Jane simply could not be in her house any longer. She had only been back in Benthey for two days. Her beloved Benthey. Her home. In just seven weeks, she would be leaving again for good. She was set to marry a young Baron from Harleston. Jacob Wilkes. She had met him for the first time five days ago. Their initial meeting had gone quite well. Jacob was incredibly handsome. He had short, dark hair and piercing green eyes. He seemed a bit serious, but she assumed that was just the Harleston way. They had spent the next five days together and things had quickly taken a turn for the worse.

No one talked of anything around the Cynster manor but the wedding. Her father spoke of it constantly. Her personal maid was extremely excited for her mistress. She constantly spoke of how lucky her mistress was to be marrying a Baron in the most pious of duchies. She prattled on so often that she did not notice the new bruises that had appeared on Jane's body while she was dressing her. Bruises on her wrists, her arms, her shoulders, the back of her neck. Nothing that could not be covered by clothing.

Jane had borrowed Adam's horse, Kosta, and went out for a ride through the countryside of Benthey. She simply needed a day to herself to clear her head. The night before she had gotten very little sleep. She had nightmares all through the night. In them, she relived the travesties of the past few days. Jacob angrily taking hold of her wrists. Of him squeezing her shoulders until she cried out. She had quickly learned not to speak out of turn. In her dreams, however, she was her mother - slowly being driven into madness. She had opened her eyes, her body drenched in a cold sweat. In that moment, in the dark of night, she saw her entire life flash before her eyes. The bruises would get worse. She would not be able to hide them forever. Because of that, she would be forced to remain in the Wilkes Manor. Her life would become rather like her mother's. Only she would be kept indoors by force. Then, the sickness would engulf her and she would plummet into despair until she could no longer leave her bed. Then, it would happen. Would it be like her mother? Would she walk out into the water of the pond and never come out again? Would she do something more creative? Would she walk off of the top spier of the manor?

As the thoughts continued to creep into her mind, even in daylight, she urged Kosta to go faster and faster. Delivering a swift kick to his side, her face twisted into an expression of distress. She had to get away. She was running away from what the future held at the fastest pace possible. She knew at the end of the day she would have to go back home, but for now, she could run.

Finally, she slowed her horse to a walk. Moving alongside a stream, she found herself contemplating a swim. It was quite hot outside and she had worn her most conservative dress to cover all of her bruises. She kept moving until she reached a small lake that the stream fed into. Stopping Kosta, she dismounted, which was quite difficult in her skirts. Taking the reins, she tied the old sorrel gelding to a sturdy tree. She pat him on the neck and sneezed as a small cloud of dust was sent out from his neck.

Jane stared at the water for another instant before making up her mind.

She began by removing her shoes and placing them by the tree. Her stockings came next. She then removed her dress with great effort. Swinging it over the saddle of the horse, she looked with dismay upon the swollen purple blotches that were covering her arms. Finally, she removed the hood from her head, allowing her blonde curls to fall around her shoulders. She arranged her hair so that it almost completely covered her bruises. With a sigh, she moved towards the water, clad in only her petticoat and chemise. She moved until the hem of the skirt brushed the water. Then, on an impulse, she moved all the way in. Floating on her back, she allowed the cold water to rush over her arms and shoulders. It felt cool and refreshing as it brushed over her swollen skin.

Closing her eyes, she simply allowed herself to float - wishing that she could be anywhere but here.

Wylyam had, after carefully browsing through the best all five Duchies could have offered, purchased a new horse for himself. Yet another new horse would've been a more exact expression. The stables of Whetherell Manor were full of shiny, strong, agile, maneuverable, quick, able and all sorts of horses, stallions and mares, only a few not belonging to Wylyam. The stable keepres certainly were not having an easy time, taking care of all those animals. Needless to say, Wylyam required the highest possible standards available for them, if only just to torture the servants more. And because he did not wish to ride anything that had not been properly treated. None of them dared to complain, out of fear from his wrath, that would have most certainly come upon them had they dared to protest. Coming to the Duchess would not have aided them either-Wylyam would have punished them with or without her blessing.

Whenever he was bored, Wylyam would resort to buying new things. Sometimes, he would order outfits, sometimes he would order rigs for his quarters. Once, he decided he was extremely bored, and ordered a whole new set of bedroom furniture. That had been ridicolously expensive, but Wylyam had never been taught to be thrifty. He'd always had anything he could have possibly wished for, and 'saving money' did not even have a true meaning in his mind. Ever since the day he was born, Wylyam had been spoiled endlessly by his parents. Both of them. When he had come to Whetherell Manor, when his father had married Elspeth, he had stopped paying much attention to him. But Wylyam had simply continued on the road Rechard had set for him-spoling himself. He had all the money, Elspeth affected him not, and even when she tried he knew better than to obey her. He did not know of any other lifestyle other than this one.

He could've recalled one varying from it, though. The variation was slight, not even pertaining to him being spoiled rotten. As mentioned, that had remained a steady fact ever since the day of his birth. But back then, it had been different. Life had been different. Even though he had been just a small boy, Wylyam could have clearly and vividly remembered how his father had been then, and how he had been prior to his death. Rechard had always been one for wild adventures and had always been considered a ladies man. However, he had never, not even once, cheated on Catherine. Wylyam had been five years old then, but he knew that much for sure. Rechard had adored his first wife, showering her in gifts and affection. Every day, Lady Catherine would have received one present or another. Her lips would always stretch into a smile while opening it, then she would exhale in awe, and let Rechard place the jewelery upon her. Then they would kiss, and Rechard would announce he was taking Wylyam riding. Naturally, he would always ask Catherine to come along.

Each and every time, she would refuse, claiming that it was too bold for her. She had also objected to him taking the six year old Wylyam with him, but Rechard would always dismiss her concerns. And when he would truly try to bring her around, she would always give in in the end. He had never used that on the subject of her coming along before, but that time, something had made him to. Probably the fact he had bought her a new riding outfit in Pemberton earlier. Catherine said she would come. Rechard had joyously assured her she would come back, alive and well.

She had not.

Her horse had been jumping over an obstacle, and she had fallen of, breaking her neck. Since that, nothing had been the same.

