Thanks for the great reviews and the follows...I really appreciate it. It makes me feel like I could build my own sand box rather than live and play in someone else's all the time.

It had been three days since Margaret had been kidnapped while foraging in the woods.

When she'd first come out of the black abyss of unconsciousness she'd tried to fight her bonds, but the pain was too great. She'd been unable to move or try to get out of the thick rope binds because of her injured wrist. She had tasted blood in her mouth and had struggled to see what was around her, but darkness had fallen and she was only able to see the twilight blue of the early evening sky and the silhouette of sycamore and yellow pine trees.

When morning came, she'd been hauled roughly to her feet by one of the rebels and the binds that joined her hands had been severed. She was allowed little privacy to relieve herself and she was too weak and disoriented to try to run. Her head pounded with every step she took, and without knowing where she was, she could not run away. She tried to see something, anything, of where she was, but there was nothing to see but swamps. No discerning landmarks at all; just an endless expanse of black swamp. She gingerly touched the side of her head where she'd been struck and hissed when she found the large knot at her temple. No wonder her head pounded as if a blacksmith were pounding an anvil inside her skull. Her guard grabbed hold of her arm and forced her to move quickly through the tall grasses and puddles towards an elevated rise. In the early light, there was little to see and once she'd been dragged back to where she'd spent the night, a burlap sack was placed over her head. Slowly, through this first day, she felt the sun beat down on her through the thin fabric of her dress. She saw nothing and heard no one. She wondered if she had been abandoned. She shouted a few times for help, but her head rang with the effort and she quickly gave up. When night fell, her hood was removed and she was given a chunk of hard corn bread and rancid salt pork and a small cup of brackish water to wash it down. She was allowed to relieve herself again after dark and then found herself bound and in the same place she'd sat all day.

The night that passed was long and cold. All day the sun had seeped into her and she'd spent the day sweating beneath it. Now, in the chill of the night, the sweat had cooled against her skin and she was unable to grasp her arms or huddle into her own embrace. She didn't sleep much at all that night.

The next day went much the same. The only sound to penetrate her sensory deprived world was the sound of birds chirping in the trees around her and the heated, hushed arguments of her captors. Beneath the smell of men and sweat, she could smell the swamp. But this information did not help her in the slightest.

That evening, late in the night, she heard someone approach where she lay and haul her to her feet roughly. She was dragged some distance and then forced to sit on a log. Firelight flickered through the weave in the burlap sack and she sighed as the warmth of the fire eased through her dress.

"You will look into the fire the entire time I am talking to you. Nowhere else. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Margaret answered. The sack was pulled roughly from her head and she tried to avert her eyes as the light from the fire burned into them. Someone grasped her hair from behind and forced her to face the fire.

"What's your name?"

"Margueritte St. Claire."

"Francais?" The voice was different, heavy with a French accent.

"Non." Margaret answered. "Ma mère était."

"St. Claire….I recognize that name." Margaret wanted to glance at the speaker, but dared not move her eyes from the fire. "Why do I know that name?"

"My mother was a mid-wife for many years." Margaret swallowed hard and rambled on. "She and my father lived in the swamps. She nursed the women of the swamps and surrounding villages through their birthings…."

"Vivienne." Margaret wanted to see the speaker who knew her mother, but did as she was bid lest she be struck…or worse. She nodded without taking her eyes from the flames. "She was a good woman."

Words passed angrily around the fire but quickly came to a halt.

The Frenchman chimed in again, his words angry. "Her mother might have been a good French woman, but her daughter has no such redeeming qualities."

"Why are you helping the British?" The first man asked again.

"My Mother married a man…had children by him. His family was threatened by the dragoons….I offered myself up to save my mother's children." Margaret felt a tear slide unbidden from the corner of her eye.

"John Miller."

"You know him? Is he safe?! What of the children? Where are they? Are they still at the farm?" Margaret could not stop the flow of questions as they came to mind, nor the instinct to look across the fire at the man who might know of the whereabouts of her family.

"No more questions!" The man who had been standing nearest her stepped forward and cuffed her, hard enough to knock her from the log she'd been sitting on and onto the ground. "Keep your eyes on the fire or you'll get more of that."

"Step away from her now." Margaret lay still as she heard the distinctive click of a pistol being cocked. "Step back." Someone lifted Margaret back to a seated position, her hands trapped between her back and the log she'd been sitting on. The man who had struck her was moving away from the fire lit circle and into the darkness beyond, the sound of the underbrush the only sign of where he'd gone.

"Are you alright?" Margaret wanted to glare at the questioner; to laugh in his face at the absurdity of his question. "You were told to keep your eyes on the fire. You disobeyed, but he shouldn't have hit you like that. Are you alright?"

