Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not own The Patriot or its characters.
Miss Elizabeth Fairfax, who lived on over 3000 acres of property and whose blood was as blue as the King's, spent the entirety of her twentieth birthday vomiting over the deck of the HMS Neptune. After the entire contents of her stomach had been emptied, she grasped the railing for support and groaned down at the deep blue water. It had been a fine sight from shore, the majestic waves frothing and foaming to and fro, but Elizabeth had gained an entirely new perspective of the sea from the deck of her ship. Tangled tendrils of her light brown hair had escaped their scraggly ponytail and were blowing about her face, and she yanked them behind her ears without bothering to see if they had gotten in the way of the bile she'd been heaving overboard.
"Bloody hell," she stated eloquently down to the waves, squeezing her dark green eyes shut, "Bloody, bloody, bloody hell."
Cursing in and of itself was most gratifying, but she knew that the habit she had picked up during the 51 days of her journey would need to be promptly abandoned once her feet hit solid ground. Too bad. Elizabeth had heard plenty of cursing on the ship, swear words tossed together in combinations that she could have never thought up herself. It gave her a sordid sense of satisfaction to know that Lady Fairfax would have fainted dead away at the things uttered by her only child during the hellish sea voyage.
"Serves her right," Elizabeth thought to herself, straightening up to look dully out at the magnificent red sunset.
After so many days at sea, even the splendor of the evening's end was starting to lose its affect. Her whole body ached from unceremoniously evacuating the evening's meal, and though she possessed three changes of clothes in her second-class cabin, this particular set was starting to smell more than a little unpleasant due to catching some of her sick down its front. Elizabeth felt a large hand slap her on the back and she winced at the sting before turning around and arranging her features to appear less pained.
"Steady William," the owner of the voice, the kindly, middle-aged reverend said reassuringly, "It won't be a fortnight before we've reached our destination."
She grimaced and nodded, wiping her mouth on her hand and adjusting her brown breeches. From the beginning the man in front of her had been sympathetic to whom he thought was a quiet, reserved boy travelling alone to the colonies to join his older brother. Elizabeth felt guilty about her deception, though she pacified her conscience by reminding herself that if she'd stayed, she would have been served up on a silver platter to the unknown brute her parents had been plotting to marry her off to. At least in America she'd have a fresh start.
"Have a good night, sir," the girl replied in the lower-octave voice she'd practiced, and the reverend nodded his farewell as he continued to walk around the deck of the massive ship.
She leaned with her elbows propped against the railing, the sea at her back, and surveyed the sailing vessel with unseeing eyes. She allowed her thoughts to drift back in time, as they often did, and closed her eyes for a moment to escape the endless bobbing of the ship.
The fifteen-year-old shook her head, backing away from the man in front of her as she did so, and took a deep breath as she glanced through the open door at the shadows of the people still in attendance at her father's party. She longed to be dancing and laughing with her friends, not standing and listening to the worst news she'd gotten in ages. Silence reigned in the study and the fire crackling merrily in the hearth seemed to mock her. He'd wanted to tell her himself, but she should have seen it coming.
"How-how long will you be gone?" she asked, struggling to maintain her composure as she craned her neck to worriedly look up at the much taller man.
He shook his head; knelt down in front of her. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and had the posture of a gentleman; his icy blue eyes were steadfast as they looked into hers.
"A very long time, I'm afraid," he replied quietly, and she noted with some sadness that there was no regret in his tone, "I must do my duty to the crown."
Duty. He'd spoken endlessly of it, especially after being promoted.
"Colonel Tavington," the young girl continued, her voice nearly breaking, "I"—
"One day," he said, cutting her off as he knelt in front of her, "When this nasty business is through, I will come back and fill your head with more of those stories you love hearing so much, hm? I'll have so many tales to tell about the Dragoons that even you'll grow tired of them."
He grinned up at Elizabeth and she managed a shaky smile in return, though it was quick to fade.
"Colonel, I just...I feel as if I'll never see you again. What's to become of me without you here?"
Her breathing quickened and to Elizabeth's mortification tears began smarting at the corners of her eyes. She had taken her godfather for granted all these years. He was a constant in her life—she may not have seen him every day or even every month in a completely steady pattern, but Elizabeth had counted on his presence, had felt safe knowing that the man who taught her how to ride a horse and who counted her parents as friends was always in the next estate over.
"You'll be fine, of course," he replied matter-of-factly, "And when I come back, why, you might even be married to a Duke or a Baron by then, and you can introduce me to your husband."
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose and shook her head. She didn't want to be married. She wanted to ride her horses and listen to her godfather's clever stories, not exchange vows and sleep in the same bed as someone else and look after children. The Colonel sighed and glanced down for a moment. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew his hand to reveal a thin gold chain with a small, oval locket.
"My mother was given this when she was a girl," Colonel Tavington said, holding out the locket toward Elizabeth, who tentatively reached forward to take it.
"I can't," Elizabeth said quietly, holding in her palm and thinking of his forced, stoic countenance at Lady Tavington's funeral, "I just"—
"Now, your own mother, no doubt, has rightly told you that it is improper for a young lady to accept presents from men," he continued, interrupting her for a second time, "But I want you to make an exception and hold onto this for me. Keep it safe until I return."
He curled her fingers around the locket. Elizabeth swallowed hard to keep her tears from spilling over as she stared down at him and he continued kneeling in front of her.
"That necklace belonged to the bravest woman I ever knew. Promise me you'll always be just as brave as she was, Elizabeth."
Lady Fairfax's daughter took several shaky breaths, refusing to cry in front of him. She squared her shoulders and nodded. He smiled again, placing one hand on her shoulder.
"I will see you again," Elizabeth's godfather said seriously, giving her upper arm a light, affectionate squeeze as he stood up and walked out through the party, vanishing in the crowd.
Author's Note: This is the first chapter of many. Feedback is always appreciated, and constructive criticism is very much needed. I don't claim to be an expert on the customs of the eighteenth century so please forgive my occasional slip/use of modern jargon, and if you see any glaring oversights point them out and I will definitely re-write the chapter to fix them. Tavington may seem out of character, but the only reason I can even begin to think he has a soft-ish side is because of the deleted scene "Heart of a Villain" (look it up on youtube) and I promise not to let that overtake his general badassery in future chapters. Also, please ignore ALL of my other stories, as they kind of suck and I am in the process of revising them to suck…less.