Well, seeing as today is my birthday, I'm posting early as a gift for you all! Ironically it's the same day as Hitler and Napoleon, which means I can't try to take over Russia anytime soon. Oh well, I'm officially legal now, a.k.a. 18, so now I can now get a tattoo, buy a Latto ticket, and serve jury duty. Oh such wonders ahead of me!
Chapter quote: "Sarcasm is not a very compelling attribute."
Chapter 24: Could It Get Any Worse?
The next morning, I opened my gritty, burning eyes to the bright sunlight shinning through the partially opened flap and onto my face. I squinted against the blinding light and allowed my legs to be stretched out in front of me, feeling the kinks and cramps in my knees and lower back flex and stretch painfully. I sighed in distress with all the pain and dropped my head back, letting it rest against the wooden post, my hair a frizzled brown mess around my head. The sounds of men awakening could be heard throughout the calm, cold morning as the sun began its succession through the sky. I tested the ropes binding my wrist and almost screamed when a sharp, needle like pain flared through both my arms. I closed my eyes as a dull throb replaced the sting, letting a deep breath out of my lungs.
The flutter of canvas forced my eyes to snap open where they rested on the newly dressed Tavington, running a comb through his dark hair as he braided and tied it back, looking as fierce as ever. Amid large amounts of pain and protest from my body, I sat up a bit straighter and set a glare at him, curling my legs around to give me another inch in height.
At the rustle, Tavington's gaze fixed on me and he frowned, "Already acting defiant, and the sun has barely risen." He dropped the comb back down on the desk after adding some pomade to his hair to keep it impeccable.
"Well, what can I say? I woke up on the wrong side of the post," I snapped back, my mood turned very foul by my lack of sleep and increased aches of my joints.
"I have half a mind to leave you there today," he snapped with equal fervor.
I shrugged as best I could. "Go ahead, but unless you want a mess on you hands, you'd best let me at least relieve myself somewhere that isn't in this vicinity."
That seemed to have done the trick for the next moment Tavington was kneeling next to me, working the knot loose between my hands. I was biting my lip from his sharp tugs on the binding ropes, but when he tried to pull the rope away from my skin, a cry escaped and I yelled, "Christ man, that hurts!"
He stopped and I glanced over, watching as a peculiar expression came across his face, looking something like . . . remorse? No, couldn't be, for the next second it was gone and was replaced by his usual indifference. Being slightly gentler, Tavington pulled the rope away slowly, forcing me to hiss in pain as the bindings were torn out of my skin. As soon as I was free and I saw Tavington throw the rope away in disgust, I scurried back away from him. I pulled my arms forward, wincing from the soreness in my shoulders and examined my wrists.
A dark red band encircled both parts of my body, with dried, brown blood coating the outside rings of the wounds while small rivers of new blood built and coursed down my arm. Different parts of the marks even showed the twisted shape of the rope and splinter like strips of the course material were embedded into my skin. My hands were white from the lack of blood and everything from the middle of my arm down was slowly becoming numb.
"You know, when I said 'it hurts', I wasn't just sayin' it for laughs and giggles," I remarked, pulling the glare from my hands to stare at Tavington. He frowned in response and made to grab my right wrist, but I scooted further back, commanding, "Don't touch me! You've done enough." I cradled my hands against me, trying to keep them from his reach, but not having them touch at the same time.
"If you don't let me see them, I can't help you," Tavington tired, placing what he thought was a reassuring smile on his face. I saw through it in an instant.
"I can take care of this myself. I don't need you." I forced my legs under me and made to stand up, using the sturdiness of the post to add support as my legs screamed in protest.
Tavington stood up in a quick manner as if saying 'I can get up faster than you,' and sent me a glare. "Suit yourself," he shrugged.
Growling inwardly, I straightened my back faster than I should have and tried to walk over to the table, but black spots started popping in front of my eyes. The next second I was lightheaded and my knees gave out, however, instead of crashing to the ground like I was anticipating, I felt myself fall into a pair of strong arms. I tired to move my head, but the quick draining of blood made it impossible for me to see at that moment and I groaned, leaning more unto the buttress supporting me while I closed my eyes. An arm snaked under my legs and I was lifted up, my wrists banging painfully together, and then carried over and deposited in a chair.
