Chapter Four

They went back to the farmhouse, grateful to find it still unoccupied, and Willow began to teach Perdita how to make an apple pie with food they’d got from the village and found on the farm. Xander found some tools in the shed and went around the house fixing up the shutters that had got broken by the storm, and by the time it got dark, they were all tired, quite full of apples, and eager to get to bed.

Perdita planned to make her escape as soon as the others were asleep, go down to the schoolmaster’s house and ask who he’d known on that ship. Maybe it might jog her memory.

Willow knew Perdita had been on that ship, had gone down with it, had been spat back out onto the shore. She meant to go and tackle Perdita about it, but in the middle of the night, because if Xander knew, he’d want in as well and she could question Perdita better on her own.

Xander wanted to know what the schoolmaster knew about the shipwreck. If he could help Perdita, maybe reunite her with friends or family, find out where she was running from, stop the danger she seemed to think she was in, maybe her thoughts of him would be a little better. Maybe she’d admire him. Maybe she’d respect him.

They’d fixed up the two ruined beds, put clean sheets on them and sponged away the blood, and so Xander and Willow had rooms for the night. The three said goodnight on the landing, shut their doors, and each got into bed fully dressed.

And waited.

And waited.

Perdita nearly dropped off a few times, still exhausted from something she didn’t remember doing. All right, so she’d woken up on a beach surrounded by driftwood and soaking wet, and there had been a shipwreck, so it was fair to assume she’d had something to do with that. She supposed nearly getting drowned must be fairly knackering.

Xander waited a good few hours, or as near as he could tell, then flipped back the covers and got out of bed, glad he’d nailed down all the creaky floorboards earlier in the day.

All the ones in his room, that was. What about the ones outside? Who was creaking them?

Suddenly afraid, though of what he didn’t know - the ghosts of the murdered family? Their murderers coming back to collect the bodies? Which was scarier? - he grabbed the hammer and crowbar he’d been using earlier and, er, yes, forgot to take out of his room, and advanced towards the door.

He yanked it open and nearly attacked the person standing there, but it was Perdita, her hand raised to knock.

“Mr. Harris!”

“Perdita? What - I mean, what,” he lowered his voice to its normal pitch, “are you doing out here?”

“I came to ask a favour,” she whispered. “It’s just, I’m afraid that the highwayman might come back to my room and try to, you know, do something... inappropriate...”

Xander knew. He’d been thinking about it all night.

“So I was wondering if, maybe, seeing as you’re armed, you might swap rooms with me? Just so I can be warned if he comes.”

Warned, Xander thought, by my bloody corpse when he kills me for not being you. Or worse, doesn’t realise and starts to-

“Sure,” he heard himself saying. “I’ll protect you.”

Perdita smiled prettily and edged past into his room.

“Wait, why are you still dressed?” he asked.

“Well, to, erm, obviously, Xander, I’m still dressed because, er, that way, I’d be better protected against the highwayman.” She nodded decisively. “Why are you still dressed?”

“I was cold,” Xander suggested.

“Ah. Yes. Cold. That too. Well, good night.”

She shut the door hurriedly. She would love to see William’s face if he got into bed with Xander - cruel though it was, but she was sure Xander could take care of himself. And William wouldn’t hurt him - he’d had ample chances to before.

She settled back in the other bed and closed her eyes, just for a few seconds.

Xander let himself into Perdita’s room, went over and breathed in her scent from the pillow. In just a few minutes he really ought to leave... Although, wasn’t it cowardly, going and leaving her when she was so frightened?

But then Willow was here and Perdita could be a vicious little thing when she wanted...

He went to the door and nearly screamed when he saw it opening.

“Perdita?” someone whispered, and Xander only started breathing again when he realised it was Willow.

“Will?”

“Xander?”

“What are you doing here?” they asked at the same time.

“I came looking for Perdita.”

“Why are you still dressed?” Xander asked for the second time in five minutes.

“I was cold,” she said, as if it was obvious. “Why are you? And what’s with the hammer?”

“I, er...” It was pointless trying to lie. She’d see right through him. “I was going to go and see the schoolteacher.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because he knew someone on that ship and I thought...”

“He might be able to tell us about Perdita. Xander, you’re a genius!”

“I am?” He was perplexed.

“Yes!” She threw her arms around him. “We should go now, while she’s still asleep.”

“We? But shouldn’t you stay here and, uh, guard her?”

“Guard the woman who saved us from the most notorious highwayman Massachusetts has ever known?”

Xander opened his mouth, closed it, thought about going all the way down to the village in the dark, on his own, and said, “Good point. You can soften him up with talk of Plato. Let’s go.”

They crept downstairs, mounted the horses without saddles, and galloped away over the grassy paddock at the back of the house, so as to make the least possible noise.

William slowed his horse as he saw the farmhouse come into view, empty of any lights, dark and lonely. God, please don’t say she’d moved on already. He couldn’t bear having to chase her all over the state.

He just had to have her, just once, and then she’d be out of his system and he could get on with things. Go and find some other blonde bird to shag. Forget about her.

He tethered his horse and swung easily up onto the porch roof. And from there it wasn’t hard to push up the sash window, which obviously wasn’t locked, and step soundlessly into Perdita’s bedroom. He crept over to the bed, the room so dark he couldn’t see a thing, and reached out his hand, anticipating her warm, smooth skin under his fingers.

He got bedclothes.

He tried again.

More bedclothes.

“Perdita?”

His hand touched a lamp by the bed and he lit it.

