Author's Note: Hello all, I'm back! (No thanks to work and college). I haven't had much time for fanfiction over the past two months, due to real life commitments, but thankfully I've settled down to work on this story once more. The next five chapters have already been written, so there shouldn't be any delay in updating. I'd like to thank all those who have supported this story. Your encouragement and feedback have been invaluable. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the Patriot. However, I do own all OCs mentioned herein including General Julia Percy and Major Beatrice Covenly.

Chapter Twenty-Five Desperation

There was victory in the air and in the ground and in the thawing chunks of ice that thickened the puddles along Princeton's streets. Tavington had had his wound seen too and was relieved to be attended by a male doctor, a man with impersonal hands who bandaged him up with instinctive efficiency. He then returned to the small house in town Percy had commandeered for her use. There was much to be done after the battle, dispatches to be sent, orders to be given and dead to be buried.

The harried activity around Princeton left Tavington light-headed and he only just managed to stumble his way back to headquarters, the scent of dried blood still lingering in his nose.

Cornwallis and his troops had arrived rather belatedly after the melee with the Rebel forces. By then, the Continental's advance guard-or what was left of it-had fled up to Somerset County Courthouse with the rest of Mr. Washington's army.

Percy didn't press them, nor did she think to pursue them. Her Madamship was wise enough to settle for a sound victory and she left the Rebels to lick their wounds while British morale climbed to dizzying heights.

Cornwallis could do naught but commend her and Tavington was surprised to see how abashed the man was, how utterly humiliated that he had allowed Washington to slip by his slumbering army up to Princeton.

Thank God for General Percy, he had said. Yes, thank God for her. And all over the camp, soldiers muttered the same sentiments.

Thank God for clever General Percy. And curse that wretched Howe for hiding away in Manhattan.

Tavington knew the commander-in-chief would recoil from the widespread reaction and he would curse himself for his languidness.

Percy, wild and wicked and womanly, had proven her worth.

Tavington was admitted into headquarters by a yawning sentry and he stood in the narrow hall for a full minute, allowing the snow to drip from his boots and form saucer-sized puddles all over the muddy floor. The warmth from a diligently fed fire eased the aches from his bones, but did nothing for the wrenching pain in his shoulder. Sleep threatened to shut his eyes. When had he last been able to rest?

The cramped kitchen of the house, which Percy had put to use as a meeting room, was shockingly empty. Tavington stuck his head around the door and saw Major Covenly sitting at the scrubbed table alone with a mug of coffee.

Just a short hour ago, the place had been brimming with officers and Cornwallis himself.

What had happened?

Covenly, who was resting her chin on her knuckles, batted her grey eyes wearily and looked up. A peaceful sort of smile curved her lips. "Back in one piece, Captain?"

Tavington moved his shoulder tenderly, the torn flesh about his upper arm pulled taut with agony. "Not entirely. Where has His Lordship gone to? Certainly they haven't retired already?"

"No." Covenly sipped primly from her mug. "Didn't you hear the drums before? General Cornwallis is taking his army up to New Brunswick. We're to stay here for two days and if the Rebels retire to winter camp, Her Madamship will march back to Manhattan."

"Ah, Percy must be frothing at the mouth then." Tavington stepped just inside the kitchen, ducking his head to avoid the low beams that stretched across the ceiling. The room smelled like hay, he thought and looking down, he noticed the straw scattered at his feet meant to absorb muddy footprints.

Covenly rose slowly and fetched a tin mug from the sideboard. "No, Julia is quite content I daresay. She's upstairs, writing a letter to Clinton." Her eyebrows twitched slightly as she reached for the kettle in the hearth. "I think we all deserve a good rest after today. There is no better way to end the campaigning season, after all."

"Indeed." Tavington accepted the mug of coffee she handed him and downed it all in one burning gulp. "Well, I should retire then. Do you mind? My spirit would be much improved after some sleep. Is there anything else that needs doing?"

Covenly leaned over the table, her palms flat against the smooth surface. "Hmm, Julia did ask for you. But I'll make an excuse, if you'd like. Your countenance does suggest a certain fatigue." She waved a hand in front of her face. "Just be quiet going up the stairs."

Tavington nodded and handed the mug back to Covenly. "My thanks." He had just crossed the threshold into the hall when she reached out and lightly tapped his back.

"Here." Covenly removed a length of white linen from her pocket and indicted the stale, yellow bandage wrapped about his arm.

