Chapter Three: The Green Dragoons - Officers and Gentlemen
"Thank you so much for letting us stay the night," Lyra took hold of the goodwife's hand and squeezed it gently. Mrs. Roberton and been kind and generous.
"It was my pleasure. It has been frightening out here, and the farm is neglected... Thank you for having your man chop all that firewood! With winter coming, I was afraid I would not have enough warmth."
"I wonder when the war will end..." Lyra mused as Arcam drove the cart around from the side of the house. "Your husband will be able to return to you when it is over. For now, perhaps you should go to Pembroke, and stay with the other families there? Safety in numbers."
"I have thought of it several times, believe me. Those Dragoons are wreaking havoc out there and it is only a matter of time before they come this way."
Eleanor sniffed. "The Green Dragoons are officers and gentleman," she said primly. "Three quarters of them are made up of your own colonial men."
"Traitors, the lot of them," the goodwife snapped. She had not gotten along with the British born governess, not at all. "Tories! They are not 'my own' colonial men. No, my own man is out there, fighting for freedom. And gentleman? Hardly that - I have heard all sorts of stories -"
"Exaggerations, the Ghost has told many of those lately, to discredit the Dragoons and the British army. Cornwallis has made it clear - if a soldier attacks, or rapes a woman, he is to be court marshaled - his life will end with a noose around his neck!"
"Tell that to the Coplands - who lost their farm just last week, and whose daughter was, indeed, raped. Tell that to Mr. Walters - he runs the apothecary in Pembroke - his daughter was raped recently also! Why in the world do you want to go to Charles Town," the woman asked Lyra. "Right into the Lion's maw!"
"I have business there," she said gently, though images of raped women and burned out farms where flooding her mind.
"Arcam!" Eleanor snapped. "Are you ready now? Where is Sally?"
"I am here, Mrs. Bryant," Sally appeared in the doorway, carrying Lyra's packed travel bag. The rest of her belongings had been left on the cart.
"Right then, at the rate we are traveling, we will be in Charles Town by the afternoon," Eleanor's voice was crisp. "The sooner gone, the sooner there. Thank you for the shelter, Mrs. Roberton. Most kind of you."
"You are welcome."
She had only been reunited with her Governess for a day, but already the woman's training came back to her. Lyra gave the goodwife a small curtsy, and glided to the steps of the front porch. It felt good having Mrs. Bryant's influence again, Lyra felt she might almost resemble Mrs. Charlotte Selton, whose baring was always regal and dignified.
The sound of thunder drew Lyra's attention.
The thunderous noise was getting closer. All four women, and Arcam, glanced toward the sound. They could hear them well before they could see them, men on horseback, at least one hundred, riding hard down the road that ran alongside the farmhouse. A banner rose from the group of men, but Lyra was perplexed, she had no idea what the banner represented.
Mrs. Roberton did, however. "Green Dragoons!" She shrieked. "Run!"
Suiting her words, the goodwife turned on her heels and ran, sprinting with deer like swiftness over the flat paddock and straight into the woods.
"Mrs. Bryant?" Lyra asked, turning to her former Governess with growing fright.
"Mrs. Roberton is quite right. They are wearing redcoats, they are Green Dragoons."
"Should we run?" Lyra turned back to the Green Dragoons baring down on them at break neck speed. "It is too late."
"And unnecessary in any case. You are a Loyalist, trying to make your way to Charles Town, remember? You do not have anything to fear from these soldiers, as I said most of them are your own Colonials. Their leader is one Colonel Tavington, a British Officer and a Gentleman."
"They call him the Butcher," Lyra said nervously, and Eleanor sniffed with disdain. Her manner was so calm, so confident, and Lyra found herself relaxing as the men drew closer. Some of them rode into the yard before the house, while others split off, galloping into the woods after the fleeing Patriot woman.