The bed was empty. She’d gone.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

Perdita awoke sharply at the sound coming from the next room. Oh God, she thought, he’s come back and he’s going to hurt Xander! What have I done!

She grabbed the axe she’d hidden under her skirts and readied it as she crept along the hall and pushed open Xander’s door.

“Leave him alone!” she cried, rushing in, wielding the axe, aiming straight for the dark figure leaning over the bed and very nearly hitting him. The axe buried itself in the mattress and Perdita grabbed hold of the handle at the same time she realised that Xander was nowhere to be seen.

“What have you done with him?” she began, whirling around to slam her fists against William’s chest, but he caught her arms and crushed her against him.

“Perdita! God, I thought you’d gone.”

“Where has he gone?”

“I’m right here, love.”

“Not you,” she wriggled out of his grip, “Xander.”

“Who?” God, she looked incredible, hair loose, cheeks flushed with anger, eyes flashing... William was glad for his long overcoat that hid the bulge that was starting in his breeches.

“Xander. He was in here. Where is he now? What did you do with him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” William protested as she went for the axe and aimed it at him. “He wasn’t here when I came in and anyway, isn’t this your room? What was he doing in here?” A horrible thought occurred to him. “Were you sleeping with him?”

“First you attack me, then you try to kill me, and now you’re insulting me?” Perdita glared at him and flounced out of the room to see where Willow was. But her bed was empty, too. Where had they gone? Left already?

She whirled around in the doorway, nearly whacking William with the axe. He grabbed the handle and threw it to the ground.

“What the hell is going on here?”

“I could say the same thing,” Perdita put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” Bugger, he couldn’t say he came to see her. That just sounded ridiculous. “I forgot to take something when I was here before.”

“What? Your brain?”

“No, you,” William said, and grabbed her round that tiny waist, and held her head to his so he could kiss her, as sweetly as he had that morning.

But Perdita fought. She pushed and kicked and bit on his lip and William reeled away. “Ow!”

“Damn right, ‘ow!’ What do you think you’re doing?”

Dammit, her bosom was heaving again.

“Perdita,” William said, “you can’t tell me you didn’t feel it. This morning. Last night. The heat between us. The way we fit together.”

“Oh, God,” Perdita said.

“I felt it when we kissed,” he said. “Well, the first time, anyway, because let’s face it, you just bloody bit me, but this morning. Didn’t you feel it?”

“Get out of here before I kill you.”

Well, maybe not.

“Perdita,” he was almost begging now, “please, love, give me another try. Just a kiss. No more. Just one kiss. Then I’ll go.”

She reached for the axe, but he caught her wrist.

“One more kiss,” he said, “and then if you still want me to go, I’ll walk out.” Awkwardly, because he now had a massive hard-on, but hopefully she didn’t know that. Yet.

Perdita’s nostrils flared. Damn him if he hadn’t been good to kiss. He tasted of whisky and tobacco and his lips were soft and his tongue strong and-

Dammit, she hadn’t even decided and here he was, kissing her again.

The trouble was, as William well knew, that once he’d started kissing her so gently, so passionately, so longingly, she wouldn’t be able to tell him to go. Perdita leaned into him, not angry like she’d been the last time, not shocked and frightened, knowing she was in control. When she stopped kissing him, he’d go. And if he didn’t, she’d just grab ahold of that stock around his neck and pull it a bit tighter...

Or maybe she could undo it first, because then the strangling would be easier.

My, didn’t he have a beautiful neck.

I can stop at any time, Perdita told herself as she kissed him a little bit more. Any time I want to.

I just really don’t want to.

William was delighted. Just so long as he didn’t push her too much, she seemed pretty happy snogging the life out of him. God, she was good at this. The thought occurred to him that well-brought-up girls shouldn’t know how to kiss like that, but then by this point he really didn’t care if she’d been brought up in a mansion or a goddamn swamp.

Gently, testing her, he moved one hand to her breast and covered the exposed swell with his fingers. She sighed softly against his mouth, but didn’t protest. Excellent, William thought. In more ways than one.

He knew what a lady wore under her petticoats - he knew exactly, in Perdita’s case - and it wasn’t much. Really, under that short chemise, she was naked. Totally, deliciously naked. He could just push her up against the door frame, reach under her skirts, and be inside her in seconds. He could shag her rotten without having to take any clothes off.

But he wanted to see her naked, wanted to touch and caress her all over. He hardened his resolve to get her clothes off.

His resolve not being the only thing hardening.

Perdita felt his hands move down her bodice, unhooking it from the stomacher, and a little voice in the back of her mind told her that he was taking her clothes off! And then the rest of her said, yes, but you’re taking his off, too. It’s only fair, when you think about it. And it’d be a shame to stop now, when you’re just catching sight of that lovely smooth chest.

A sudden weight fell off her, and Perdita looked up, surprised, into William’s hot blue eyes. He pushed her heavy dress to the floor and picked her up in his arms, took her back into the room they’d shared the night before, and kicked the door firmly shut.

He laid her down on the bed. Her heart was hammering.

“I thought you were going to go,” she whispered, her mouth dry.

“Make me.”

Perdita sat up to pull him to her: his mouth was too far from hers and she couldn’t stand not kissing him. Was he a source of some new breathing material? Had she adapted from oxygen? She needed to be kissing him. She simply couldn’t stop.

William happily obliged, his hands rapidly pulling the stomacher from where he’d pinned it that morning, then starting on the hooks and eyes of her corset, untying her petticoats - damn, there were so many stupid layers! He could hardly believe he was going to have her. Feel her hot skin against his, touch those perfect round breasts, roll those pretty nipples between his fingers.