Wylyam shook off those thoughts, and made his new, white stallion move faster. He had money, prestige, rank, everything he could have possibly wished upon. If Elspeth's child happened to die, which was easily possible, or if it was another female brat, he would be the Duke of Benthey one day, perhaps soon, most certainly. Even if a male child was born, he would be able to snatch the Duke title. Of course it was not the same as his previous life. It was better. It had to be. And once he finally claimed the throne of Benthey, he would make sure that, if Elspeth had been the one to poison his father, she paid. If she was not guilty, she would be allowed to stay at Whetherell Manor, guarded. Not for her own safety, but to prevent her from scheming. If he found out that she was guilty...he would begin by killing of her stupid brat, the ugly Violet...No. Not killing. She was his step-sister, also his father's child. He would take her away, forcing Elspeth to live her entire life without her. As for her other child(if it lived), he would send it off to Soleil or Bellezza, far, far away. Elspeth would die a long and a painful death---

A glint of fury passed through his eyes, and he was about to make his horse go even faster, just to see whether it could make it. He was stopped, however, by the sight of a dress lying on the saddle of a horse, next to it a pair of shoes. Wylyam did not know how he had noticed it, because he had been riding at an insane speed, but it had caught his eye, and he brought the stallion to a halt. Not because he felt a slightest amount of worry for any lady that might have been forced to take off her dress in the middle of nowehere. He did it because he was still rather bored, and because this definitely had an air of an interesting situation.

His gaze trailed over the surroundings, and he noticed a lake. Even before his eyes reached the lady bathing there, a mischievous grin danced on his lips. A lady bathing in the middle of nowhere was always an interesting passtime. When they noticed a man passing by, they would scream, attempt(in vain) to cover, and be utterly shocked. Sometimes they would even faint. He liked making women faint. The only thing that would've made it better would've been the lady being naked. Slowly, he moved his horse closer to the water. One of his eyebrows raised when a strand of the woman's blonde hair moved, and when a purple bruise was revealed on her arm. Had she been beaten by someone? Probably a husband, or an abusive father. Wylyam shrugged it off, thinking of the best thing to say. As he regarded her, he noted she did seem somehow familliar...

All of a sudden, she moved her head slightly, and her face came into his sight. There, floating on the water, he recognized his friend, Lady Jane Cynster. And all of a sudden, his train of thoughts changed.

Wylyam remembered very well what had happened on the ball in Dynham. Even though he'd thought he would, he hadn't given it much pondering. He had dismissed it as a slip of a tongue. He had prepared for flirting endlessly with other ladies, and some of it had somehow found its way into his conversation with Jane. Nothing of any greater importance, especially since he had wiggled out of it succesfully.

Why was he, then, feeling slightly...nervous...at the porspect of addressing her? Wylyam NEVER felt nervous around women. He was always the one in charge, the bold one, the one leading things. He was never nervous. And he never pondered what was the best thing to say when addressing JANE! Right now, he was deciding whether he should simply call out for her, or steal her dress and her horse, and what would bring the most positive reaction out of her! He had never wanted positive reactions from people. He still didn't want positive reacitons from people. What on Earth would make Jane any different?

Trying to let go of that, he watched her for a few more seconds, wondering how had she gotten the bruises---

Whoa.

He immiediately forgot about his former musings. Only now did it reach his mind that this woman was Jane and that she had bruises. Jane had bruises, the same kinds of bruises Elspeth had had when Rechard had beaten her, the bruises of abuse. Only that they had never bothered him on Elpseth. And the thought of Jane being abused bothered him a lot. Usually, he would have found a good, emotionless reason for that state of things, but right now, his mind was too clouded by the unusuality of the situation. She did not have any relatives that ever would've mistreated her. Not her father, not her brothers. So who could it have---

"Jane." He heard himself saying, his voice sounding dark. His glare fixed on the bruise, or part of the bruise that he was able to see. He didn't have to say anything more for her to understand the unspoken question.

The sounds of the water lapping against her body had prevented Jane from hearing the approaching rider. She was completely oblivious that a young man had approached, stopped and was now watching her. Completely submerging herself, she dove under the water before coming up again, brushing her hair away from her face. She felt so free in the water. Swimming to her felt like flying. For a moment, she imagined herself as a bird, capable of flying away from the cruel fate that had been outlined for her.

She wondered if this was how her mother felt about water. As a child, Jane had been afraid of the water. Her father thought it was just as well - who wanted a daughter who insisted on gallivanting like a son? A proper young lady would not want to go out into a pond. Ruth had been differently minded, however. She used to coax Jane out into the water. Eventually, Jane grew used to the ice cold liquid that would gently caress her body. She and Ruth would splash about for hours.

That had been when Ruth was happy. Things soon changed. Ruth became listless and uneasy, then sad and lethargic. There were days when she would not leave her chambers at all. Jane's father had wanted doctors to come see her, and then priests, but Ruth always refused. She would not let anyone in unless they pretended that she was not sick. Jane spent years of her life trying to bring her mother back. The mother that loved and cared for her. She wanted nothing more than her mother's love. She wanted to go back to splashing about in the pond behind the estate.

It had been Jane who had found Ruth. Her mother had been acting differently for a few days. More active, though slightly agitated. Then, she disappeared. Everyone, even the family, began searching for her. Jane had been so young then. She had not realized what was happening. At only ten, she had thought this change was her mother coming back. They were playing hide and seek now. Back before she got sick, Ruth would always play that game with Jane. She would go hide in the grove by the pond. Once Jane found her, the two would go for a swim. Jane ran there as fast as her legs would carry her. Instead of finding her mother hiding, however, she saw her body afloat in the pond. She looked almost peaceful out there. Her wispy blonde hair floated out around her like a halo. She was dressed in her white gossamer dressing gown. Ruth looked like an angel.

Still, Jane had known that something was wrong. The little girl screamed and cried until she lost her voice. Richard found the inconsolable child and tried to restrain her. He received a black eye from her flailing. Finally, she exhausted herself and was carried back to the house.

She never returned to that pond.

It took her quite some time to approach water again. Water, the thing that had bonded the two Cynster women, had taken Ruth away. Jane was left motherless. Aside from memories, the only piece of her mother that she had left were her old diaries. The later ones were almost too troubling to read. It was those diaries that had determined the truth. Ruth Cynster had taken her own life. Of course, those outside the manor had believed her to be sick for some time, but with a different ailment. Warlord Cynster let it be known that his wife had died from illness - not an all out lie, but not a truth either.

Jane's mind turned to all of these memories as she basked herself in the water. She did not remember the first time after her mother's death when she had gone swimming again. She did, however, remember the reason. A desire to feel close to her mother again. Her mother had loved the water, even in death. For a brief moment, Jane considered her mother's decision. She had always thought it to be a cowardly one, but Jane's situation was different. She was being married off to a man who would beat her constantly into submission. Who would lock her indoors. Who would ruin her. Perhaps her mother's choice was not so outrageous after all.

It was then that she heard a familiar bark. Jane. Turning sharply in the water, she saw Wylyam Launcelyn's dark gaze resting on her. Immediately, Jane dipped in the water. She prayed that he would think she was trying to be modest in hiding herself beneath the surface. In reality, she was hiding the bruises. Seven in all. She had known Jacob Wilkes for five days, and already she had seven bruises to show for it.