I opened my eyes with enough time to see Tavington walk over to the entrance of the tent and yell for Bordon to bring water and bandages. A yell was heard in response and then Tavington stalked over to one of the trunks, kicking it open, and extracting a jar full of some weird, green-colored goo.
Closing my eyes and shaking my head, I tired to zone Tavington out while I thought about my predicament. Ok, here I am, stuck under guard in the military camp of the man I despise more than anything, injured, in a time I'm not really familiar with and having said man I despise working on my injury . . . could it get any worse?
The sting of alcohol on my wrists brought me back to reality with a jolt and I jumped, more from shock than pain. Although the pain set in next and I gritted my teeth against the throbbing as Tavington sat across from me on another chair and dabbed at the wounds, trying to clean them appropriately with rum. I watched as he worked, my mind slowly going numb from lack of sleep because, let's face it, I didn't sleep all that well tied to a post. I tired not to yawn as he worked; the cooling feeling of the salve he put on was a relief and then wrapping clean linens around my wrists. He tied the left over material in a knot, a little too tight for my liking, but I refrain from saying anything.
He stood up after he was done, walking over to a basin and washing the blood and goo from his hands. Lowering my eyes I mumbled, "Thank you," almost inaudibly. I raised my eyes to gage his reaction and saw him quirk an eyebrow, walking back over to me, wiping his hands dry on a towel as he went.
"I'm surprised you didn't fight me," he remarked.
"Well, as my Mama used to say, 'I may be independent, but I'm not stupid.'" I half smiled, flexing my wrists against the bandages so I could a feel of how far I could push them, which wasn't that far.
A corner of his mouth lifted up, but fell when Bordon and another dragoon walked into the tent, his attention shifting to them. I turned around, my eyes catching the dark blue orbs of the same redcoat from the Middleton Ball who had helped me off of Lainathiel. He stared at me in shock, recognition crossing his handsome features.
"Captain Bordon," Tavington barked walking over to the stout man. "Has everything been completed as I ordered? And who's this?" He looked from Bordon over to the other man.
"Corporal McDonnough, Colonel," Bordon replied, standing straighter as he stepped forward. "Chosen to guard the prisoner at your request. Everything else is in order."
Tavington smiled. "Excellent."
"Woah, woah, wait, wait," I blurted out, standing up and stomping my way over. "Guard me?" I looked the man up and down from dirty blond hair, big, broad shoulders and at least eight or nine inches taller than me. I turned my attention back to Tavington. "Look, I don't need a babysitter."
His eyes hardened again as I heard Bordon cover up a laugh with a "coughing" fit. Tavington sent a glare at Bordon, and then flicked his eyes back to me. "You will have an escort at all times, no matter what your opinion on the subject may be."
I rolled my eyes, my mind already working for a way to ditch said 'escort' at the opportune moment. "Sure, fine, whatever." I turned and grabbed my back pack and tried to exit the tent, but a forced grip on my arm brought me back.
"Where are you going?!" Tavington growled. I raised an eyebrow at his hand until he let me go.
"To use the loo, or do I have ask permission like I did when I was six?" I asked, crossing my arms in front of me.
"Why do you need that bag? There's no way to get into it."
I smirked. "Correction, you can't to get into it," I pointed to him. "I have absolutely no problem, now can I please go? I'm not a camel, you know." I smiled sweetly which only caused Tavington to scowl even more.
"Captain Bordon, you are dismissed. Corporal McDonnough, wait outside for Miss Hawkins," Tavington ordered, never wavering his gaze from mine. I swallowed, this cannot be good.
As soon as the flap flicked back into place, Tavington grabbed my arm and roughly pulled me till I was flush up against him again, his face inches from mine. Jeeze! What is it with the pulling and yanking?! "Miss Hawkins, your insolence astounds me. If you question my command in front of my men again, there will be dire consequences to pay."
"Oh is that all?" I remarked sarcastically, trying vainly to step back away from his overpowering ambiance. He only ripped me back.
"Sarcasm is not a very compelling attribute."
"Well then it's a good thing I'm not trying to be compelling now, isn't it?" I snapped.
His eyes hardened even further. He leaned down, barely whispering in my ear, "Let me warn you now, any attempt to escape will not only result in you're unfortunate punishment when we catch you - and trust me when I say we will - but Corporal McDonnough will suffer as well."
"What does the life of a Redcoat mean to me, Colonel?" I asked, trying for indifference, but the thought of someone else suffering because of me was not sitting very well.
