A/N: This chapter contains material from the Patriot movie; I own none of it.
It was early morning; Gillian was hard at work, stitching wounded soldiers when a post rider entered the medic tent.
"Gillian Burrows," he asked, approaching her.
"Yes?"
"This is for you," the post rider said, handing her a letter with a red seal.
Gillian accepted the letter, handing the man some coin before she dismissed him. Then, she left the tent to read the letter in privacy.
Miss Burrows,
It has been brought to my attention that you have been a considerable distraction to one of our officers. At my request you are to leave camp and return to your home.
Signed,
Brig. Gen. Charles O'Hara
Gillian crumpled the letter, pursing her lips, her brow furrowed. She had hardly done anything wrong with any of the officers. Someone wanted her out of the way.
"Molly…" she muttered, her teeth clenched. "That….woman!"
Finishing her medic duties, Gillian made her way to her tent and packed her things, laying out a traveling cloak. Then, she penned a letter to Gen. O'Hara, announcing her absence. She would leave the next morning.
It was mid morning; Col. Tavington and his men had reached the town of Pembroke and immediately swarmed the place, requesting for the townspeople to gather at the church, for it was more ideal than going from house to house. As soon as everyone had gathered, Tavington, breeching all manner of propriety, marched a snorthing Asmodeus right through the front doors of the church. The townspeople gasped, appalled, and backed up.
William glanced around in disgust, and, as if to mock proper manners, removed his riding helmet.
"This town has given aid to Benjamin Martin and his Rebels; I wish to know his whereabouts. So, anyone who comes forward may be forgiven their treason."
At first, the townspeople stared at him in stubbornness and fear, refusing to speak.
"Very well, you've had your chance," Tavington spoke resignedly, turning Asmodeus toward the door.
"Wait!" cried a man, catching the colonel's attention. "This man gives Martin and his men supplies," he spoke, gesturing toward a plump, older man. "He brings them from Black Swamp, in the marsh, by the old Spanish Mission!"
Tavington's face grew eager.
"This man here," he asked.
"Yes Sir."
"The Black Swamp, you say, by the old Spanish Mission? Thank you very much," he replied smoothly. Then, turning to the redcoats guarding the entrance, Tavington said in a calm command, "Shut the doors."
The informer was shocked.
"But… you said we'd be forgiven!"
"And indeed you may!" Tavington cut him off, "But that's between you and God…"
Leaving the church, he met his captain, James Wilkins, near the entrance.
"Ready to fire the town on your order, Sir," he said.
"The town," William raised a brow, scoffing. "burn the church."
A stunned look crossed the captain's face. Such an act was certainly against his morals.
"There's no honor in this," he dared to address the colonel.
Tavington's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Didn't you say all those who stand against England deserve to die a traitor's death? Burn the church, Captain." he quietly commanded, his eyes cold and devoid of mercy.
Wilkins hesitated momentarily, still fighting with himself, before he turned to a nearby soldier carrying a torch.
"Give me the torch."
The captain, torch in hand, gave the church one last woeful stare while the colonel waited impatiently behind him, glaring at his back. Then, he thrust the torch onto the roof of the church, beginning the blaze.
The Dragoons surrounded the church, locking the windows. A horrified Wilkins turned to his superior.
"The honor is found in the end, not the means. This'll be forgotten." Tavington spoke casually, as if her were brushing off a fly. "Bordon!"
Tavington called to his other captain and the two rode off, leading the Dragoons away from the burning inferno of screaming people.
Disembarking near a stream, Tavington allowed for his men to rest and went to the stream to wash and shave.
Just as he started with the razor, his captain, Bordon, cried, "To arms, TO ARMS!"
Caught off guard, William put down his razor and looked out to see the Colonial militia advancing on horseback. Shots rang out and one of his men fell.