She had not seen Wylyam since the ball. Chances are, the self absorbed young man knew nothing of her pending engagement. Even if he did, he was not likely to care. He was intelligent, but usually oblivious to the plights of others. She would tell him that she took a spill down a staircase. Or perhaps that she fell from her brother's horse. Hopefully, he would believe her.

She suddenly found herself realizing that she was half dressed in front of him. He probably thought very little of it - having seen many women far more naked than she. Still, this was the most exposed she had ever been in male company. It made her extremely uncomfortable. She felt even more uncomfortable knowing that she was this bare in front of Wylyam.

Perhaps he had not thought of their dance often, but she had. Something was different him that night. He spoke to her differently. Looked at her differently. She found herself hoping for him to treat her in such a way again. It unnerved her, but she found that she liked him looking at her the way he had that night. Being protective over her. Speaking tenderly to her. Then again, that could simply have been a result of meeting the brute that she was to marry.

Mustering up a smile, she responded to him. "Hello Wylyam." She knew her voice sounded shaky and cursed heaven for it. She lifted her hand out of the water a bit to wave, but soon sent it back beneath the murky surface. He would see the bruises on her wrist. She looked around wildly, trying to divert his attention. He looked so angry. She swam a bit closer, still keeping her body hidden. "Is that a new horse?" she asked, looking towards the stallion. She had no idea if it was new or not, but knowing Wylyam, it probably was. Perhaps if she made him the center of the conversation, his ego would be placated enough for him to forget about seeing her here.

Upon hearing him, Jane quickly submerged everything save for her head into the water. That way, the bruise disappeared out of his view. Instead, his pale blue eyes met her green ones. Had they been standing in a ballroom, in Whetherell Manor, or even here without the presence of the pruple mark he had heeded, Wylyam would've undoubtedly given further thought on how beautiful those eyes of hers were. Now, only a corner of his brain paid attention to that detail. Her hair also registered as lovely in that part. He did not know when had he last seen her with her hair down. Not this month, he believed. Somewhere in the second half of the previous one...

Wylyam cursed himself inwardly. Since when had he started keeping track of the period of time he had spent without seeing Jane's hair falling down her shoulders? Subconsciously, he connected that with what the behavior he had displayed at the ball, and he did not even remotely like the idea of that having roots somewhere before in time. So he let that be, not even wishing to think of it. He had made it a habit to expect problems he minded to simply disappear, like servants when they were afraid of him. He rather returned his attention back to the sight before him.

She muttered a greeting, her voice soudning shaky, and Wylyam detected panic in her delicate fatures. Her hand, which she had raised to wave , disappeared back where it had been before too quickly, but not quick enough for him not to discern yet another mark on her wrist. What on Earth was going on? Jane had never acted like this in front of him, not even when he had caught her hiding in the basement of the Whetherell Manor after falling into a pit of mud. She had been hiding because mud had gotten into her hair and made it look like a pile of garbage. Even then, she had given him a disdainful look and told him to go away. Never had she given him the satisfaction of seeing he had managed to embarass her.

As she swam closer rather timidly, Wylyam suddenly felt a surge of anger. Anger for whoever had given Jane those bruises. Whoever had made her act like this. It took a lot to make Jane feel afraid(Wylyam was certain fear was the cause of the way she was behaving), he knew that full well, because he had put in a lot of effort into achieving that goal. Making her feel afraid was not all that difficult, but making her show it like this-close to impossible. That person must have hurt Jane a lot.

Yes, it is a new horse, he thought, but did not say it out loud. She was trying to change the subject, he saw that much. She did not want him to see the bruises(how many were there, exactly, he began to wonder), and she did not want him to know who had made them. A small part of annoyance shifted on to her, for protecting someone who was abusing her, in a way. Not giving her enough time to find more ways to steer of the topic he had in mind, he snapped in a rather cold manner; "Has Warlord Cynster been unable to keep his temper in check lately?"

As soon as he said it, he bit on his lower lip. Darn it. He shouldn't have. One part of him was protesting fiercely against the fact he was regretting saying something in his usual manner(cold&cruel), while the other part protested against his words, in spite of their demeanour, did convey concern, in the form of slight anger. Not really that slight...Then there was also the third party, that both of the first two wished to exterminate, and it feared(what a despicable word!) that the words would hurt Jane, and wanted to say something much softer and much more comforting to her...

It was good he hadn't. It was better like this, and of course he wasn't going to mind the fact he had acted as he always did. Pretending he had never even on the inside brushed the possibility of actually apologizing to Jane, Wylyam said nothing more, awating for her reply.

Jane anxiously watched her friend, her gaze studying his face. She did not realize that she was holding her breath as she watched his eye go from angry, to confused, to his usual stoic gaze. Finally, she exhaled. It came out in a very heavy sigh. She continued to tread water until her bare foot hit the muddy bottom of the lake. She averted her gaze slightly, not looking Wylyam in the eye.

He was not going to answer her question about the horse. He was looking at her with an extremely intense gaze and he was not going to be swayed by her feeble attempts. Jane shifted uncomfortably. She felt as though she were shrinking smaller and smaller under his gaze. Suddenly, she was eight years old again. She felt her cheeks burning and knew they must have turned bright red as she stood up the her neck in the water. She would do anything to avoid the conversation that she feared was coming.

Has Warlord Cynster been unable to keep his temper in check lately? His words made something snap within Jane. She was no longer afraid of him seeing her skin or her bruises. She was not anxious about what he was going to say. She had forgotten her earlier thoughts about wishing for him to look at her in a different manner. He had actually suggested that her FATHER beat her? Her father loved her more than anything. Anger flared up within the pit of her stomach. It rose to her chest, until she could not take it anymore. She began walking out of the water. It took a few moments, because of the weight of her clothing. As she emerged, all of her bruises were there for anyone to see. The two on her wrists. The one on her left shoulder. the one behind her neck. The one on her right upper arm. The one near her collarbone.

Her soaking wet hair clung to her face and shoulders, but it did nothing to hide the anger on her face. How dare he mock her? He had pulled some rather insensitive stunts in the past, but this took the cake. She was clearly livid. Picking up her heavy, water laden skirts, she moved in his direction. Standing in front of him, she lifted a hand and struck him across the face. She had never lifted a finger against Wylyam. Her palm stung as she withdrew it.

She tried her hardest to keep the tears that were burning her eyes from spilling over and, save for one tear, she succeeded. She hoped that he would mistake it for a water droplet. "How dare you, Wylyam Launcelyn." She said, her voice deadly and cold. Turning, she walked away from him. Moving towards her horse, she shook out her skirts, which had by now collected a good deal of sandy soil around the hem. She picked up her shoes and put them on her wet feet. Untying the horse, she swung up into the saddle. A fine horsewoman, it usually took a good deal of effort to mount a horse in all of her skirts. The added moisture made it extremely difficult.

