Chapter I
Beatrix
"Colonel, I do not understand why we're going to Pembroke so early in the morning. That last battle was long and painful, I'd hoped the Lord General would grant at least half a day."
Tavington and Bordon, with another eight Dragoons made their way on horseback to the village. Tavington had not divulged the details of Cornwallis' task, there could be no unnecessary gossip.
"There will be time for amusement, never fear, but first and foremost we have our duty. If that is where Cornwallis needs us, then that's where we go."
"Yes, Sir."
That village was crowded with dirty peasants. Simple, very far from English refinements.
Tavington had always hated America, when he learned of his transfer to the colonies he had not been cheered at all.
He knew there was work to be done on those inept and ignorant people. He knew it, and that was not what bothered him. But these settlers were barbaric people, backward, enriched from the slave trade.
England... How he missed It!
It had been a blow to the heart for William, having to abandon his rainy London. He loved the English avant-garde, its metropolis, the Biggest Empire in the World. He could not even compare the English fineness with the crude Americas, they were immeasurable. Unfortunately, he was there until King George III's army had beaten the faded rebel army made up of farmers with pitchforks.
The people of Pembroke gathered around and stared at the Green Dragoons. Tavington could feel their fear.
Let the dance begin.
"People of Pembroke," Bordon called out the usual announcement, that would draw attention to the Dragoons. "We came here to talk to you."
"Who are you?" An insolent young woman was moving through the milling crowd.
The more courageous, or perhaps I should say, the only one that showed a little courage to open her mouth. She pushed past people to come nearer to the horses, the better to speak with the Dragoons. She looked to Bordon, assuming he was the leader.
"The important question is who am I, sweetness. Please, forgive the intrusion. My name is Tavington, Colonel William Tavington."
The woman's composed expression slipped slightly at Tavington's words. Her eyes turned to the Colonel who finally had the opportunity to gaze at the girl's face.
" 'The Butcher' ?" She asked with tension.
"You have heard of me I see, excellent!" Tavington smiled maliciously.
Her eyes almost gave way, the fear was pushing out, but she resisted because she didn't want to be weak.
"As Captain Bordon said, we have come here to address the village. We are searching for a person, a woman to be precise, her name is Samantha Kohl. So that comes along."
She continued to gaze at him with mocking arrogance, Tavington wondered if she believed herself superior to him.
"What do you want with my mother?" She asked with a cocked eyebrow.
What fate, who would have thought it? Tavington's smile broadened.
"Samantha Kohl is your mother? Well then bring her here, slave."
Her dark brown eyes held his, clearly angered by his insult.
"Slave? I am no slave to anyone, let alone a lousy Englishman." Her pesky eyes were challenging.
Does she really believe herself to be stronger? Perhaps a demonstration of English force was in order. Tavington pulled his pistol and aimed it straight at the middle of her forehead. From only a foot away, it would be an easy shot even for an inexperienced shooter.
"Would you like to see how easily I can make you my slave, bitch? Tell me where that bitch of your mother is, now. Unless you want a bullet in your head."
The woman wavered with fear and uncertainty. Her mother had always said that sooner or later they would come for her, but she had never explained why. What did this man want to do with her?
What a terrible situation! She could not tell the Dragoons where her mother was, what if they did something to hurt her? No, she just could not.
"I, I..." The young woman hesitated.
"Here I am, I am the woman you want. I'm Samantha Kohl."
Her mother came forward to stand beside her, drawing the brutal Tavington's attention.
The young woman stared at her mother with surprise, to see her showing such courage. The older woman had always been like a ghost, wandering the house, talking to her only when necessary, as if the mere sight of her daughter might upset her.
Her mother had never said so explicitly, but the young woman understood. They never spoke of her real father, for all she knew, he could be dead or he could be off around the world enjoying his life.
Why had he never sought her out? Why had he never stopped by her door, to visit her?
Every birthday, for as long as she could remember, she would wait at her window, watching, in the hope that her father would come to her to extend his best wishes. But she had waited in vain, and after twenty-three birthdays she had become accustomed to his absence. Remembering the past hurt her, she was aware of how it impacted her present and would probably impact her future.
