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REBEL HEARTS



Chapter 6: ‘Definitely Confused!’


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Flashback, England, 1775 Spike’s POV


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

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

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

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

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

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


Present Day, South Carolina, 1778


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

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


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





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