Jane turned the horse away from Wylyam, which also happened to be away from her home. Still, she could not turn to face him - not with the angry and bitter tears that were streaming down her cheeks. She knew his horse could easily catch hers. She did not even urge her horse into a fast pace. She simply moved away, her shoulders sagging in defeat as she did so.

Wylyam noticed the change that had begun to take place on her face right away. Initially, it did not surprise him. He had half expected a reaction, a negative reaction, something among the lines of her angrily turning her back on him and calling him an insensitive snob, as she always did. At first he had minded such things, and would have always warned her gravely when she would've uttered them, but now he had gotten used to it. It came in the same package with Jane. And it was unchangeable. Of coruse, that had never prevented him from shooting back a nasty retort whenever she would say something against him. It was a natural impulse, a trait of Wylyam's that whenever someone would throw a comment at him, whether lightly or seriously, he immediately answered with a far more bitter one. Only sometimes would he manage to amend that...and he never truly tried.

Jane's face had been gaining on red color before, but now it all vanished, leaving it completely pale, nearly white. It was then that he saw something was off. For a few seconds, she hardly moved at all, even making him believe she was going to faint. He was about to inquire what was happening, when he spotted she was moving towards the shore. So, she was going to come out. Wylyam closed his mouth, deciding he had managed to get her to speak and that she was coming out to the shore to show him the bruises. In spite of his triumph, there was an eerie shroud wrapped around this, though. In her eyes, there was some kind of a deadly look, while her lips were but a thin line. She also had not said a thing. Whoever had broken her so, must have done more than just inflicting a bruise or two. An image of a faceless Lord forcing himself upon Jane made Wylyam grit his teeth. If that had truly happened...

That line enver got around being finished, for a series of terribly quick events lined themselves at that point. As she got to the more shallow parts of the lake, Jane increased the speed of her pace, and soon she was nearly running towards him. His eyes widened slightly in confusion while he asked himself what the hell was she doing, but then they landed on her body, widening even further. There was not just a bruise or two there. There were two bruises on her wrists, one larger on her arm, and one huge on her collarbone. How could she have earned those, was beyond even his imagination. Wylyam did know full well how to make such bruises, but Jane was not of the sort who would have allowed any man to kick her. And what man would she protect like this? Perhaps it was just her pride. Yes, perhaps it was just her pride. An unknown Lord had attacked her, and she was ashamed of the fact she had not managed to fend him off. So she did not wish for anyone to know of anything.

But now he knew. Now, he was going to make her tell him the name of the bastard, the bastard that he would make pay. If of Benthey, he would be banned forever from the Duchy, if from anywhere else, he would never be allowed to set foot here. Not to even mention Wylyam would, before even mentioning the entire matter to Elspeth, go and kill the goddamned idiot. No...not kill him. ALMOST kill him. He had to live through the humiliation of losing all he ever held dear, and being exiled like the puniest of all beggars. Of course, of course he would be tortured, lynched...

Wylyam was taken aback by the amount of fury this had caused within him. What he was even more taken aback by, however, was yet to follow. Jane approached him, nearly marching like a soldier, coming right next to him and hitting him as hard as she could accros his face.

Jane.

Hit.

Him.

That took a few seconds for his brain, which partially still remained on the matter of her bruises, to process. Jane had never hit him before in his life. No one had ever hit him before in his life without leaving the scene looking so unrecognizable they had nothing to brag about. No woman had ever thought of slapping him, no matter how much he dishonored them. They had liked dishonoring. Jane was obviously different.

And he did not mean it in the good way anymore. The ire from before remaining there, it was reinforced by another wave, this time a wave of frsh lividity meant for Jane and Jane only. How dared he? How dared she! How dared she! While he was in the middle of thoughts on how to punish the man that had hurt her, she had the insolence to slap him? Wylyam already completely forgot about the words he had previously directed towards her. The only thing he was aware of was what Jane had done. She had done a very dangerous thing, indeed.

If women had not hit Wylyam, Wylyam had hit them. Mae, the servant was a vivid example. She had angered him for numerous times, and had gotten herself a few markings that showed that. Elenora, another servant. He had only hit her once, when she had implied his father had been a no-good scoundrel, in those exact words. Elspeth had put her off-duty for two months. It had taken her that long to fully recover. The point was, had this been anyone else, anyone in the entire world but Jane, they would not have ended up well. Even with Jane, he got the urge to hit her back, to throw her off the horse she had clumsily climbed because of the heavy skirts, to add a few bruises of his own making to that skin of hers.

It was the last sentence that enticed his self-control. A few more bruises. His eyes began registering the surroundings again, instead of imagining horrible ways of vengeance, and once again he recalled the contempt he had felt towards whoever had done this to Jane. Had that someone been him...that did not sound well. The mere idea of him hurting Jane did not sound well at all.

A few moments had to pass. Wylyam let her ride a bit further away, knowing that he could easily catch up with her. Had he went after her right away, he was certain he would have hit her. And that's the last thing I want, he concluded. Even though he was not certain why. Breathing deeply, finally managing to calm down reasonably, Wylyam turned his horse towards Jane's and moved out.

Soon, he reached her, and was riding next to her. As he positioned his horse, he looked at her, and felt that some of his anger(quite a portion) was still there. Swallowing deeply, he glared at her; "Jane. Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again." He placed careful accent onto each word, an edge of frost to his tone. It was a way to try and calm down further, and a genuine warning. It was extremely unsafe to provoke Wylyam like this. He did not want Jane to be unsafe.

Only then did he see the tears streaming down from her eyes. Before, he had mistaken them for droplets of water, but now, it was clear, if by nothing then by her red eyes, that Jane was crying. Wylyam was sure he was not going to be affected much by that, but when he took in the sight of her, her normally straight shoulders hanging down in defeat, her hair and her skirts all wet, he felt sympathy. Towards this lady, whom he could've sworn he would've been ready to strangle a few moments ago. A large enough amount of sympathy to take hold of her horse's rein and halt both of their animals, looking into her eyes.

"Who did this to you?" He was satisfied his voice had steadied. From this angle, her collarbone bruise was far more visible, "Tell me. Now. Then we'll get you to Whetherell, and I'll go to wherever he is, and kill him." The addition had come out of nowhere-he had not even planned on saying that out loud. Somehow, he did not deem it necessary to think about why did he care so much at the present moment.

Jane had never meant to hit Wylyam. He had made her angry, accusing her father of hurting her like this. She had expected her to simply mouth off to him. It was what they did - the two of them. He would insult her, she would fire back a retort and it would continue until one of them was too angry to speak anymore. Usually it was her to walk away first, angrily turning her back on him. Still, when she approached him and saw the jaunty expression on his face, she could not help but strike him. She felt horrible for it, she truly did. By hitting Wylyam, she was now no better than Jacob. He had hit her in anger and she had, in turn, hit someone else. She was no better than that monster.