Lyra's fear returned, bile burned her throat - she could not see, but she heard the goodwife scream. Mrs. Roberton's words rattled in her skull - the apothecaries daughter, raped. The Copland's daughter, raped. Her eyes where wide and she swallowed hard, glancing at Eleanor once more for reassurance.
The Green Dragoons circled the house, and those in the yard dismounted to approach her. The one with badges indicating his rank as Colonel removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he strode up the steps toward her. Older than Sally, Lyra guessed he had twenty-eight years at least. An imposing man, tall, far taller than Lyra, with a regal, arrogant bearing. His cold pale blue eyes a stark contrast to his dark hair.
His boots made loud thuds on the wooden steps of the porch. His pale gaze held hers as he strode forward to stand before her. He loomed, his body ramrod straight, one arm looped behind his back.
Lyra clutched at her skirts, trying to steady her shaking hands. Sweat beaded her brow, but no matter how she tried, she could not pull her green gaze away from his cold, pale blue. She felt pinned, frozen by his stare alone. His eyes quickly darted over her, taking her in from head to toe, back up to her eyes.
"Colonel William Tavington, Green Dragoons," a husky drawl. "Your name?"
"Lyra Mathan," she whispered. She coughed and tried again, in a stronger tone. "Miss Lyra Mathan."
His cold eyes roamed over her again. She was accustomed to being stared at, as much as she detested it, but this man's gaze was disconcerting, it seemed to take her in completely, reveal all of her secrets.
"Are you going on a journey, Miss Mathan?" He eyed the cart, and Arcam.
"Ah, yes. I am going to Charles Town."
"Charles Town?" His eyes widened with surprise. "And what business does a young Patriot woman have, in Charles Town?"
"Miss Mathan is a Loyalist, Colonel Tavington," Eleanor snapped. "And her business is her own."
He turned his cold stare on the former Governess. "Indeed? A Loyalist. Not many of those left in these parts." His tone was dubious, clearly disbelieving. "Tell me, Miss Mathan. Where is the Ghost? What do you know of the rebels activities?"
Quite a lot, as it happened. Thomas Smith had been quite forthcoming about the rebels activities, where their camp was, the ever increasing number of Patriots flocking to join the militia's ranks - even some women had joined, fighting right alongside their husbands.
Of course, for Lyra to admit any of this, she would have to explain how she had learned of it. Tavington would discover that her stepfather was one of Benjamin Martin's own higher ranking Officers, a Captain in the rebel army. It was clear that he did not believe her a Loyalist, and visions of being taken hostage and raped whirled through her mind.
"I am sorry, my Lord," is that the correct address for a Colonel? Lyra had no idea. She continued nervously. "I do not know anything about the rebels or Benjamin Martin."
His face became hard as ice, frosty and chill. "Really. You know nothing about the rebels. And yet you know that Benjamin Martin is the Ghost."
He stared at her intently as she drew in a sharp breath. Eleanor shifted restlessly beside her, and Lyra shot her a quick glance. The older woman shook her head imperceptibly, willing the young girl to be silent, she had already said too much. Tavington had asked about the Ghost, not Benjamin Martin by name. Terror coursed through her as a vision flashed in her mind of Tavington holding her down, his eyes blazing above hers as pinned her to the ground and forced himself on her.
Uncertainty warred within her, her loyalties pushed to their limit. Lyra Mathan was a Loyalist but she had known the Martin family for a very long time. He had always been kind to her, and then of course, there was Gabriel... She had already mentioned Martin's name, however, and she had herself to protect.
"Yes, my Lord. I learned of it from a woman who had tended a rebel, who had been wounded in a skirmish."
Thomas Smith had been skewered in the thigh with a saber, and had made his way back to the farmhouse after being separated from the rest of his troop. Lyra herself had tended his wound.
Tavington tilted his chin, keeping his gaze was on her. A small smile played about his lips.
"Well well," he drawled. "We only learned the identity of the Ghost the day before yesterday. All this time, all we had to do was visit this farm..."