And her mother what had she done about it? Nothing.
She had not been a bad mother, though had not been she particularly caring, either. No scolding, yet no praises.
She had been indifferent.
Her mother had always been that way toward her and it had hurt her terribly. She could never bring herself to tell her mother how she felt, because she saw the other as a leaf in autumn, dry and brittle, ready to fall at any moment. She had been left to grow on her own, without landmarks and without that maternal lantern to illuminate the darkness of life.
Alone.
Not many friends and the few she have could not understand her. No one could understand the pain she felt inside, none of them had been abandoned by their parents and so were unable to empathize. She did not fit in easily with the typical colonial families of Pembroke, whose lives seemed so perfect. Mothers and fathers who loved each other, adorable children and humble slaves.
Perfect, almost fake, families that on the surface appeared be a dream and then turned out to be a hotbed of intrigue, betrayal, jealousy and lies.
She did not want to be like them, she wanted something real, something carnal. As she always did in such moments, she came to ponder another existential question.
Love.
Oh l'amour, l'amour opium for poets.
She had never been in love, at least not as she had always thought of it.
Her companions had many admirers. They drew young men to them with pretty smiles and false promises, for the object of their desire was not the admirer, but the act of conquest itself. Once they conquered the young suitor, once they had the boys regard, they throw them into the abyss of love for deceiving boys made them feel powerful, as goddesses.
It was odd to her, her companions behaved as silly girls! She was different, she did not want something fleeting, she was looking for something solid, something that would never go away.
A rod that would support her not only in the glorious moments, but also in the darkest moments of life.
She was neither a girl of easy virtue, nor a prude. She was virgin, but not because some stupid religion declared women must be chaste until marriage.
None of this.
She wanted the passion, the heat, the flesh that burns up to melt. She wanted something that consumed her inside, that devoured her. She had read Plato's Symposium and had become enchanted. Ever since, she had wanted to find love, not for a mere whim, she wanted to find her other half. She wanted to join with her half and only then would she finally be free.
Tavington's cold gaze drew her out of her introspection. She felt him staring, watching, analyzing her.
His eyes on hers, ice against storm.
She had traveled mentally, reliving her life, without feeling his eyes on her.
Those eyes.
Cold, calculating..ice.
If it was not for the man himself, she could have found those eyes fascinating. Who knew how many women he had drawn in with his handsome demeanor. As soon as she began to struggle to pull her gaze from his, Tavington changed his target.
She had only enough time to turn her head to see Tavington raise the gun at her mother and said without emotion:
She had only enough time to turn her head, when Tavington raised his pistol a second time, aiming it at her mother. He said without emotion:
"Samantha Kohl. We rushed all this way just for you, and you've saved us all the trouble of burning these insignificant houses to find you."
"Here I am. Tell me, what do you want from me?"
With an evil grin Tavington spat his death sentence:
"General Cornwallis sends you his greetings."
And just like that, Tavington shot and killed the young woman's mother.
At the precise moment the bullet pierced her forehead, her body fell to the ground.
Dead.
She was dead.
The woman could only stare, shocked. Dazed. Why? What had her mother done? Too many unanswered questions.
"Go back to your..chores. The show is over."
No one said a word. No one lifted a finger to protest. Everyone turned to go about their business.
The young woman, however - she could not move.
Seeing her mother's dead body, covered with blood... It was obscene.
"Not you, you do not go anywhere."
Tavington climbed down from his horse and approached her. He was tall, not too much, but definitely taller than her.
His walk reflected his way of dressing, the embodiment of his station.
"Was it not enough for you to kill my mother, do you need to complete the family picture? You are a fucking bastard -"
She was cut short by his resounding slap. Her skin grew hot, the slap made her cheek glow bright red. It stung like fire and she stared at him with shock, no one had ever raised their hand to her before.
"You will come to understand that for me, the discipline is of utmost importance. I allow no one to disrespect me and I will not make allowances for a sloppy peasant."
"What do you want from me?" She asked nervously, sensing he was not through with her.