She had half expected Wylyam to strike her back. This was why she moved away so quickly. She did not want to see Wylyam in the same way that she saw Jacob - and herself. She had watched him pummel more people than she could count over the years. Whenever he was angry, he would lash out at whoever was nearest... but never her. She did not want to give him the chance to harm her. It would change her opinion of him forever.

As she moved away on her horse, she heard Wylyam remount his own steed and start in her direction. She gave a swift kick to Kosta's side, hoping that the old nag would suddenly spring to life and take off, outrunning Wylyam's spritely young horse. Instead, Kosta turned his head to look back at her, attempted to bite her foot, failed and finally snorted to express his unhappiness. He did not speed up, however. In fact, if anything, he slowed down even more. Jane cringed as the shadow of Wylyam on his horse moved over her. She did not know what to expect in the coming moments.

The tone of Wylyam's voice felt like he was slapping her with each word he said. She did not have to look at him to see that he was extremely angry. It was possibly the angriest she had ever seen him. He had never spoken to her so coldly. If the moment had been a bit lighter, she probably would have mused at the fact that this was the second time in a week during which Wylyam had used new tones with her. Still, this moment was much darker.

Jane could not bring herself to look at Wylyam. She did not halt her horse, but rather kept her eyes on the gray steed's neck as he gently plodded along. She tried to will herself to stop crying. She knew that Wylyam would certainly hold that against her later. He had spent years trying to make Jane cry. He had chased her around with frogs and lizards when they were younger. He had yanked on her braids so hard that she would cry out. Now that they were older, the pair of them would engage in verbal fights. He would orally lacerate her, only wanting to see her cry. Well now he got his wish.

Her body was still tense, waiting for Wylyam to strike her. When he suddenly moved his hand towards her, she shifted her weight in the saddle to get away from him. Her hand came up to shield her face and a small yelp was emitted as she shied away. She soon felt quite foolish. Wylyam was not attempting to strike her. Instead, he was grabbing the reins of her horse. She allowed Kosta to be pulled up against his horse, noticing as her soaking, crinoline covered leg brushed his.

Finally, an utterly humiliated Jane allowed herself to look up at Wylyam. There was still a trace of anger in his eyes, but he seemed to have excused her previous action, for the time being. She stared at his moving lips as he demanded to know who did this to her. He said he would take her back to Whetherell. He said he would kill the man who had done this to her. If she was not so emotionally rattled, she would have been surprised, and even touched, as his strange desire to protect her. This did nothing to steady her stream of tears, however. If anything, it made her more upset. She was struck by the amount of sadness she had expressed in one day. It was very unlike her. Perhaps she had inherited her mother's sickness far earlier than she had expected.

Looking up at Wylyam, she saw the insistence in his eyes. She was not getting around this. She would have to tell him. She opened her mouth to answer the question, but soon shut it. She could not reveal what had happened. It was all too humiliating. Hanging her head, she was surprised to find that she was sagging against the young man. Her dripping head was pressed against his chest. Her purple, mottled shoulders moved up and down as she sobbed quietly for a few moments. She fully expected Wylyam to shove her away and was surprised when he did not. She sighed, reliving the past five days in her mind.

She and Jacob had only been acquainted for nearly an hour when they were left alone. Everyone assumed that a man from Harleston was respectable enough to be alone with a lady. They were all wrong. Within half an hour, he tried to force himself upon her. She fought against him, earning several bruises. Still, she had won. He soon learned that his young bride would not be the kind of wife he had expected. She would not be complacent. She would not be a decorative piece with no voice. That had only brought on more bruises.

She felt strangely comfortable resting herself against Wylyam's body. She felt his breathing steady. She could hear his heart beating in his chest. Something about the steady rhythm of his beating heart made her realize her current position. Jerking back abruptly, she felt her face turning beet red again. Brushing some of the damp hair away from her face, she sighed. He was still waiting for an answer. She did not even know where to begin. Absently, she stroked Kosta's neck a few times before speaking.

"I'm getting married, Wylyam." She answered in a voice so quiet that it was nearly a whisper. "I'm getting married a monster. And there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. Not me. Not you. No one." She looked up at Wylyam again and gave a slight shrug. She had accepted it. This was going to be her life.

Had this been any other moment, any other time, Wylyam would have laughed at the way Jane bolted away from him, covering her face. It would have made him feel accomplished and content, finally managing to get her to openly display she was afraid of him. There had been many childish attempts of his to do so. From pulling her hair to planting various animals into her bed or onto her head. They had all made her shriek in disgust, sometimes even scream louder, in the end cursing him and running away from him. Never had he seen her cry, though. Never before this. And right now, he was not feeling the tiniest bit of feat. He only wanted her to stop crying. The last thing he wanted was for her to fear him.

It eluded him why his attitude on that had so radically changed. The most plausible reason was that he had not been the one who had indeed made her react in this manner. Someone else had been the one that had managed to break all her defences, not get around them, but obviously break them(he had left enough proof on her body for that). Wylyam had, prior to this, opined that he would have given anything solely to be let on to the secret of what could have Jane crying like a little child. The exhibiton of purple on her skin shouted about that very secret, and made it crystal clear what it took to so visibly upset Jane. Morevoer, it made him abruptly lose the wish of wanting to be the one causing all that.

Her lips parted, leaving Wylyam certain she was going to tell him what he demanded to know. Jane was not blind nor stupid enough not to realize there was no way he would let her leave without acquiring that information. If for any reason except for being fully aware of that, she was going to give in because if she happened to remain silent, it was a clear fact he would do whatever it took to find out, even solely for the sake of his pride. He would go to her father, her brothers, making her secret revealed to all of them. Speaking was a far wiser and more logical course of action. Also a lot easier.

Yet she shut her mouth right back, shaking her head in further show of defeat, and, to his complete surprise, leaned against him with a heavy sigh. Talk about unexpected things. This day seemed to be full of negative surprises. Or was this part positive? Wylyam could not truly decide. As Jane's wet, shivering body pressed against his, he found himself not pushing her away as he had expected to, but instead placing an arm on her back and hugging her protectively. He did not say a word, merely held her, offering her silent comfort to whatever troubles might have been plighting her. It was a rather awkward situation, but he tried not to give that much thought.

This did not last for long, though, the silence, for Jane soon pushed away, wiggling out of his embrace and hanging her head. Drawing back as well, Wylyam watched her, waiting for words to begin leaving her. He realized that he, himself, was rather at a loss of things to say...for what had to be the first time in his life. As the effect of their hug seemed to wear off, Jane's voice, as quiet as ever, made its way to his ears.

And left him stupefied.

