Chapter 11!

Enjoy!

Marcelline hurried back to the fort but it seemed that her journey was much more arduous without the aid of a horse. The mid afternoon sun beat down on her back mercilessly. She hadn't a proper meal all day and was feeling a bit light headed. Her wet shift clung to her body and she'd tied her stay too tightly. Marcelline heaved breaths at every step.

In the distance, she could see a rider on horseback coming toward her. Her vision was blurred and she could not make out who it was. She stopped and wavered in the scorching heat.

It was Tavington. He'd returned, sensing that the found horse's rider was Marcelline. Only one person could so carelessly leave their animal unattended. That person had to be a woman. That woman had to be Marcelline. He was indeed correct. Marcelline stood in the meadow listlessly, watching him approach. Tavington could barely wait to reprimand her about proper horsemanship.

"Miss Essex," he said with a cool air about him regardless of the enshrouding heat, "I must remind you that each horse in that stable is property of the Crown and that--"

Before he could finish his sentence, Marcelline had swooned, causing him to change subjects.

"Well Miss Essex," he uncertainly cleared his throat, "are you unwell? Would you...care to ride back to the fort?"

Marcelline had no intention of accepting his offer and without a word moved past him. But before she could take more than three steps, the heat overcame her and she collapsed in the grass.

Allowing himself to feel a modicum of alarm when he saw her, Tavington composed himself and knelt before her. He'd always particularly liked when he unexpectedly found others in times of weakness; it was when he could exhibit the most power. He felt differently when he saw Marcelline laying prostrate on the ground. He found that he'd taken his canteen from his saddle bag and had taken her hand. He tapped on it lightly:

"Miss-Miss Essex," he began hesitantly.

She made no response. He started to feel uneasy so he brought Marcelline's head to rest on his knees. Tavington sprinkled some water on her forehead after removing her sun bonnet. She stirred and he propped her up against his chest, holding the canteen to her lips. She drank in tiny, feeble sips.

"You should have never ventured out," he said, attempting to regain some propriety, "do you think you can sit up and ride my horse?"

"I...I don't know."

Tavington helped Marcelline up slowly with an awkward slowness. Her legs were far too fatigued to support her and they failed her. Tavington caught her before she fell. Marcelline avoided his eyes:

"I...I don't think I've the strength."

Tavington recalled the night he had to carry her up to her bedroom on the night of the Boston party. Without a work, he lifted Marcelline into his arms and started for the fort. His horse followed.

"Thank you," Marcelline managed to whisper as he carried her back, "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't ridden up to see me."

Tavington's response was only a grunt as he kept his gaze toward the fort. Fortunately for him, there was very little activity at the fort and only a few enlisted men noticed Marcelline in his arms. He carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed in her chamber.

"I'll get the maid to bring you some water," he said quickly and was gone.

Marcelline half hoped Tavington would return himself but he did not. She told her maid to relay the message to Lord Cornwallis that she'd not be attending the dinner. While at the meal, Tavington had half hoped Marcelline would appear.

The evening began to wind down and by midnight the guests had gone home. Marcelline felt much better after having a small supper in her room yet the heat did not relent. It was unforgivingly hot in her room and she decided to get some fresh air. Marcelline carefully crept down the stairs and outside to look at the night sky. Tavington, who was lounging in thought in the map room by himself, heard the front door hinge creak. With his hand on his sabre, he ran into the hall, seeing the door ajar. He brandished his sabre and looked outside.

"One encounter with your sword is enough, I'd imagine," Marcelline said quietly.

She was sitting on the front steps of the house, surveying the stars. Tavington started to speak but silenced himself.

"May I take a seat?" He asked.

"You may."

He sat.

"I thank you again," Marcelline said hastily after a long period of silence, "I would have been much worse off if you hadn't arrived to bring me back to the fort. No one had known where I was."

"Ah, well, yes..."

"I must admit," Marcelline looked away, laughing a little, "that I was wrong about you. You can't be all bad, can you? You must have some tenderness in you--you saved me."

Tavington was silent. He did not know what to say.

"I am sorry for judging you so swiftly. Forgive me."

"You are...forgiven."

If she'd only known Tavington had burned Clearwater Plantation, killed an innocent boy and had attempted to hang Gabriel on that very same day.