"What do I want from you, mmh?" His eyes took her in from head to toe, appraising her. "Something tells me that my little lesson has not discouraged you, you naughty girl. I don't have to spank you, do I?"
His fingers circled her cheek, feeling her smooth skin. His dirty hands on her made her feel sick, though she could not deny the delicacy of his touch.
"Do you think you can do anything you wish simply because, at this moment, you are superior?"
"Tsk, Tsk. Here we are, still far from the respect you owe me, sweetheart," his condescending tone shifted to one of command. "Get on the horse."
In that moment, her world collapsed. Her mother lay dead on the ground and she wanted to take her body away, bury her!
"H-horse? I do not understand Colonel, why?"
"How many questions, wild? All you need to know for now is that I have work for you. You're lucky, we have a shortage of staff at the Fort and we need fresh labor."
His chuckle chorused by the other soldiers. They laughed at something only they had understood.
"I am not going to come, I have everything I need, right here, I do not need to work at the Fort."
Somehow she did not think Tavington would let her go so easily.
"The choice is yours. You'll come by hook or by crook. If I were in your shoes I would choose the latter. So which is it to be? You will be at the Fort either way, though the manner of your arrival depends entirely on you."
He moved closer and closer to her, intimidating.
"You are a despicable man, Tavington. Do you enjoy in hurting others, you really need to do this?"
He did not seem offended by her words, indeed they swelled his chest.
"I believe that you and I will have a wonderful time together." Then he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly toward the horse. "Now, now. Be a good girl, get yourself on the horse. Do not waste any more time."
She climbed up and as expected the Colonel mounted behind her. It was amazing how he could mount with such sophistication. He simply ascended, took the reins and spurred his horse, and with a wave of his hand, he signaled the other soldiers to do the same.
His body was pressed tight to hers and she could feel his sex against her bottom, making her feel something she would rather not have felt.
Their two bodies were close, very close.
She felt his breath on her neck, hot air that tickled and her body reacted with a will of its own. Chills shot through her, her hairs stood on end, as if she suddenly felt cold.
Tavington smiled, sensing the effect that he had on her. He leaned forward, his mouth close to her ear.
"Hey, wild, you haven't told me your name yet."
"Why? Do you really care to know?"
"No, but I have to know what to call you, to get your attention. Unless you like me calling you wild."
His mouth brushed her ear, making it slightly damp as he caressed her with his lips.
"Rebel..." He murmured.
His teeth nipped her neck gently, the sensitive part under her ear.
"Rough peasant..."
He held the reins with one hand, his free hand reached down to lift her slightly crumpled skirts, revealing her leg - little by little. His hand moved up higher and higher, her skin tingled from his lascivious touch.
"Bitch..."
No, this was too much.
His stroke was halted by her hand, she removed his unwanted fingers from her thigh and lowered her skirts down again.
"Beatrix. My name is Beatrix. It is the variant of Beatrice, my mom has always been a bit strange."
He drew away from her, returning to his former position, proud as usual.
"Beatrix? It is an unusual name for a colonial and I've seen settlers. Your name suggests to me that you must have a bad temper. As a bad kitten."
His voice, his words, but she could not allow him to judge her.
"I guess that would satisfy your erotic dreams, Colonel. You would like to."
"Dreams, you say? I do not need dreams, I'm a pragmatist Beatrix, I live in certainty. I do not make castles in my mind, if I want something I take it and unceremoniously."
"The More and more I talk to you, the more and more I hate you, Tavington. What do you really want from me? I doubt it has anything to do with my mother."
"No, let your mother lie among the dead. I need you, like I said before, at the Fort..."
Yes of course, she thought to herself. They needed a serving girl at the Fort...
"What luck for me, Colonel. Did you kill a serving girl by mistake? Or maybe she killed herself rather than see you again?"
There it was again, the evil grin that made her hairs stand on end.
"Who said anything about a serving girl? I need more from you, my sweetness. Something more... useful to everyone."
"Useful? What am I supposed to do exactly, Colonel?"
"How many questions, sweetheart? You'll find out very soon. I would not want to spoil the surprise."
N/A
I want to thank Francine, as usual, for helping me in the translation. ^^