I'm getting married. It took some time to digest that, initial part. Jane was getting married. Jane was getting married. Jane was getting married. No matter how he placed the words, they still carried the same meaning. Well...all right. Why should it be any different? He had always known Jane would one day marry, had he not? Surely he had not expected such a lovely lady to remain a spinster. Not as long as there were sane Lords out there. Yes, he had expected Jane would marry. Now that it had finally happened, he heeded he had never realized that event would leave such an ominous effect on him. Yet it had. Even before she finished all she had to say, he found himself wanting to dispose of whoever her fiancee was.

As the part explaining she was getting married to a monster followed, Wylyam found it rather hard not to simply turn around and find something to hit in order to express his wrath. Secretly, he also felt a tad glad she did not love this Lord she was going to marry, for God knew what reason. But that did not prevail over the stronger emotions. Her father had gotten her engaged to a man that abused her? Had he turned into a brainless old idiot? Wylyam knew there were plenty of Lords who hurt their wives like this, but 'those wives' were meant to be women like Elspeth, or whoever...anyone, anyone but Jane. The sudden protectiveness over her that had first displayed on the ball began to take on a rather natural air to him.

She thought he could not do anything about it? Well, watch me, he thought. That statement did not appeal to him for numerous reasons, the first being his ego. He felt insulted at the concept of her believing he could not do whatever he desired. Had she said he WOULD NOT, that would have already been different. But could not? Wylyam was now inept on doing something about that blasted bastard, in order to prove that he could and in order to aid Jane.

"You are not getting married." He spat, matter-of-factly, as if he had already cancelled their engagement, "If you think I can't do anything about it, then you are very wrong. Give me the bastards name, Jane. And then you'll see what I can do." There was icy steel in his tone and his pale blue eyes.

Jane was freezing by this point. Her shivering, however, was momentarily halted as she felt Wylyam's arm across her back. His arm was warm and comforting. Later she would be mystified as to why he reached out and held her, rather than pushing her off of her horse. She would also be mortified later that she let herself be so exposed in front of him. He had never seen her cry. Not even when her mother died. And now she was sobbing like a small child in his arms.

She noticed that when she pulled away, Wylyam shrunk back a bit from her. What exactly was he drawing back from? He certainly could not fear that she was going to hit him again. She had acted once on an impulse. She was not stupid enough to let her anger overtake her in such a way again.

Why had Wylyam been the one to find her? Why couldn't he have simply kept riding and not stopped to spy one the woman bathing in the lake? Why had he implicated her father instead of just leaving her alone? Why were they having this conversation? Why had she even left the house today? She could have continued to sulk in her room. She should not have taken the risk of revealing her bruises where anyone could see them. Then again, she was glad he was here. Now someone else knew. And if anyone could do anything about it, it would be Wylyam Launcelyn.

She was surprised by the sudden angry look that appeared on Wylyam's face. Was he angry with her, or at what she just told her? His next words answered the question for her. He was angry at her. She had doubted him and his abilities. She was tempted to roll her eyes and insult him. He was far too prideful to allow someone to doubt his abilities. He was now insisting that he would take care of it, but it was no longer because he wanted to. He had stopped caring about Jane and whether or not she was safe. Now, he simply wanted to prove that he had enough power to do it. His sudden coldness made her almost wish that she had not pulled away from his embrace. He had been almost gentle with her then. Now, he seemed to be angry with her again. She would give anything for him not to be angry anymore. She wiped her eyes as the tears finally stopped flowing.

Part of her wanted to refuse to tell him. He did not want to help her. Why should she let him? He wanted to prove a point, not keep her safe. Still, she was not that stupid. No matter what his reasons were, there was a chance that he could indeed help her. So why not let him. She sighed before giving her answer. She looked away from him and, again, focused all of her attention on rubbing the neck of the horse beneath her. "Jacob Wilkes." She answered in a quiet voice. Looking back up at him, she continued. "He's a Baron in Harleston." She shifted uncomfortably beneath his icy cold gaze. He looked so angry with her. "Stop looking at me like that." She begged.

Jacob Wilkes.Of Harleston. Wylyam stored the name in his memory, nodding his head at Jane slowly. Even more disgust for the man lined up within him upon hearing of his Native Duchy. He had always considered Harleston broing, stupidly pious and a land of idiots. Obviously, he had been right. Obviously, filth resided there under the mask of 'God-loving' people. Or maybe they-Jacob Wilkes-did love God, but were uncapable of treating other human beings with a remote dose of respect. Well, Wylyam also did not really have anay tendencies towards being respectful towards people surrounding him. But he at least openly stated he loved no one but himself. He did not waste words, but showed it in his actions.

Jane was different. That much had become clear to him over the last few minutes. There was little use in denying it, because every time he would try, it would spawn right back again, even more emphasized. He did not regard her in the same way as he did others. While they existed solely to experience his tantrums, disdainful smirks, changes of his mood and outbursts, Jane also existed to be even respected, protected(evidently)...he wasn't about to go as far and say 'cared for', but it had been very close to coming up. To sum it all up, Wylyam actually saw a reason for her existence. More among the lines of felt than saw. She was about the only person left he believed he would miss if they died the other day. That realization only climbed up to his mind now.

Now that he knew the name of Jane's fiancee, whom he already considered her ex-fiancee, his course of action seemed clear. He would escort Jane back to Whetherell Manor. Then, he would find out the current whereabouts of this Baron Wilkes, and go kill him. Not literally kill-almost kill, as he had said before. Or if it accidentally happened, if his sword accidentally slid...well, it would not really be a shame, now would it? After doing whatever to Jacob, making him suffer, Wylyam would go to Elspeth and tell her to ban him from the Duchy of Benthey for all times. Then, in the end, he would go to Warlord Cynster and inform him that his daughter is no longer engaged. When all of that was done, Wylyam would visit Jane and inform her of the events.

A rash plan, not calculating at all. Then again, when had Wylyam been calculating? Never.

"Stop looking at me like that." her voice reached his ears, and Wylyam became aware of the fact that his eyes were still set on her, and she had a crystal clear view of all the anger in there, the anger meant for Jacob Wilkes, not for her. She appeared uncomfortable, and her cheeks were red once more. This time, Wylyam could not have avoided a smirk; "Of all the ways to make a person suffer I have been imagining now, none of them are meant for you." But for that idiotic bastard of your EX-fiancee... This returned the dark look that had gone away for a couple of seconds back into his orbs.