"As well as can be expected." Margaret answered quietly. Her eyes closed as she stared at her skirt. She let her tongue touch the cut at the corner of her mouth that was bleeding anew. God she must look a mess…..

"Why would the dragoons accept you into their fold? What were you doing for them?"

"I was a scout for them. I showed them some of the old trails, how to get through the swamps." She swallowed. "I work mostly in the hospital now though."

"You also spy." Another voice said softly.

"No!" Margaret closed her eyes against the smoke as the wind shifted. "It wasn't spying." Margaret tried to think back on what Tavington had called it when she herself had called it spying. "I was gathering information…." She said weakly, remembering her own reaction to that phrase. "If I didn't, Tavington would have hurt my family…."

"Your actions let good men die. Do you think you should go un-punished?" The Frenchman asked.

"I did nothing wrong!" Margaret shouted. "Vigilante justice will get this country nowhere."

"Then you aren't even a little repentant?" Margaret didn't respond. Of course she felt guilty for what had happened at the inn, but to admit so would admit that she was guilty of committing a crime. She felt deep in her heart that she had committed no crime. She had merely provided information to the dragoons who may or may not have murdered the rebels.

"I committed no crime for which to be repentant. I merely turned in those who were committing treason against the King." Margaret answered softly. Silence descended, the sound of wood popping in the fire the only noise other than those of the evening swamp birds.

"You have been tried." The first man finally said. "We have heard what you had to say. Based on what we know to be true, you will be punished for the crimes you committed against us." The hood was placed back over her head and she was thrown to the ground far from the fire, forced to listen to the hushed whispers of the men who judged her as they plotted out her punishment. Lying on the cold hard ground, Margaret cried quietly. Would they kill her? Would she be killed by these men who perceived some strange crime against them? She pulled at the bonds again in the darkness, trying to get her left wrist out of the binds but eventually fell asleep, too exhausted and sore to struggle any further.

The third day had gone the same as the first. Silence engulfed Margaret's world and she again feared she'd been abandoned while still trussed and unable to fend for herself. Perhaps her punishment was to be starved to death and left to nature's mercy. She screamed for help as loud as she could. Hoping to hear someone looking for her, she waited for some time between each shout. Soon her head hurt and her mouth went dry, but there was no rescue. As the sun eased down, her captors returned, fed her, allowed her to relieve herself and then bound her tighter than ever and left her alone all night to wonder at what her punishment might be.

And there she lay still, on this, the fourth day of her captivity. She lay on the ground counting off the events of the days that had gone by and organized the information in her mind. Perhaps she would be permitted to live. Maybe they intended only to scare her…or brand her for her transgressions. That wouldn't be so bad. She could live; maybe she'd even be released to her stepfather. She was engrossed in hopeful thoughts, thoughts of being reunited with her mother's children and a happy homecoming when the hood was abruptly yanked from her head. She blinked into the bright morning sun and shied away from the hands that reached for her, pulling her upright and roughly propelling her towards others, whose greedy hands reached and grappled for her. She fell to the ground when one of the men stepped aside, failing to support her has they spun her around a circle of them. Her legs felt as if a thousand spiders were biting up and down them, so long had she been lying in a crumpled heap upon the ground. She tried to wiggle her toes or move her feet, but could barely move. She squinted up and tried to push away from the dirty rebels that reached out towards where she lay in a heap upon the ground.

"Let's have that pretty dress." One of them growled, his crooked, dirty teeth revealed as he grinned at her. He hauled her to her feet, holding her by her shoulders so his companion could work at the laces at her back. Something in Margaret snapped and she was filled with new energy. Margaret fought back, screeching and fighting. She tried to twist away from her captors; tried to escape the man that was undressing her. She saw a partial wall that seemed to lead nowhere. She heard shuffling on the other side of it, and saw a shadow move across the flag stones that covered the little island. There was a desk, and candelabras on the other side of the wall, as well as large trunks.

Flagstones, a wall, furnishings…..

"Help me….please, help me!" Margaret shouted to the person on the other side of the wall. Perhaps it was another rebel; maybe it was someone else. How was she to know? She was desperate to try anything. She flicked her gaze back to the man in front of her. "Don't do this...please." She begged. "Please don't do this…whatever you're planning for me…" She hadn't ever begged the dragoons...not even for information on her family. Why was she begging these...ruffians? But then, she'd never felt this level of fear in her time with the dragoons. Certainly she'd been afraid in her first few months, but this….this was terror of a whole new kind. Her dress loosened around her shoulders, the man behind her working quickly to ease it down her arms.

