Need
"I need you, Natasha."
She never expected those words to come from his mouth. This man, the one she hates above all others, the man who has taken her freedom, claiming to need her.
Doing her best to disguise it, she analyzes his expression, but her lack of familiarity sets her at a distinct disadvantage.
Her face must have hinted at her disbelief. He continues, "You are a beautiful, strong, intelligent, young woman. All of which are attributes befitting a partner for someone of my standing."
… no, that didn't clear anything up. But she is done waiting for his explanation.
"I'm not sure what you think I will be helping you with, my lord, but perhaps I haven't made my position clear. I would rather die than willingly help you succeed in any of what you might deem 'worthy pursuits.'"
Maybe that will goad him into speaking more plainly. Or, if she's lucky, he might just execute her on the spot for being so disrespectful of his station, so high above her own.
"Ah, but then you wouldn't have the chance to earn the one thing you most desire." His golden hair and bright blue eyes might make him seem innocent to an outsider, but she knows there's no truth to the image.
"The only thing left that means anything to me is the one thing I will never get. You have seen to that quite thoroughly." She sneers at the suggestion, losing control of her carefully constructed mask of neutrality at the notion that she would ever desire something more than her freedom.
She knows better than to get her hopes up. Men of his ilk tend to dangle such promises in people's faces with no intention to ever follow through. She had learned that the hard way. Never again would she believe anything from the mouth of a noble.
"I'm not sure why you have chosen to hate me so much. Nothing I have ever done has been to your detriment."
The fact that he spoke an unfortunate truth angered her all the more. Her family's deaths were his fault, but not directly. They had been casualties of a battle he had been commanding. Sad, but not considered a terrible tragedy in the grand scheme of things.
Only to her.
When faced with the choice to turn a blind eye to the poor girl, alone and destitute, and let her die along with them, she had been spared. Although, as she was brought on as another slave in his household, brought in using chains, she remains unconvinced that 'being spared' had counted for much.
Seeing her lack of reaction and taking it for uncertainty, he presses. "Have I ever treated you unfairly? Have I ever let you be ill and go untreated, or wounded and uncared for? Have you ever gone hungry or thirsty by my own hand? Have you suffered any abuses under my roof? If so, please, speak plainly."
Natasha bites her tongue. She could rail against him all evening and it wouldn't change anything.
As she has no home and no possessions to her name, she has been forced to live in the manor with the Bartons, although in the slave quarters, far from any of their chambers, and rely on their goodwill to provide for her every need: boarding, food, clothes, her entire life belonged to the Bartons and had for years. And when his parents were killed not long after she lost her own family, the responsibility had fallen to Clint instead.
She knows she's better off than some. She has seen others, even occasional paid servants accompanying their master's on their travels, dingy clothes, hunger palpable on their faces, children with barely enough energy to play. It all broke her heart.
None of that would be allowed to stand at the Barton estate. But the fact of the matter remains, she is indebted to the people here and has been for years, so now there's no escape for her.
It's a nice prison, but a prison nonetheless.
"No, my lord. Nothing." She has to refrain from gritting her teeth as the words pass her lips.
"Then what is it you oppose so strongly you would rather die? Because, I must admit, I have heard the stories of your resistance to conform to life here since… well, the day you arrived, really." He's frowning to himself, his honest confusion showing through: a notch in his usually indifferent armor, as though truly concerned with why she's so unhappy. "What makes you so desperate to escape these walls?"
Is that why you picked me? You thought I would be easy to manipulate? That you could just paint a pretty picture of my freedom and I would fall at your feet to get it?
She wants to say it. Wants to say every word screaming out in her mind that this man is cruel and not to be trusted. Just like she had been taught all her life, her family's inherent distrust for the nobility running deep, and not without reason, in her veins.
Though try as she might, she can't come up with anything this particular Barton had done to her personally to perpetuate it. So what reason could she give him?
"Walls are still walls, no matter how pretty the pattern. My Lord."