Lyra blinked uncertainly. She did not understand his meaning. She was wading deeply in undercurrents that could pull her under and drown her at any moment.
"How many lives do you think may have been saved, if you had been Loyal, and provided us with this information earlier? Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow.
"My Lord, I -" her voice was a whisper.
"She is Loyal, Sir," Eleanor repeated firmly and Lyra almost sagged with relief. "Miss Mathan comes from a Loyalist family, one of the few left in the area, and as she has told you, we are fleeing to the safety of Charles town."
"Really. A Loyalist who chose not to reveal the identity of the Ghost. Does not sound very loyal to me." His smile quirked his lips.
"My Lord, I am sorry. I did not think -" breathing heavily, her gaze imploring at the stern Colonel. "I did not know how -"
Fury flared over his face, leaning closer he whispered quietly, "The British Legion has had a very firm presence in these parts for months. You would have seen Officers pass your very home on a weekly basis in the last month alone. Tell me again how you 'did not know how.'"
"My Lord, please," Lyra choked back her terror. "I do not live here, this is not my farm!" Desperate now, the words poured from her. "I live on the other side of the Santee - with my maid, Sally. We are there alone most the the time and there is no British Legion there - no Redcoat presence! I could not have gotten word to any of you even if I had thought of it and -"
"Even if you had thought of it?" His top lip curled.
Lyra lowered her eyes and bowed her head, her chest heaved as she gasped for breath.
"Sir, you can not expect her to think like a soldier, she is only just turned eighteen!"
"Either she is a rebel who has revealed more than she meant to, in which case she will suffer the same fate as the other rebel women captured, or she is a Loyalist who failed her duty to the Crown!" Tavington snapped.
Turning on his heel, he commanded, "Fire the house, and destroy the livestock. Bring her."
"Wait!" Lyra cried with fear, stepping forward. Bring me where? What rebel women - Lord - what fate!
He turned back to her, eyebrows raised contemptuously.
"My Lord," she tried again. "I am sorry that I could not get word to -"
"Could not?" His piercing gaze silenced her. "By your own admission, you did not think of it. A Loyalist," he scoffed under his breath and glanced at a nearby Dragoon. "Bordon, how many times have you heard that? I, for one, have lost count."
"I also, Sir. As you said, she sounds more like a rebel who has revealed more than she should have. What of these others?" Bordon glanced at the other women, one of them a slave.
"Leave them." He said curtly.
"No, please - you don't understand -" Lyra took an unsteady step forward.
Tavington eyed her again, then commanded sharply, "find something to gag her with." Before turning and striding away.
She could not believe it – the Dragoon reached for her, and one came forward to push Eleanor back, the woman was protesting loudly. Sally was crying in earnest and Arcam watched from the cart, bewildered.
Lyra felt her world falling apart.
The soldier tried to push a wad of cloth into her mouth. She had never protected herself before, beyond putting her hands up to cover her face when Thomas beat her, and it surprised her utterly when she grabbed the soldier's arm and sunk her teeth into his gloved hand.
He bellowed with pain and snatched his hand back.
She had not even seen Colonel Tavington return – suddenly she was spun about and in a flash of agony she found herself on the ground staring up at him. He had sent her reeling with the back of his hand.
Eyes wide with fear, Lyra recoiled from his piercing glare. His face twisted with fury, he raised his arm back ready to strike her a second time. Instead, he eased his expression and knelt before her, gently trailing one gloved finger down the side of her cheek, studying her intently with his cold blue eyes.
With quick, sure movements, he unwound the white scarf encircling his neck, and roughly shoved it into her mouth, tying it around her head. She tried to push his arms away as he worked, but he was strong, and the Dragoon she had bitten grabbed her arms, pinning them down.
"Put her on the back of your horse, Captain Bordon." Colonel Tavington ordered coldly, and Bordon jerked her to her feet, leading her away.