"We'll need to untie her." He said. Yes! If her hands were free, perhaps she could fight back. She could get away. "Hold her still." The ropes that bound her wrists snapped free.

Margaret moved quickly in spite of the pain that raced up and down her arms. Even though the other man still held her shoulders, she brought her hand swiftly up between them in a move she'd seen only in drunken brawls at the fort and thrust the heel of her hand into his nose. She brought her knee into the man's groin and made to dart past him-anywhere but where she was. Her eyes watered painfully against the daylight as she spun away from her captors.

The second man made to grab her but she clawed him with her nails. He cried out, raging like an injured bull as she left several angry scratches across his face.

"Bitch!" The hand that came down at her met with a ferocious force, colliding painfully with the side of her head. A dull roar filled her ears as she fell to the ground. Reeling, she felt someone grab her upper arm, turn her over, and strike her again.

"Enough!" A third voice shouted. The hand that had grasped her arm released quickly as someone held her abuser back. "The Colonel and the others are only going to be gone long enough to give you enough time to do this...don't waste any more than you have to."

Colonel. Even as terrified as she was Margaret's quick mind filed the rank away for later. If she got out of this alive, she'd report that she had been held at the orders of a Colonel of the Colonial militia. Margaret tried to crawl away from the men arguing above her but they were not as distracted as she thought they might have been and one of the men stomped on the hem of her dress and she was prevented from moving. She glared up at the men, their faces obscured as she was forced to glance up towards the sunlight. The third man grasped the collar of her dress and yanked it down even as Margaret scrabbled against him. Seams split and bruised her arms as they tore around her flesh. She shrieked and tried to slide away from the men towering over her.

It was as if they were everywhere.

"Stand her up." The second man said to the third. They hauled her to her feet, letting her ruined dress pool at her ankles. Still fighting, Margaret tried to attack the third man as well, but he caught her already injured wrist in a painful grip. "Now, now...none of that missy." He shook her by the wrists and smiled as he saw her wince. "Still hurts? I bet it hurts real bad if I..." The man grasped the injured wrist harder and Margaret fell to her knees, a strangled cry forcing its way from her lips.

"You promised not to hurt her." A deep voice came from the area of the doorway, but Margaret was focused on where the second man still had a hold of her hands and was binding them in front of her with a rough length of rope. "You said you was only going to scare her."

"Oh...she did it to herself!" The second man scowled at the doorway where the voice had come from. The first man, who she had kneed in the groin, was recovering from the injury dealt him, his eyes blazing fire down at her.

"She deserves far worse than what we planned for her!" He hissed, his voice breathy with his injury. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back, the back of his hand crashed into her cheek, the force of the blow sending her crashing to the flagstones. She sprawled along the flat stones at their feet and stared at the blood that quickly began to drop to the stones and the back of her hand. She sobbed once, her insides feeling like water, her cheek burning painfully. A sticky trail of spit hit Margaret on her cheek. Shock slithered down her spine and she lay immobile, covered in dirt, blood and now spit. "Stand her up again!" Margaret was hauled upright and the men pulled her arms forward to tie her hands back together. "Get that wildcat properly trussed so she don't go whaling on us no more."

She tried to flex her wrists against the tight ties that bound her as she was hauled to her feet. Everything hurt. Everything burned. Her stomach roiled and she felt as if she might vomit.

Keep it together!

She was dragged to the edge of the flat area and shown a small boat that bobbed in the black waters of the swamp. "Do you know what we're going to do with you? Hmm?" The voice ghosted across her cheek and neck as she stared down at the vessel. "We're going to put you in there and let you float, real slow, back to your Colonel. Won't that be nice?"

Margaret turned quickly, staring at the man who was about to set her free. What was the point in capturing her if they were just going to return her to Colonel Tavington a few days later? They'd gotten nothing from her and now she'd seen at least a little of their hide away…..

"Oh, but you see...you won't be going alone. We're going to send some of our friends to keep you company." An ambush then...Margaret could well imagine that the doctors had realized she had yet to return from her foray into the woods. Perhaps they'd turned the army out to search for her….if they had, her rescuers would be caught in a trap, and she was the bait.

"If you're t-t-trying to use me for an ambush, it won't w-work." Margaret said shaking her head, angry at the fear dripping from every word she uttered. "The dragoons were gone when you took me, there's no way of knowing where they are now, or when they'll return."