She watches as the words settle in his mind, understanding slowly seeping in. Eventually, he lets out a small chuckle, hand coming up to rub his chin just below his lips. "You aren't displeased here then. You are displeased because you can go nowhere else."
Natasha tempers her immediate reaction of either scoffing or rolling her eyes, because of course he would find a way that he was not to blame for her unhappiness. And it was all done without considering how he would like it if the situation were reversed. If he were unable to escape the constant reminder of his inability to control his own life.
Instead, she lowers her gaze as is expected of a lowly slave in the presence of their master, and in a reasonable fashion she's relatively proud of herself for achieving, she asks, "How many birds do you know who welcome their cages?"
Barton appears to actually think on her words. Although she finds, with a quick peek snuck up at him, a fire lit behind his eyes, as though this was a better outcome than he could've hoped for.
Eventually coming to some conclusion, he smiles. It looks unnervingly soft, as is his voice when he speaks.
"You've not made any attempt to show me proper respect before so far, don't start now. Not on my account." Stepping away from the wall he had been leaning on, he crosses the room, coming to a stop halfway to her.
Raising her chin so she can look him in the eye, she does her best to seal off her expression, forcing her jaw to relax and her eyes to remain neutral. Her red hair and pale skin have always been a detriment to hiding her emotions, but over the years she has gotten better and better at controlling it. Now she only has to make it out of the room before that tenuous hold wears off.
"Well? Come forward. You have given no indication you fear me, don't be shy now."
Slowly but purposefully, she strides toward him. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she watches as delight flickers behind them. For the first time, she takes notice of the man standing in the shadows of the room.
He had moved; that's what had caught her attention. His hand is gripped around the handle of his sword, as though readying to draw it and defend his master should the need arise.
Of course, she knows of the man. Master Barton is rarely seen without him. Mister Barnes, if she isn't mistaken. The loyal bodyguard, or manservant, or whatever title he's claiming that day. She knows he has run the gamut. He'd been at Barton's side since before his parents died, since before he had inherited the Earldom.
Childhood friends, was the story she had heard. Friends, separated by Barton's title and Barnes's lack of one. Clearly that hadn't stopped Clint, finding a loophole or workaround that had allowed him to appoint his dearest friend to work as his personal shadow.
She comes to a stop in front of her master, and, rather than giving the customary head bow, raises her chin even higher, maintaining eye contact despite the extra head of height he had on her.
Many would consider it impolite to be so forward with one's master, but she had been told once already not to shy away from him and she would be damned if she let him take away what little power that gave her.
Raising her eyebrows expectantly at him, she sees Barnes in the background shift his gaze back to Barton, the wisps of his hair falling into his eyes in a way that would be charming if he didn't look so menacing.
"As I said before, I need you." Clint studies her as he says it. Natasha still refuses to react until she has more information. "There are certain expectations placed on me due to my title and status within the nobility. As I'm sure you are aware."
Natasha nods once. While it is a mystery what all the duties of the nobility entail, there are certain things that go without saying. She gets a sinking feeling in her gut as the most obvious crosses her mind.
There are only so many things a noble could need of a slave of the opposite gender. None of them bode well for her.
She swallows down the shock of fear that brings her and focuses back on the present.
"I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that we are alone in the room. Save for Mister Barnes, of course." He gestures behind himself, to the man still standing in the shadows. "That is because, unfortunate as it may be, no one else can know of this conversation."
His eyes were carrying some deeper meaning, imploring, begging Natasha to understand.
She does. The servants aren't to be trusted with this arrangement, whatever it is he is about to propose.
"Of course, My Lord." Maintaining her facade of indifference is becoming increasingly difficult now, due to an unfortunate mix of fear and curiosity.
A deep sigh follows, like he had been expecting her to be more difficult.
Good. If he is asking a favor of her, he needs to at least know who he's jumping into bed with.
Master Barton clears his throat and begins, jumping right into the deep end. "I am in need of a wife."