He pushed the corset away, and Perdita sucked in a grateful breath.

“Feels good to breathe,” he said to her with a smile, and she smiled back. Yep, that was it. The smile sealed it. He’d have her, or he’d die.

She was pushing at his shoulders, and William realised that the only item of clothing he’d shed was his stock. Stupid bit of clothing anyway. Obviously she didn’t like it. He’d never wear it again.

He shoved away his coat, pulled his waistcoat off so fast he nearly popped the buttons, and yanked his shirt off over his head. The fabric stuck to his skin with sweat - both from riding so fast to get here and from wanting Perdita so much.

She put her head to his chest and licked it.

William’s eyes rolled back in his head. “God, Perdita, don’t, I can only stand so much...”

She looked up at him with those big green eyes, and he groaned and captured her mouth again, pressing her down on the bed, running his hands over those beautiful curves of hers.

“I hate that bloody corset too,” he growled, making her laugh, and he smiled at her happiness and started kissing her neck. She arched back and as she did, her chemise slipped down over one nipple.

It was too much to resist. He dipped his head and licked it, and Perdita let out - there was no other word for it - a whimper. Encouraged, so turned on he thought he might burst, William took the little bud in his mouth and sucked gently, nipped it with his teeth, revelling in her whispers and moans as she clutched at his hair and held him there.

Eventually he lifted his head, lips wet, pupils huge, and rolled away from her. Perdita looked shocked and horribly hurt, until she realised he was just taking off his boots and breeches, and that underneath, he was naked.

Oh, wow.

She’d nearly swooned at the sight of his bare chest, his taut stomach, his moulded shoulders - but now her eyes went lower, and she blushed hotly. She’d felt that pressing up against her, but she hadn’t realised it was quite so big.

“Now, love,” William said as he gently pulled her chemise away from her and looked down at her naked body, her perfect curves, the curls between her legs, her rosy breasts, her strong legs, and he forgot what he was saying as he pulled her to him, fitting his body along the length of hers, feeling how small and soft she was against his hardness - God, all of him was so hard.

Perdita started kissing him again and William ran his hands over her stomach and hips, down to her thighs, lifting one of them above his hip. He could feel her, sweet Lord he could feel her, wet and slippery and hot for him, and it was all he could do to lift his head from hers and look at her with unfocused eyes and try to tell her, “Love, this might hurt a little, when I first-”

And then she rolled him over on his back, straddling him, her hair falling over her face as she bent back down to kiss him and lifted her hips to position above him-

And then she came down, and took him inside her, and William thought he might die from the pleasure of it.

“Oh God,” he gasped, feeling her close tightly around him, gripping her hips with both hands and holding her still for a few seconds while he got his mind back. It wouldn’t do to have it all over too soon.

“Didn’t hurt,” she panted, smiling a bit, and she arched her back, moving her pelvis, altering her grip on him. William pulled her down to him, caressed her breast, took her lower lip between his teeth, and looked into her eyes.

“Minx,” he said.

Chapter Five

“You think she was on the ship?” the schoolmaster asked.

“I’m pretty sure she was. The state of her clothes, her hair was all salty, the cut on her head was healing well like it had had some saltwater on it,” Willow said.

“Describe her to me again.”

“Well, she’s quite small, shorter than me, petite, she has blonde hair and green eyes and she’s very pretty.”

“But she maintains her name is Perdita?

“That’s the name we gave her. You know, from The Winter’s Tale? She’s hiding behind that name, she won’t tell us who she really is. We thought she might when she started talking-”

“Wait, you mean she stopped talking??”

“When we found her. She didn’t say a word all day. She said she was in shock - later, I mean, she said she was in shock. She made up a story about a highway robber hitting her on the head, but we didn’t believe her.”

The schoolteacher sighed and took off his glasses to polish them. “Sadly,” he said, “there may be some truth in that.”

Willow and Xander looked at each other. They’d knocked on the door of the schoolteacher’s cottage - easy to find, right next to the school - in the middle of the night and the door had been opened by Miss McClay, cap over her head, gown wrapped around her, yawning.

“Oh,” she said in surprise, realising who it was. “You were in the tavern...”

“We think we might know something about the shipwreck,” Willow had said, and they’d been allowed in to wait with tea and cake, perfectly civilised as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, while the schoolmaster was roused. He came in, hastily dressed, his hair cut short to fit under the wig he wasn’t wearing.

“Rupert Giles,” he said. “You know something about the shipwreck?”

The told her about Perdita and he nodded thoughtfully. “The person I am looking for was a passenger on The Redoubtable,” he said. “The daughter of an old friend of mine. He died many years ago, but I’ve kept in touch with his widow and I am - somewhat remotely - godfather to his little girl, Miss Elizabeth. Although I suppose by now she must be a young woman. She lived with her mother on a plantation in Virginia. We corresponded often, and about a year ago Joyce wrote to me to tell me of her daughter’s engagement to a young Lieutenant of the Guard.”

“What’s a leftenenant?” Xander whispered to Willow.

“The English way of saying lieutenant,” Willow whispered back. She wondered why the schoolmaster was telling them all this.

“But a few months ago it all went rather bad,” Mr. Giles went on. “Have you heard of the Slayer? A notorious highwayman in the Virginia area - terrorised the roads. Joyce wrote to me often of dreadful attacks not far from where they lived. After a while the Captain of the Guard decided to take action and lay in wait for the Slayer. His lieutenant - Riley Finn, Elizabeth’s fiancé - cautioned against it, but the captain would not hear of it. There was an altercation, several men were lost, and the Slayer was seen disappearing in the direction of Joyce’s house.

