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REBEL HEARTS


Chapter 4: ‘Does This Suit You?’


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Flashback, Boston 1775 Spike’s POV


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


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

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


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





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