He once again grabbed hold of the reins of her horse, and made him begin walking, together with his own one. Unless they wanted for Jane to catch her death out here, they had to get to Whetherell Manor rather soon. As the horses began to pick up a faster pace, Wylyam looked back at Jane. Suddenly, he wished for her to cover those bruises, for each and every time he would look at them, he would feel like breaking something(or better yet, someone). Only fater that reason came to him, he realized they also could not ride into Whetherell with the bruises on display. Only thinking of logic last, as always, he spoke; "Cover yourself with something. Unless you want the entire Duchy to know how that f***ing bastard of a Harleston deform--- He came to a sudden halt, realizing he had just nearly laucnhed into a series of swear words Jane would have most likely considered extremely offensive. He cursed himself for caring, since he never had before, and attempted to dispose of the memory of it all. He surely wasn't going to apologize.

"Cover yourself." He repeated, looking straight ahead. But his gaze just wouldn't remain there, it kept being drawn to the lady besides him. Wylyam turned his head back towards her, only to see she had not yet done as he had said, and to see all of her bruises once again. Gripping the reins of his horse tighter, he was unabel to prevent himself from at least expressing how livid he was through words, for the time being, "I'm going to find him. And I swear to God, I'll make him suffer so much he'll wish he was never born. If I happen to kill him, all the same, if not better. Then I'll go to Elspeth and have her ban him from Benthey, and then I'll go tell your father you're no longer engaged."

Only after saying that did he see he should not have revealed that to Jane. If he wanted to avenge her so much, it made it look as if he cared, really, really cared for her. And he did not want her, or anybody to think that. But he had never been the best at self-control. For the second time in the last two weeks, he sought for a way to amend words he found inappropriate to be said to Jane. This time, though, the fact he was livid prevented him from that.

When Wylyam smirked at her, Jane feared for a moment that she was going to be mocked again. However, his words surprised her. It was true, there was something quite sinister going on in that twisted mind of his. He was clearly livid, but not at her. She did not smile, but the corners of her lips twitched upwards for just an instant. She felt relieved now that someone else knew about what was plaguing her. She had been hiding it from everyone. Her own personal maid had not been allowed near her in days. Something about Wylyam knowing... it made her feel secure. That things were going to be okay.

As the pair of them moved beside one another, Jane kept her gaze on Kosta's neck. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she noticed that Wylyam kept sending looks her way. Finally, he spoke, ordering to cover himself. He then launched on one of his oaths. Jane was used to them by now. He would swear until she squirmed uncomfortably. This time, however, he stopped. He did not seem to be wanting to offend her. He was simply that angry.

When she was ordered to cover herself for the second time, her brain finally reached her hands. Springing to life, she realized how it would look for her to ride up to Whetherell in nothing more than a petticoat. She was soaking wet and her shoulders were bare for all to see. She reached in front of her to the damp pile of clothes resting over the whithers or her horse. She certainly could not redress herself. At least not while riding a horse. She would have to make do with what she had. Picking up her traveling cloak, she draped it over her shoulders before fastening the broach. It covered the bruises on her shoulders and upper arms. Pulling a pair of riding gloves onto her hands, she hid the bruises on her wrists. Finally, she replaced her sopping hair into the hood she had worn out for the day. This concealed the large bruise on the back of her neck. She adjusted her cloak so that it covered her collarbone. She looked rather ridiculous, but at least she was not half naked and bruised.

As Wylyam expressed what was going through his mind, Jane's eyes widened. He was serious. He was going to go hunt down Jacob and make him pay for what he had done to her. Was he... avenging her? She could understand him informing her family, or even having Elspeth ban him from Benthey. But going after the man himself? What was possessing him to do so. If it had been anyone else, she would have written it off as the Benthey way. An eye for an eye. They were an extremely Spartan-like culture. But Wylyam never did anything for another person. Why did he care so much? She gave him a curious look as they continued to ride. She finally began to breathe easy.

She worried about her family's reaction. They would be furious that they had stood by and allowed such a travesty to happen. They had all assumed Jacob Wilkes to be such an honorable man. Her brothers, especially Richard, would set off as soon as they knew. If Wylyam had not killed the man, they would most certainly finish him off. Her father. Well, after Ruth had died, he had vowed to take care of and protect his daughter. She was afraid that this would destroy him. She was worried for them. She was also worried for Wylyam. She feared that if he killed Wilkes, he would get himself into trouble. She did not want anything bad happening to Wylyam because of her. She feared that even his position would not be able to help him. Still, she knew better than to question his decisions. At least while he was worked up. She would speak to him when he had calmed a bit.

They rode in silence for a few moments. Jane kept glancing to Wylyam and found that he, too, was glancing at her. When Whetherell was in their sights, she turned to her friend. Placing a hand on his arm, she looked him in the eyes - her green ones searching his steel blue ones. "Thank you, Wylyam." She spoke quietly and earnestly.

Jane remained silent at his words, a solemn expression mixed with confusion settling onto her pretty face. He hoped he had not upset her yet again by his statements, and he prayed to heavens she hadn't considered his behavior out of ordinary. Since the heavesn had never been of much use to him, Wylyam did think it was quite safe to say she had noticed it. Scowling inwardly, he chose it was the best to simply pretend it had never occurred. Just as with the sudden stop he had put to his cursing before. Setting his mind on following the road to Whetherell, and on which horse to pick to head to wherever Jacob Wilkes was, Wylyam kept as silent as Jane.

However, that silence had not been as good of a thing. The talk would not have been either, most likely, for he had a premonition he would have said or done something inconistent to his usual self again, but the quietness and the constant glances the two of them exchanged had left him with nothing else to do than to ponder his behavior and feelings towards Jane. He had easily picked a horse, and dwelling on Wilkes had become unnecessary by now. Planning was of no use to Wylyam, since he would, when the time came, do as his impulses told him.

Feelings? He wasn't aware he had any feelings for Jane. I don't, he thought instinctively. She was the closest thing he had to a friend, but that did not mean he held any stronger emotions for her. Friendship, or anything close to it, had to sufficently explain his need to avenge her, protect her and aid her, just as his fury at the darned Jacob Wilkes. Friends did such things for each other, did they not?

But not Wylyam. He was different, he did not care for other people, only for himself, and he never stuck out to help someone in need. He had never done something like that before, not even for Jane, despite the amounts of time they had spent together. Over the time, that must have changed. That much was plain fact. If their dance at the ball was to be ignored, then Wylyam had the possibility of blaming it all on this happening. The core of the main problem, though, did lie in the prospect of the change occurring before this.

None of the possible solution appealed to him beacuse of one thing they had in common: they all pointed towards him having warm and caring feelings. That conept rather disgusted him. So he abandoned it almost immediately. No, that was not possible. On the ball, it must have been the wine, interwined with an attempt to shock Jane, and now, it was anger because...because...a Harlestoner dared to do such a thing to a Benthey woman, that happened to be his friend. Yes. Content, Wylyam looked up, only to see they were nearing Whetherell. He looked at Jane once more, to see she had put on her cloak, hood and riding gloves.