“The captain placed them under house arrest, accusing them of hiding the highwayman, although he could not be found in the house. The worst part was that poor Elizabeth’s fiancé had been killed in the fight. She and Joyce were alone and unprotected. Eventually they managed to escape, and I received a letter saying that they had found passage on a ship to Boston, called The Redoubtable.”

“And then the ship sank,” Willow said.

“Yes. Joyce’s body was, I am sad to say, found on the beach. There was a rope around her, as if to tie her to someone else, but the rope had broken. Wherever Elizabeth is, she was not found among the wreckage on the beach. It may be that she went down with the ship, but I do remember her being a fierce little creature, she terrified her father by swimming in the ocean. She could easily have swum to safety.”

“Even in the storm?” Xander asked.

“Yes, well, of course there is that to consider. I am choosing to believe that my goddaughter has survived the wreckage,” Mr. Giles said firmly. “It may be that she landed far away, further up the coast, or was rescued by another ship. Some survivors were found by a ship of the Royal Navy, somewhere off the coast of New Hampshire.”

“And at least one of them made it to the farm outside of town,” Xander said.

“Even if she’s not your Elizabeth,” Willow said, “she might know something of her. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

The schoolteacher put some outside clothes on and Miss McClay saddled up his horse and the three of them rode back up to the farmhouse. But when they got there, Perdita was gone.

“That,” William said when he’d started breathing again, “was not your first time.”

“No, I don’t think it was.”

“Who the hell are you, Perdita?”

“I don’t know.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her. “I don’t think I care. I like you.”

She smiled and curled up in the bed with him, feigning sleep, but her mind was whirling. What on earth had she just done?

No, really, what had she done? She wasn’t sure if there were even words for some of the things William had pulled off.

She had given herself to a complete stranger, a highwayman, a bad, evil man, and here she was, lying peacefully with him, completely naked. He’d been right though: she knew that hadn’t been her first time. She’d been with another man - maybe lots of men. Who knew? Maybe the real Perdita was a whore.

The more she thought about it, it became the only explanation. How else would she have known those things? William had said it was her calling - now she knew he was right. She was a filthy, rotten whore. She gave her body for men’s pleasure.

Although she’d had a fair amount of her own pleasure this night...

Perdita made her decision and, when she was sure William was fast asleep, she crept out of bed and started picking up her scattered clothes. But it soon became apparent that she’d never be able to dress herself in all those layers. She’d needed his help before.

Dammit. Why couldn’t a lady dress herself?

Her eyes alighted on the pile of clothes William had discarded. She didn’t know what made her do it, but something did. She pulled on his black breeches and shirt - honestly, who had a black shirt? Who had any colour shirt but white? - his red waistcoat, black coat and boots. She looked at the leather overcoat. It was heavy, but it would be warm, and it felt good against the skin of her hands and her neck...

She pulled it on, and it did feel good. Everything was a little too big on her - the boots especially, but she put on a couple of extra pairs of stockings from the chest at the end of the bed, and it wasn’t so bad. She found a tricorne hat in Xander’s room and shoved her hair into the velvet bag he used to hold his ponytail. There. In the mirror, she looked like she could be a teenage boy.

Excellent.

She went downstairs, found William’s black horse still saddled, standing there looking bored. She was surprised to discover it was a mare, unusually soft for someone like William the Bloody, but the sex of the horse didn’t matter to her at all.

She found the road and rode hard along it for hours.

Xander and Willow led Giles up the staircase of the house, telling him they’d found it abandoned - did they know who used to live here?

“Oh, let me think. I used to see their daughter sometimes in the village - odd girl, kept herself to herself. I wonder where they went?”

Xander looked at Willow and shook his head. It wouldn’t be a good thing for anyone to know the family had been murdered - people started pointing fingers, and usually they wound up aimed at Willow.

She knocked on Perdita’s door and called her name. Nothing. Glancing up at Xander, she said, “Perdita? I’m coming in. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you but I won’t let him in until you’re ready.”

She opened the door. And then she nearly fainted.

“Where the bloody hell,” William said, “are my sodding clothes?”

Willow stared at William. William stared at Giles, who came into the doorway with Xander.

“And who’s he? Where’s Perdita?”

“What did you do with her?” Xander yelled.

“What didn’t I do. She was here a couple of hours ago - where’d she go?”

They all looked at each other. “We had the horses,” Willow said, “so she can’t have got far if she’s walking.”

“If she’s walking,” Xander said darkly. “Unless someone took her.”

“Now, hold on a minute,” Giles said.

“Is my horse there?” William said. “Big black thing. Hooves big enough to squash a man’s head. Literally.”

Giles went down to look, leaving Willow and Xander glaring at William.

“What? Oh, like she was all maidenly anyway. Wench was giving me the come-on all the time I was here.”

“Did you - did you-” Xander began, spluttering slightly.

“Did I ravish her? Destroy her maidenly virtues? Ruin her? Oh, bloody hell, yes. I ruined her for all other men,” William said smugly. “Although someone else got there before me on the maiden part.”

“This isn’t important,” Willow said. “Mr. Giles is looking for someone we think might be Perdita. Did she tell you her real name?”

William opened his mouth to tell them Perdita didn’t even know her real name, then he thought better of it. “Nope. Who’s he looking for - wait, Giles?”

“Yes, Mr. Giles. He’s the local schoolmaster.”

“Bloody hell,” William breathed, as Giles came puffing back up the stairs, shaking his head. “There’s no horse there. She must have taken it.”