Tavington leaned back. "Not his life, but his blood will be on your hands."
"You wouldn't dare harm one of your own men. Cornwallis wouldn't allow it," I tired to reason, more with myself than with him.
Tavington cocked an eyebrow in amusement. "Cornwallis's arm does not reach this far. You are under my mercy."
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at Tavington with ferocity, my harried emotions adding more fuel to the fire. "You're nothing but a beast," I spat.
"I believe the term is Butcher." He threw me toward the opening, forcing me to stumble as I tried to stop myself from landing on my face. "Remember, you're neck is not the only one on the chopping block, Miss Hawkins," he yelled after me as I stepped out into the sunlight of the mid-morning.
Completely ignoring the soldier standing at the entrance, waiting for me, I stomped forward, heading toward a sheltered part of the river where I could relieve myself, wash my face, and all in all get ready for a day that will more than likely be the day from hell.
"Miss Hawkins, wait!" the Corporal called, running to catch up to my angry strides. I slowed down slightly, but didn't stop, weaving my way around tents and through the camp, gaining strange and some leering looks from many of the men. McDonnough caught up with me quickly, his long legs working over time. Finally, when I reached the northern edge of the camp I stopped and turned to the insanely tall man, dwarfed only by Wilkins. "Please, Miss Hawkins," he panted. "I know the Colonel has ordered me to escort ye—"
"You mean guard me?" I asked, glaring into his midnight-blue eyes.
His own took on a regretful gleam and I immediately felt a pang of shame. "Well, if ye wunna look at it that way. My point is, I dunna wish to just be yer guard. I'm yer escort and know that if ye need anythin', I will help ye as much as I con."
His puppy-dog eyes melted my hard heart; my esteem for him growing rapidly. "Thank you," I replied, softening my features and giving him as much of a smile as I was feeling. "What is your full name?"
"Ian McDonnough."
I nodded, turning around and started to walk more leisurely toward the river's edge. "Ian. Good Scottish name."
He followed me, walking more at my side. "Aye, are ye familiar with Scotland?"
I smiled, nodding my head enthusiastically. "Oh yea, my grandparents were from Scotland."
Ian immediately perked up at that. "Really, where from?"
I screwed my face up, trying to remember what my grandparents always talked about. "Um…. I think Argyll."
"Argyll! My family is from Glasgow, just south o' there."
I smiled, "what a coincidence." Just then we came to a secluded part of the river, protected by a large, dense bush that would no doubt shield me from the rest of the camp. I told Ian to turn around and keep watch. As soon as his back was turned, I ducked back behind the bush and opened my pack, extracting various 21st century items that no doubt would have been questioned heavily.
Quickly I washed my face in the river, careful not to get my bandages too wet, then changed my clothes into blue jeans and a long-sleeved back shirt with a red, flannel cowboy shirt draped over it. I brushed and tied my curly hair up in a pony-tail, glad that I had bathed yesterday before I was planning on going to Charlotte's. After taking my contacts out (like peeling the skin off of your eyes) rinsed them, then put them back in, I did something I would not normally do. I applied a bit of make-up, like I would do before school back in 2006. It wasn't much, just enough to be pretty, but not enough that it would be highly noticeable. I don't know why I did my make-up, but after having to play a man for so long, the chance to finally be me, a normal girl, was too tempting to resist.
After I was done, I stared long and hard at the water thinking. What was I going to do? How in the hell was I going to get out of this predicament? Swinging my legs around, I sat on the cold ground, pulling up the stems of the grasses that lined the riverbed. Life was much simpler when I was with Ben and Gabriel. They were my security blanket, the people I could fall back on if ever I was in trouble. Lord knows Ben and Gabriel had pulled me back when I stretched my neck out too far.
Were they worried about me? Did they even know where I was? Did they even think I was alive? The thought of Ben suffering because of my foolishness was more than I could conceivably bear.
And then my thoughts centered on one thing, the very question I had been asking myself since 1776: why was I here? Did I die and this was some weird type of limbo? Am I supposed to do something, stop something? The scene of the burning church flashed in my head. Am I to stop Tavington from killing all those innocent people? Maybe to stop Tavington from killing Gabriel or Gabriel from killing Bordon? Another thought hit me, one I didn't wish to dwell on, but held reverence all the same. Maybe I'm supposed to save . . . Tavington?
Reviews as birthday gifts? Maybe? Just a little bit?