A grin made its way to his face for the second time since he'd walked upon her in that lake; "If it weren't for the bruises, I would've preferred you that way." He meant without the cloak. As a matter of fact, she could've freely taken of---

What? No. Not such thoughts. Not about Jane.

Just then, she faced him, and placed a hand on his arm. Wylyam's right eyebrow went up for a very small amount, astounded by two things. Number one, Jane was touching him in a tender way he could not remember she had used ever before. Number two, he strangely liked it. The same way he had liked holding her in an embrace before. She also appeared to be genuinely thanking him. Not that he did not deserve it, his egotistic part sounded. But that, too, felt...nice.

Blinking, he shook his head, forgetting to do so only inwardly. Looking back into her eyes, he began forming an adequate, snobby, cold retort. Instead, he caught himself saying; "Any time." In a pretty normal voice.

All the deductions concerning the way she seemingly affected him he had made during their ride fell into water. At this point, it began to dawn upon him that, God knew why, reason did not function when he was around Jane.

Not that reason had ever been a friend of his, truly.

But it was not ready to give up just yet. At least not his sense of reason, that mostly had nothing to do with common sense. Now, his anger had subsided a bit, and he was capalbe of covering up for his lapsus yet again.

"As long as it involves killing Harleston bastards. You might want to throw in a Dynham one, too, if you really want it to be any time."

After he said that, a part of him felt remorese, fearing of saddening Jane even further. But why would such a thing make her sad, when he was always like that?

Was it possible her demeanour had started changing, too?
NOT that his had.

The silence that overtook the pair of them was more than a bit unsettling. Jane would have given anything to know what was going on inside the head of the blonde male beside her. As much as he tried to keep his face from changing, it kept darkening and softening. Softening when he looked at Jane. She watched him for a long moment and considered asking him what he was thinking about. She quickly decided against it and turned her gaze to the road in front of them.

It was no use trying to get close to Wylyam. Jane had no idea how she had even gotten this far. The cynical young man refused to let anyone in. He kept everyone at an arm's length. Even her. She supposed that it came from some sort of inability to put his trust in other people, but she knew better than to suggest that. As they rode, Jane thought back to the past several days. Wylyam had slipped up quite a bit. He had revealed inner thoughts to her. He had almost let her in. Then he tended to cover it up with some sly comment. He wanted to make her think that everything was intentional, but she knew him better than that.

If it weren't for the bruises, I would've preferred you that way.

There it was. The sly cover up again. She offered a small smile, but it was clearly not genuine. The wheels kept spinning in her mind, trying so hard to figure out what made this young man tick. It then occurred to her that she was spending an extraordinary amount of time trying to decipher Wylyam Launcelyn. She forced her mind onto other topics. They were friends, yes, but that was not a good enough reason to spend so much time thinking of him. It was unnecessary.

Adam used to tease her about Wylyam. He was convinced that there were feelings that stretched beyond friendship there. He used to taunt her relentlessly. A swift kick in the shins had made him stop bringing it up. Still, Jane had wondered a bit about it. Wylyam was handsome, that much was easy to see. But she had never seen him that way. Perhaps she would if he did not keep her on the outside. If he ever let her close to him... who knows what would happen? But things like that no longer mattered. She did not know made him block her out. All that mattered was that he did... and there was nothing she could do about it.

As she thanked him, she met his gaze for the first time in several minutes. Again, another moment when he was so close to letting her in. Anytime. His voice was soft and rather genuine. She smiled for a moment and reluctantly removed her hand from his arm. She was not quite accustomed to reaching out and touching Wylyam, but she found she rather liked the feeling of his warm skin. She pulled away and looked further down the road once again. Perhaps Wylyam was not the only one with walls. She could not hold his gaze and had intentionally removed her hand. Though she had a feeling their reasons were different.

Wylyam had far too much pride. Too much of an ego. He would not let people close to him because it would make him look weak. Or at least that was what she supposed. She, on the other hand, was different. She was afraid. Afraid of becoming another notch on Wylyam's extremely notched belt. Afraid of him finding out her secrets and becoming disgusted by her. She hated her fears, but she hated his too.

And there it was. The unemotional quip to make it seem like he had never wasted any of his precious emotions on her. She met his gaze again, but did not smile at his light comment. "I'd actually rather this not happen again." She said softly, a small frown on her face. He had shut her out again.

"It won't happen again." He said, a gloomy security in his voice. If anything, he was going to make sure this never happened again. At least that it was not done by the same person. If anyone else was to try such a thing, they would have a vivid example of what would await them in the form of Jacob Wilkes. So, it was most likely they would refrain from any such attempts, unless they were in a hurry to reach their grave before their old age, or to spend the rest of their lives until the old age as crippled invalids. Maybe he would even let them choose...no, he would not give them such a privelge. They'd wait for their final hours without knowing what their fate was to be.

Apparently, the wish for revenge had nothing to do with the native Duchy of the ex-fiancee of Jane's. Had he been from Benthey's own court, Wylyam would've beaten the hell out of him with equivalent pleasure and vigor. Jane did not have to know that, though, did she? Wylyam could have just as well had her thinking he only was helping her because Wilkes came from Harleston. That was exactly what he was doing. However, he noticed he was partially wishing to tell her he minded terribly what Wilkes had done to her because he'd hurt her, Jane, not because of any other reasons. He wanted her to see him as her savior. Perhaps he would've, now that he gave it a better look, even preferred that to keeping true to his statement he had no emotions whatsoever for Jane. But he had said what he had said, and that matter was closed.

Whetherell Manor drew nearer and nearer. It had not passed a lot of time before they were riding into the courtyard. Thank God, not many people were outside because it had begun to rain, so they had avoided a lot of unnecessary questions and gawks at Jane's unusual attire. The few servants that were outside had stared, but as soon as Wylyam would look their way, they would hang their heads obediently in a sign of respect and defeat. Wylyam directed their horses towards the stables, where they were greeted by Augustus, the stable boy. Well, not exactly a boy, since he was in his early forties. As they entered, he looked at them wide-eyed, nearing them rapidly and opening his mouth, undoubtedly to ask a question. A deadly glare from Wylyam shot them right back.

Augustus took the horses, knowing what to do without any instructions. Not daring to even cast one last look at Jane, he left. Before that, Wylyam had helped Jane off her horse. He did not know why, since he had never done anything simillar for her. Then again, today he had done a lot of unusual things, what difference would another one make? Besides, Augustus' hands were so dirty he would not have let him touch his servant with them, not to mention his...friend.

He waited for Jane to steady in his arms, which were placed on her shoulders. Again he recalled how pleasant it felt to touch her. Even as she calmed, he found that he forgot to take his hands off her, keeping them there and asking; "I trust you'll be able to get to your chambers on your own." His intonation was as cold as snobby as ever, but strangely, he felt a sudden wish he had spoken more softly.