“Rupert Giles?” William drawled, and Giles moved into the room, where William was lighting a lamp. He was still completely naked, but at least covered to the waist by a sheet.

Giles stared. “Good lord,” he said.

“Nope, just me. Although I can see how you might make that mistake. What the bloody hell are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. Your father-”

“God, is the Colonel still alive?”

“No, he died two years ago, still praying for your repentance.”

“Well, that was a bloody daft thing to do.”

“I take it you’ve left the army?”

“Oh yes,” William said with obvious relief. “Years ago. Didn’t Pa tell you that? I’m a deserter,” he said with pride.

“Well done,” Xander said. “You know each other?”

“I was friends with his father,” Giles said.

“You’re friends with everyone’s father. Giles, he’s a highwayman. He tried to hold up our coach but Perdita stopped him.”

“Bloody woman,” William grumbled.

“This Perdita you think might be my Elizabeth?”

William perked up. “What’s that?”

“My goddaughter. She’s gone missing and these two young people seem to think they might know where. But it seems she has disappeared again.”

“Yeah, where did she go?” Willow asked William, who shrugged, looking pissy.

“Buggered if I know. Must’ve stolen away in the night.”

“She left her clothes,” Willow said, “well, my clothes...”

“And took mine,” William snapped.

Xander started laughing. “Does this mean you’ll have to wear a dress?”

William glared at him moodily.

“He can wear your spare stuff,” Willow said. “Xander, I think we ought to look for her.”

“Agreed,” Giles said. “She can’t have got too far - and a woman in man’s clothes can’t be too hard to find.”

“Stand and deliver,” said the tall man in the swirling black cloak. There was a tree felled across the road and he sat on his horse before it. The horse was huge, bigger than Perdita’s, stamping its feet meanly and snorting in the darkness. Beside it was another animal, no smaller, with another rider. Both of them had pistols, and both had their faces covered.

“Another highwayman?” Perdita said. “Look, I don’t have anything.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” His words were Irish accented. “Get off your horse. Slowly, now, don’t do anything sudden. These weapons can knock a man’s head off.”

I know, Perdita thought, I’m carrying one.

She got down off the horse and debated whether to tell him she was a woman. After all, if he stripped her as William had said was common, then he’d soon find out. But if he knew she was a woman, then his stripping might take on a very different agenda, and Perdita was exhausted from William’s exploration of her, not to mention a little sore. It was a good job she was riding astride, because she doubted she’d ever be able to winch her legs closed again.

“Do you want this one?” the Irishman asked his companion, who got off his horse, handed his pistol over, and strode towards Perdita. She stood firm. The smaller highwayman whisked Perdita’s cloak back over her shoulders and slid his hands under her coat to pat her body down.

Then he stopped.

He stood up and looked right at Perdita.

There was a long pause.

“Something wrong?” the Irishman asked.

The other highwayman pulled off Perdita’s hat and wrenched the queue from the back of her head. Perdita’s long blonde hair tumbled out over her shoulders.

“It’s a woman,” the smaller man said in a husky voice.

The Irishman leapt off his horse and came over. The smaller man took the guns as the Irishman tilted up Perdita’s chin to the moonlight.

“Buffy?”

Chapter Six

“My name is Perdita,” she said coldly.

“The hell it is. Darla, do you know who this is?”

The small man took off his scarf and Perdita was astonished to see that he was a woman - small, blonde and pretty.

“I’m gonna take a flying guess that it’s Buffy?” she said.

“This,” the Irishman said proudly, ignoring her, “is Buffy.”

“Buffy,” Darla repeated doubtfully.

“The very same! Buffy, darlin’, what’s with all the ‘Perdita’?”

“It’s a name I’m going by,” Perdita said, wondering what the hell was going on. “Who are you?”

The Irishman laughed delightedly and took off his mask. “Angel, sweetheart. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

“Funny thing,” Perdita began, wondering if Angel was really his name.

“Ah, hell, Darla, we’re done for tonight. Let’s take Buffy home and show her what a real highwayman can do, eh?”

“Highwayman?” Darla said.

“Well, you know. Gang or whatever. Come on.”

Perdita, no clue as to what was going on, allowed him to boost her up onto his horse and clasp his arms about her, a little too familiarly, and they rode off into the darkness, William’s mare following on a lead rope. No one said anything - the horses went fast over hard ground, their hooves thundering, and it wasn’t until they reached the sight of a rather large mansion house that they slowed slightly.

“What do you think?” Angel asked.

“Whose is it?”

He laughed against her back. “Mine. All mine.”

“And mine,” Darla said, spurring her horse on a little faster.

“Ignore her,” Angel said, “she gets a little territorial.”

Perdita, who had been riding with Angel’s solid chest behind her, his breath warm on her neck, and now his voice soft in her ear, could quite understand why.

He dismounted and helped her down outside the house, and when they went in the place was light and bright with many candles.

“Doyle,” Angel yelled, and a skinny man came down the wide, ornate staircase. “Get us a bath, will you? And something to eat. And then get a bath for this lady,” he kissed Perdita’s hand, “my guest.”

Doyle nodded and went through a small door to what Perdita guessed was the kitchen. A few seconds later a woman with dark hair came out, looked her over, and said, “Another stray, Angel?”

“She’s an old friend of mine,” Angel said. “Take her upstairs, give her some sleep and a bath and some clean clothes - something pretty - do her hair and whatever,” he waved a hand, “and bring her down for breakfast in the morning.”

She bobbed a sarcastic curtsey. “Do you have a name?” she asked.

