The Black Knight of Ashfern

Chapter 3

Nan cursed as she climbed through bushes, their gnarled branches snagging her dress at every turn, low-lying limbs swishing viciously as they tangled in her hair. Had she known the trail would be so rough, she'd of found a place to stay in town. As it was, between Michael's assault and then her gentleman's questioning, she did not feel safe there. So, she stumbled and tripped, and swore as she picked her way across the narrow path that led to her secluded little hovel, using the lightning to help navigate her way. Thinking begrudgingly that come morning, she would have to trim the path back. Something she felt ill at ease doing when its invisibility was her first line of defense against intruders.

As she neared her humble home, a single-roomed shack with a thatch roof, crumbling stone fireplace, and dirt floor, she smiled, relieved by the sight of the faint flickering fire that burned within. Telling her, Jamie was already inside with dinner on the make. He was a good lad, her Jamie, smart and sweet, though he was possessed of an ornery streak when it came time to wash. Still, she loved the boy; he was all she had and all she needed.

Pushing open the door, she smiled as he jumped from his seat by the fire, taking her basket and handing her a warm blanket to wrap around her cold wet shoulders. Like Nan, Jamie was of dark coloring, with stormy blue eyes and a light dabbling of freckles across the bridge of his nose and tops of his cheeks. His face was also smudged with dirt, and his clothes were also in a sad state of faded disrepair. The next trade she'd make, she'd need to be sure to get thread and cloth, anything to mend the new holes forming on his trousers and shirt.

"What took ye so long, Nan?" Jamie questioned, as he made her a cup of tea and set out a bowl of stew from the small cracked pot hanging over their tiny fire. Keeping his back turned as she peeled out of her wet clothes, pinning them up carefully by the fire to help them dry, leaving her only in the thin material of her wet chemise. Jamie politely kept his back turned as she wrung out the material and set about drying her hair. Keeping himself busy, he examined the contents of her basket, pulling out the potatoes and carrots she had managed to obtain from Banger and setting the mugs and bottles aside for use at a later time.

"I had a run-in with Sir William," Nan replied idly, taking up the empty seat by the fire, pulling her blanket back up around her shoulders as she accepted her tea from Jamie. A knowing smile pinned to her lips as she took in his look of excitement and sat on their bed, eager to hear more of her meeting with the dreaded Black Knight.

Nan was the only person Jamie spoke to with a civil tongue; thus, she was his only source of information. She did not keep him this way on purpose; it was just easier to let him stay with the house than to take him with her on the occasions she had to go to town. Where Nan was concerned, Jamie would permit no one to speak ill of her, and because of this, he had gotten them thrown out of more than one establishment. Now, he sat watching Nan slowly drink her tea, enjoying its blissful heat as the liquid's warmth seeped down her throat and into her extremities. She had managed two sips before his patience broke, and he began assailing her with all manner of questions.

"Is he really as black and twisted as they say? Does the cruelty show in his eyes? Was he mean to ye, Nan? What did the Blighter say? What did he do to ye! Why, if he hurt ye, I'll wallop him I will!" He thundered, by then working himself into a fine anger over whatever slight Jamie had thought up to fit Sir William Horton, the infamous Black Knight of Ashfern. Nan knew well that William Horton was no man to play games with, friendly or foul. She'd seen the effects of his temper on a number of Tom's patrons. She also knew that he was no kind man despite his wealth. Most dealings done in Ashfern were done with his say. If they weren't, the fool that went against him was either found washed ashore or brought up in some fishermen's net not long after.

When she'd woken him on the beach, she'd had some inkling as to who was; none in Ashfern could afford the garb he wore, except Sir William. And none but she and Jamie knew how to reach the beach that sat just below his home of Stonebrook. It was a miracle he had not accused her of trespassing and had her hauled off for the deed, and thus, she had stated her business and left as soon as possible, not willing to risk his wrath. She'd heard tales of his wicked deeds, his short temper, and dark moods. She'd also heard stories of his scars, though from what she'd heard, one would think the man was riddled with them, rendering him a twisted, misshapen mess that had been chewed up and spat out by the devil himself. What she had seen, hardly qualified. As did the attitude with which he treated her. Aside from his ill-temper upon waking, and the anger he had shown when she named him scarred, he had been quite tolerable, if only slightly annoying.