Tavington took the clean cloth from her and rebound his wound carefully. "I'm much obliged," he said.

"It's no matter." Covenly scrunched up her nose and for an instant, she lost her dovish appearance and looked entirely girlish. "An officer of your standing shouldn't be drifting around in dirty linen."

The muscles in Tavington's jaw froze in shock. An officer of his standing? Covenly was certainly flattering him and she was never one to banter about empty words.

The hot coffee began to scorch his gut and quickly (yet politely) he bade the Major good night. And he did take care to tread carefully on the stairs lest some unsound plank of wood creak aloud and alert Percy of his presence. His caution, alas, was not needed, as Her Madamship could be found standing in the doorway at the head of the stairs. Clearly, she'd been expecting him.

"Captain, come within." Percy stepped back into the tight room she had claimed for herself and left the door open for him.

Tavington tried to stifle a sigh. He followed her into the chamber, shut the door and leaned against it.

Percy took up a seat in a tiny chair nestled against a slanted writing desk. She had just finished a letter and was reaching for a stick of sealing wax.

"Sit down," she directed.

Tavington was forced to make due on the bed, as there was no other chair available. He perched himself on the edge of it and instantly, the pain in his legs began to lessen.

Percy took her time sealing the letter and after she had done, she turned about in her chair to face him. Their knees grazed against each other.

"I won't keep you long," she said, tilting her head just so the shadows from the fire glanced off her features.

Tavington noticed that she too, looked weary. Exhausted, really. Her heavy red coat lay sprawled across a trunk at the foot of the bed and her shirtsleeves were dingy with flecks of grim and blood darkening the cuffs.

"Madam." Tavington inclined his head in a half-bow, signaling his attention.

A sudden smile set Percy's face ablaze.

"Thank you." She reached across the short space that divided them and clasped his hand. "Thank you for being so loyal, William."

Tavington's mind was hazy, but shock still managed to register. First Covenly, now Percy! Why should he bother to woo women during peace time when they fair melted before him after battles?

Percy laughed lowly, obviously amused at his surprise. "I have asked so much of you-more than I would ever ask of Andre, if you are wondering." Her eyes shone.

"I wasn't, madam," Tavington blurted out.

Percy gazed at him with cool detachment. "Let me be frank for once, William. There is a certain air of desperation about you that-"

Tavington began to protest, but Percy raised her hand.

"Let me finish." A look of stern contemplation passed over her face and Tavington realized that he had neither the will nor the strength to oppose her anymore.

Percy sat back in her chair, which was crudely carved, a farmer's throne that contrasted vilely with her own air of practiced regality.

"When I was a young girl," she started, her voice now light and dreamy, touched with the nectar that reminiscence brings, "I had no ambition. My mother taught me to be shy, meek, wretched and I pressed those lessons to my heart as the most worthy of virtues. And then I was sent to live with my aunt in Scotland-for reasons I shan't divulge now-and I learned what it was to be a woman." She paused and smiled, entirely satisfied with whatever she had learned from her spinster benefactress.

Tavington quietly wondered to himself what schooling she had received in madness.

"By seventeen I was a fair bluestocking. I wrote plebian essays, scribbled late into the night hunched over a stub of a candle. I don't know what I intended to do with my prose and my aunt neither approved nor disapproved. And in truth, I myself neither approved nor disapproved-until one day, I simply decided that I wanted to join the army.

"But how did you decide?" Tavington asked despite himself.

"How did you decide?" Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

Tavington made to answer, to offer up the standard reply-he needed money, lusted after power-but he found himself mute.

Percy's smile widened. "You were desperate." She paused and shrugged. "As was I. And it is that same desperation in you that I find so compelling."

Tavington was too weary to jump at her invitation, so Percy did instead.

"I'm offering you my friendship, William," she said, leaning forward with a lazy grin. Her hand tightened over his. "Your desperation has charmed me and I sense, nay, I know that you have spent as many sleepless nights as I, dreaming with your eyes wide open, yearning for that fulfillment you can only find here. Let us be friends then, eh?"

Once more, Tavington did not speak, but assented silently and from that very moment, in that chilly little attic of a Yankee house, they became companions, Percy and he. However, their friendship was not akin to anything she shared with Andre or even Clinton, but a separate, singular peace and understanding.

And Tavington, for his part, relished in every aspect of their peculiar camaraderie and maintained, as promised, his sworn loyalty to the mightiest woman he would ever come to know.

Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading! The next chapter will be posted soon