God knows, Perdita thought, but she said, “Perdita.”

“Right. Perdita, come with me.”

In the farmhouse, Willow had half filled a metal tub with lukewarm water, as the effort of heating it all and lugging it upstairs was too much for her. Here in this big house, several people brought up buckets of steaming water, to which the woman - who introduced herself as Cordelia - added scented herbs and pretty soaps. She draped bits of muslin over the edges of the bath, for what purpose Perdita could only guess. Probably just to make it prettier. The bath itself had clawed feet and was made of enamel, not tin as the farmhouse bath had been. It was surrounded with candles.

“Do you need help undressing?” Cordelia asked, and Perdita shook her head.

“I can manage.” She stripped off and stepped into the water, which felt really good, and Cordelia gave her some pretty soft soap to wash herself with.

“So,” she said, completely unembarrassed at sitting there while Perdita bathed, “how do you know Angel?”

“Uh, we’re old friends,” Perdita said.

“From Carolina?”

“Uh, sure, why not.”

“He never went to the Carolinas,” Cordelia said. “Your name’s not even Perdita, is it? Do you know him at all?”

Perdita paused in soaping her arm. “You really want to know?”

Cordelia nodded.

“I have no idea who he is. I don’t remember ever meeting him. I don’t remember anything at all. I have no memory older than two days. I don’t even know who I am.”

Cordelia looked at her for a bit, then she laughed. “Okay, all right, you don’t have to tell me.”

Perdita rolled her eyes.

Cordelia washed her hair then dried it with a towel and gave Perdita a lawn nightgown and a silk house robe. She took her from one extravagant room to another, where there was a big soft bed waiting, and left her for the night.

Perdita didn’t mean to sleep, but she did anyway, as soon as her head touched the pillow.

“Oh, this is sodding ridiculous,” William stormed. “First she nicks my clothes and my horse, and now you’re tying me up?”

“Thought you enjoyed that?” Xander smirked.

“Not when it’s you doing it. Your knots are sodding pathetic. Where’s my gun?”

“Perdita has it.”

“Fantastic. Little blonde girl with my gun and my horse and my clothes, riding around like a highwayman-”

He stopped suddenly.

“What are you ranting about?” Xander asked.

“Nothing. Just worried about the girl,” William said thoughtfully. “Red,” he called, and when he got no answer, rolled his eyes and said, “Willow?”

“Yes?”

“Got a pen and paper?”

“You want to write something?”

“No, I want to make a sketch,” he drawled. “Yes, I want to bloody write something.”

“Well, you can’t. Your hands are all tied up.”

They were in Giles’s small house, William once more tied to a chair in the kitchen while Miss McClay edged around making lunch for them all. Giles was at church, and they planned to go out and start looking for Perdita when he came back.

“Can you write?” William asked Willow.

“Of course I can write.”

“Well, then write me a note.”

“To who?”

“My lawyer,” William glared at her. “Just bloody write it, and get someone in the village to deliver it.”

Willow frowned, but she obtained some paper from Miss McClay and sat down at the table. “What shall it say?”

William thought about it a bit, then he said, “Have you seen the Slayer?”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. And sign it from me.”

“What’s your surname?”

“Sign it William the Bloody. With three lines underneath.”

Xander made a face behind William’s back, but Willow wrote it. “And where does it need to go?”

“Sunnydale House.”

“Where’s that?”

“Oh, about thirty miles due north. Somewhere on the coast. Send a kid along the beaches, he’ll find it.”

Willow exchanged a look with Xander. “Just sent it to Sunnydale House?”

“For the head of the house. It’ll get there, Red. Believe me, it’ll be a huge help.”

“Who is the master of this house?” Xander demanded.

“Never you mind. Look, whelp, I’m doing more to find the girl than you are.”

“By looking for the man who got her into all this trouble.”

William just smiled. “You want to find out or not?”

Miss McClay held her hand out for the note. “I’ll take it into the village, if you like.”

“I was going to go,” Willow said, “but I guess you’ll know better who to give it to.”

“W-we could go together?” Miss McClay suggested shyly.

Willow smiled delightedly. “Yes. Good idea. Together. Just let me get my shawl...”

The two girls left, and Xander leaned over the table, glaring at William.

“So,” he said, as menacingly as he could.

“So,” William replied, slightly nonplussed.

“Who’s the master of Sunnydale House?”

“Do you think those two are interested in each other?” William asked, nodding towards the door Willow and Miss McClay had gone out.

“Interested? What do you mean?”

“I mean, kid, like you’re interested in Perdita.” He watched the look of horror on Xander’s face. “If it was good enough for the Romans...” he said.

“That’s blasphemous!”

“Yes, ‘cos I care about that so much.”

Xander opened his mouth to speak, but right then Giles came back in, looking weary, the house filled with the high chatter of a woman’s voice behind him.

“...All I’m saying is, they say greed is a deadly sin. But, isn’t greed the same as gluttony? And isn’t it then greedy to have two of the same sin?”

“Greed is wanting more,” Giles explained, “gluttony is taking it.”

“It’s still the same thing. And how can it be bad to want more? I want more money from my store. Why is that bad?”

Giles took off his gloves and hat and laid them on the table. “Alexander Harris, this is my niece, Anya Jenkins. She runs the dry goods store in the town and she has a very direct way of talking.”

Anya took off her wide brimmed hat and shook out glossy curls. She gave Xander a wide smile and extended her hand.

Xander stared.

“You could take her hand,” William prompted, and Anya giggled.

Xander took her hand, covered in white lace, and kissed it.

William rolled his eyes.

