, 1783 in Anderson Mannor, England

William Alexander Anderson: Born April 14th, 1785 in Boston, Massachusettes, the United States of America


Finis


Thank you to everyone who read this tale. Luv, Spuf