"Not to worry. You won't be alone for long. Someone is bound to find you…" The men laughed viciously as a dirty hand grasped her chin from the other side, drawing her attention away from the first man on her left to the second on her right where something hissed. Margaret gasped and pushed away from the man that held an angry copperhead in his hands. Roaring laughter filled her ears as she watched the man drop the snake into a burlap sack, which he then dropped into a canvas bag. He tied off the strings to the bag and chucked it into the boat. Margaret stared up at the man as he grinned down at her. "Don't you worry...you two will have chaperones."

Margaret was forced to her knees on the edge of the little island and watched as one of the men brought a stick forward. It was about as wide as both of her thumbs put together and had a yellow rag wound around it. "Open wide..." He leered at her. Margaret locked her jaw in defiance and stared angrily up at him. "Come on now, pet. Don't be like that." He stepped closer to her, but she turned her head from him.

"Enough." She felt someone come up behind her, their feet falling on either side of her knees where she knelt. A grimy hand clapped down over her face and pinched her nose shut. Margaret brought her bound hands up and fought the man cutting off her air supply. She struggled, her feet kicking against the flagstones, elbows flailing uselessly.

"Come on...open wide." Margaret's body rebelled and she gasped for breath, at which point the stick was rudely forced into her mouth. The stick was shoved roughly to the back, and she felt her dry, chapped lips crack around the crude gag. A length of fabric was looped around the back of her head, over the ends of the stick and pulled roughly back to the nape of her neck where the man behind her tied it in a cruel knot. The stick pulled horribly at her mouth, like a bit in a horse's mouth. She screeched at the pain it caused and could taste blood where the old cuts at the corner of her mouth re-opened and started to weep anew. Another length of fabric was quickly tied over her eyes. She felt something wet against her closed eyes, a trail dripping down either cheek as laughter spread amongst the group. She tried to jerk away but her chin and forehead were held roughly in place and she could not move. She smelled blood, tasted it, felt as if she was drowning in it. She tried to scream, but only a whimper came out.

"In you go." Margaret was lowered into a pair of waiting arms. She felt the boat bob beneath her and she stumbled. "Easy now, have a lie down..." Margaret struggled even as she was forcefully pressed into the bottom of the boat. She could feel the sack moving near her feet. Margaret screamed even as another sack was placed over her head, to ensure she saw nothing.

"Easy does it now." Her spine was pressed flat to the keel of the boat and her arms were drawn tight over the top of her head and fastened to the bow of the boat. Her shoulders burned at the positioning and she thought if she struggled too much she might dislocate them. The sack near her right leg writhed-a twisting reminder that she would not be alone in the boat. The bag was shifted from a spot beside her right leg to a place between her ankles. Margaret shoved her feet away from the bag that hissed and writhed between them.

"Look boys! See how she spreads her legs?" Laughter roared again and Margaret knew her face was red with embarrassment. The boat shifted as her captors got out and then she felt the boat rock as it was pushed out into the stagnant current of the swamp.

"Let's see how she likes her chaperones, eh fellas?" Something light landed next to her with a dull thud, then several more. Close to hyperventilating she let out a piercing shriek when she felt something slither across her neck, beneath the sack of canvas over her head. Margaret felt the dry sandpapery skin against her fingers as something else slid down her arm and coiled around her elbow.

Snakes!

Margaret screamed. Every time a snake brushed against her leg, or arm, she tried to hold the sound within her, but then another would move around her ankle, or by her knee and she'd scream, unable to move away, or see the creatures.

This is how I am going to die. She thought. Trussed up in a boat with snakes, scared to death.

Margaret arched away as one of the serpents moved near her shoulders. She felt the boat lurch as it was pulled across the swamp faster than was possible on the current. She heard the men moving through the water, probably on horseback.

"Ease 'er into the creek!" The boat bumped against a rock or a cypress knee and the snakes in the boat, she wasn't sure how many there were, hissed and tossed angrily. She felt the boat catch the current and she bounced down the small tributary. A sharp pain pierced her shoulder as she struggled in the bottom of the boat and she howled. Whatever had bit her was small and she hoped it wasn't a venomous copperhead. She howled again, feeling it clamp down on her skin a second time, feeling the coils of the creature near her right cheek. Tears streamed from her eyes to be caught by the dirty rag that covered her them. She could hear the snakes hissing and felt two coiling against her leg. She felt one of them dodge as the other attacked, sinking fangs into her calf. It was too much. It was all too much.

Margaret fell into the blissful black of unconsciousness.

Thanks again to all who have been reading. Honestly, this is where this story started. Two years ago, my place of work got a new snake as a 'featured creature' and I ultimately refused to do any more programs because of my debilitating fear of the snake. I started writing this story while I was being tortured by my co-workers while they were handling the snake, threatening to put it on my desk. They thought it was funny, I thought it was sick.

Either way you view it, I hope you continue to enjoy the story.