“Where is Miss Rosenberg?” Giles asked. “And Tara?”

“Tara?”

“Miss McClay.”

“They went to deliver a note to someone. In the village.”

“Platonically,” William added, watching Xander for his reaction and laughing when he realised the boy had no idea what platonic meant.

“Who’s this?” Anya asked with no preamble, flicking a glance at William.

“Our hostage,” Xander said proudly. “He attacked us so we captured him.”

“And then I escaped,” William pointed out.

“And then you came back. How dumb are you?”

“I came back for her,” William said. “I got more out of her than any of you.”

“Yes,” Giles said, polishing his glasses, “I’m not sure I needed to hear that.”

In the morning Cordelia woke Perdita, gave her warm water to wash, brushed out Perdita’s long hair and curled it with a hot iron. She dressed Perdita in many layers of silk and satin, ending with a beautiful gown in shades of pink, and fastened a ribbon around her neck.

“You know, you’re quite pretty with all the horse dirt washed off you,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Angel likes pretty girls.”

“That girl Darla, is she...”

“Oh, yeah. They’re always at it. You can go down to breakfast now, but they’ll probably not even be out of bed yet.”

Perdita felt her lip curl, but then she remembered last night with William, and blushed. She knew he’d been right that it hadn’t been her first time, but did any woman have a right to enjoy it that much? Maybe she wasn’t a whore from necessity. Maybe she wanted to do it.

She had a sudden urge to find a church and confess. And then she wondered if she was Catholic or not. And then she wondered if it mattered.

Cordelia took her downstairs to a pretty room where Angel and Darla sat eating breakfast. A servant poured some coffee for her and offered sweetmeats, and Perdita found she was ravenous.

“Not lost your appetite then,” Angel laughed.

She shook her head.

“Good haul last night?”

She looked up questioningly.

“Did you get anything good?” Darla asked in her sweet, husky voice. “Or has it all been redistributed already?”

Oh, I got something good, Perdita thought, but she just smiled. “Did you?”

“Well,” Angel took her hand and kissed her knuckles, “I got you.”

Darla rolled her eyes. “I’m going to check on the girl,” she said, and got up to leave.

“You have a daughter?” Perdita asked politely.

“No - no, this girl we found a few nights ago. Half dead, beaten, raped, talking complete nonsense. Can’t even get a name out of her.”

“Sounds familiar,” Perdita muttered.

“Keeps going on about stars,” Angel mused. “We’re looking after her for now, but I think if she doesn’t improve she’ll have to go to a convent. It’s the only place for her.”

Perdita nodded, something ticking over in her mind. “Can I see her?”

“She’s insane, darlin’.”

“I know, I just - I just want to see her.”

He shrugged and lifted a hand, and when Doyle came forward, said, “Take Buffy to see Drusilla.”

Buffy, Perdita thought. Why does he keep calling me Buffy? Is that who I am? That’s not a name. It’s the sort of thing you might call a fluffy puppy or a - or a lady of ill repute. Hmm.

Doyle took her up to the first floor and into a pretty bedroom, where she found Darla and Cordelia trying to get someone to drink a cup of medicine. She was sitting in the middle of the bed, rocking, wearing a red silk housecoat, her hair loose, and Perdita shuddered, because the girl had the strangest eyes she’d ever seen. Bright blue and quite vacant, they wandered over Perdita, saw nothing of interest, and fazed back into nothing-land.

“Where did you find her?” she asked, and Darla looked up.

“About thirty miles south of here. Just wandering around in the middle of the night in a bloody nightgown.” Darla pushed up the girl’s sleeve to show an arm covered in bruises and gashes. “She’s like this all over. Especially here,” she pointed to the girl’s breasts and thighs. “Burned and scratched. Someone really tortured her. I’m amazed she could stand.”

“It’s amazing the strength you find,” Perdita said. “Darla, can I talk to you?”

The blonde woman got up and led Perdita into the next room. “Is it about Angel? ‘Cos I know you two had a thing a while back, but I’m with him now.”

Perdita nodded slowly. “It’s about Drusilla. That’s what Angel called her...?”

“The name seemed to fit.”

“I found a house about thirty miles south of here where everyone had been murdered - parents and a grown-up son. There was another room that was covered in blood, girl’s clothes, but there was no girl. We - I wondered where she’d gone.”

“You think that might be her?”

“I think it might be.”

Darla nodded and tapped her rosebud mouth with the fan dangling from her wrist. She was dressed in a silk gown with wide black and silver stripes - it might have looked ridiculous, but on her tiny body, with her pretty face, the effect was very striking.

“I’ll tell Angel,” she said, and went to the door to go back downstairs, but right then it opened and Doyle came in.

“Angel wants you,” he said, and Darla winked.

“He always wants me.”

She swayed away and followed Doyle down the stairs. Angel was standing in the big lobby, a grubby letter in his hand.

“I just got a letter from William the Bloody,” he said.

“Our very own Spike?”

“None other. And you’ll never guess what he wants.”

“A half share in all our profits?”

Angel showed her the letter. Darla clapped her hands in delight.

“Can I go and get him?”

“Darlin’, you read my mind.”

“Where’s she going?” Perdita asked, watching Darla gallop away in her men’s clothes.

“Oh, just to see an old friend. Buffy, darlin’, why don’t you come and have a drink with me?”

“I’m not sure if I drink,” Perdita said, which made Angel laugh. “Why do you keep calling me Buffy?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Miss Elizabeth.”

“I’m confused.”

He put his arm companionably around her shoulders and led her into the drawing room, lit against the gloom outside with candles everywhere. It wasn’t dark yet, but the sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Darla would get soaked on her trip to see her friend.

Angel poured two drinks and downed his. “Go on,” he said, “you used to like it.”

She took a sip.

“Not like that, throw it back.”

She did as she was told, and the whisky burned her throat.

“I used to like that?” she croaked.

“Buffy, what’s the matter? You’re acting like you don’t know who you are.”

She looked up at him.

“You don’t know who you are?” Angel’s eyes were wide.

“Um. Well. No. Not... as such.”

“Did you fall and hit your head?”

“Possibly.”

“Is that why you were saying your name is Perdita?”

“It means Lost One.”

Angel just nodded in agreement. He didn’t look like he’d ever read Shakespeare. “What do you remember?”

She sighed. “I woke up on a beach three nights ago. I guess it was a shipwreck - there was debris and other,” she exhaled, “other bodies. I didn’t find anyone alive.”

“You don’t remember how you got there?”

She shook her head.

Angel frowned. “There was a shipwreck three nights ago,” he said. “I heard there were no survivors. But what were you doing on it?”

“I have no idea.”

“Your stomping ground was Virginia.”

“That’s quite a long way...”

He nodded. “I’ll write your mother.”

“I have a mother?”

“Everyone has a mother,” Angel laughed. “Let’s just say yours doesn’t exactly approve of me.”

“You are a highwayman.”

“That I am.”

She paused, toying with her glass. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“How do you even know me?”

Angel downed another shot of whisky and came over, pulled her to her feet and looked down at her speculatively. He was quite a bit taller than her, his eyes deep and dark. He was a very good looking man.

“I taught you everything you know,” he said. “Well, everything you knew.”

“You did?” she whispered. “About what?”

“Life. Men. Sex. Highway robbery.”

That’s pretty much all bases covered, she thought. “Sex?”

He grinned. “Knew you’d find the important bit. Yeah.” He stroked her face. “Don’t you remember? We had a fine old time, you and me. You,” his lips brushed her cheek, “tasted like chocolate.”

Giles and Xander had gone out looking for Perdita, leaving the girls in charge of William. Xander had been reluctant to leave them, especially Anya, but he was assured by Giles that she could take care of herself.

Currently she was dozing with her head on the table, an axe in her hands.

Willow and Tara sat at the other end of the table, giggling with each other. “How about this one,” Willow said, and assumed a pious expression. “‘Tout est pour le mieux, dans le meilleur des mondes possibles.’”

William rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Tara blushed, “but it sounds pretty.”

“It means, All is for the best, in the best of all possible worlds,” Willow said.

“Voltaire,” William said. “Poncy bugger.”

“You think everyone’s a poncy bugger,” Willow scolded.

“All the ones you’re quoting are.”

“All right, then, quote me someone who isn’t.”

He thought a bit. “Robert Burton. ‘England is a paradise for women, and hell for horses. Italy a paradise for horses, hell for women.’”

Tara giggled.

“Why is England a paradise for women?” Willow asked archly. “Wasn’t it the English who conquered America and repressed us all?”

“If it wasn’t for the English, you’d be speaking French,” William said.

“She does speak French,” Tara said bravely.

“‘Oh, brave new world, that has such people in’t,’” William said sarcastically.

“The Tempest,” Willow said smugly.

“Very appropriate,” Tara agreed.

“‘This happy breed of men, this little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea...’”

Willow looked suspicious.

“‘This blessed plot, this earth, this Realm, this England,’” William added, cocking an eyebrow at her.

“Shakespeare was an idiot.”

“Half an hour ago you said he was the only decent thing to come out of England.”

“Well, he was still English.”

“And that makes him evil because....”

Willow didn’t get a chance to answer, because the door suddenly slammed wide open and a flurry of leaves blew in. The girls started in surprise, Anya woke up with a gasp and waved the axe vaguely at the door.

“I’ll get you before you get me,” said a sweet voice, and William’s head snapped up.

“Darla?”

“Did we really need to tie them up?” she asked as they galloped away over the dark, rain-lashed fields.

“Payback,” William said. “Besides, it was kinda fun, tying three girls together.”

“Pervert.”

“Like you never strip-search unnecessarily.”

Darla grinned, but said nothing.

The rain was coming down hard and they were both saturated by the time they reached Angel’s mansion. William untied his hair and shook his head as he walked in, catching his wet hair and slicking it back again, shrugging off his soaked leather coat and chucking it at Doyle, all in a few easy motions.

“So-” he began, then the words caught and died in his throat as he saw someone come down the stairs, slowly, with fluid steps. She was wearing a brilliant blood red dress in gleaming brocade, trimmed with lace that was black instead of the usual red. The stomacher and petticoat were also black, shining satin with intricate patterns of fine red lace. Her golden hair was piled up on her head, leaving just a few fat curls to trail over her creamy shoulders, down to her plump cleavage.

Her eyes were languid, her lips red and inviting. William could hardly breathe. Then she parted those beautiful lips.

“William.”

He stared a little harder. “Perdita?”

Angel came out of the drawing room. “Spike!”

Her green eyes never moved, even as she corrected, “Buffy.”

In confusion, William glanced at Angel. “Liam?”

Darla rolled her eyes. “This is bordering on ridiculous,” she said, snapping her fingers in front of William’s eyes. “William, this is Buffy. Perdita, this is Spike. Buffy, this is Liam.”

They all blinked at her.

“Aren’t nicknames fun?”

“So are you really just Darla?” Buffy asked.

Darla put her finger to her lips. “I’ll never tell.”

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