Coming out of his haze, Tavington made a dash for Asmodeus, who was tethered to a tree nearby, and grabbed his saber and a pistol. Bullets cracked through the air, hitting both colonials and redcoats. Through the crowd, Tavington spotted Martin's eldest son, Gabriel, but was impeded by other colonial men. Wasting no time, he slashed down on a militiaman before shooting another. Then, he sliced into a third and hit him over the head with the butt of his pistol. Martin's son, too, was advancing, overpowering and fatally stabbing Tavington's second in command, Capt. Bordon. William showed little to no emotion as he turned to face the reverend, shooting him in the chest, watching him throw his gun to Gabriel, and the two reloaded. Gabriel was faster and took his shot, hitting the colonel in the side. Tavington groaned in pain and surprise, falling to the ground.
William, alive but in pain, could sense Gabriel advancing on him, dagger in hand. He kept his breathing quiet and shallow, gripping the saber beneath him as the young man prepared the killing blow. Tavington kept still until Gabriel thrust down with the knife. Then, he rolled over onto his back, thrusting his saber deep into Gabriel's chest, anger and malice etched upon his features. The young man gasped soundlessly in shock, dropping the knife. William held him up with the blade, staring up at him, an unreadable look in his azure eyes as he watched Gabriel's life slowly leave him. When he was satisfied that Gabriel was completely immobilized, he struggled to his feet, pushing Gabriel to the ground, and pulled the saber out of his chest, glancing down at his bloody, wounded side. Then, Tavington fled, leaving Asmodeus tethered to the tree to be retrieved at a later time.
The colonel reached the camp around early evening and went straight to the medic's tent. An attendant quickly removed the bullet, stitching and bandaging his wound. Lord Cornwallis, upon hearing of Tavington's injury, made his way to the medics' tent.
"You will be missed tomorrow, Colonel." He spoke.
"Missed, milord," asked a confused Tavington.
"Your wound," Cornwallis continued.
"It's nothing," William spoke quickly, shooing the medic away.
"I stand on the eve of the greatest victory of my career, don't fail me."
"My efforts, in no small measure, have brought you here," William countered pointedly.
"I grant you that small measure, in spite of your failure to deliver the Ghost to me."
Tavington swallowed.
"Thus far…"
Cornwallis stepped close to Tavington, disciplining him.
"I will not tolerate a premature charge born of your eagerness for glory. Wait for my order. Or you may abandon any hope of Ohio." he finished, turning his back to the colonel and exited the tent.
Tavington left the medic and made his way to his own tent when Molly caught up with him, just as he was opening the flap.
"You're hurt," she said quickly, her voice edged with concern.
"So I am. It's nothing," William said curtly. "Were you not furious with me a day ago?"
"Let me see it," Molly urged.
"Molly, it's freshly bandaged and cleaned."
"Let me see it," she repeated edgily.
Tavington assented, sitting down on the cot, removing his scabbard, jacket and shirt. The bandage on his wound was already soaked with blood. Molly ducked out to get some more bandages and returned, carefully unwrapping the wound. William hissed and gripped her hand when she removed the bandages. The bullet wound was an ugly mess of broken, bleeding skin, roughly stitched.
"You really should stay," Molly murmured, brushing the wound.
William groaned and pushed her hand away.
"I'm going," he said in a strained voice. "Do not try to fight me."
The camp follower sighed.
"You won't be at your full strength."
"Molly, I will be fine."
Molly shook her head, getting the clean bandages and wrapping them around his injury, gently kissing him when she finished.
"Please," she whispered.
Tavington kissed her deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue. Molly moaned, pushing William onto the cot. He winced, and she paused.
"I shouldn't," she spoke worriedly, "It could open your wound."
"Molly…" William urged.
The camp follower sighed resolutely and unbuttoned his breeches, stroking him into a furor.
William closed his eyes in ecstasy and arched to meet her strokes, shuddering from pain and pleasure. Molly ceased her strokes and took him in her mouth, rolling her tongue over his shaft. Tavington fought to hold back his climax until Molly increased her pressure on him and he released with a gasp. Molly swallowed his seed, licking and teasing his tip before settling down next to him.
"I love you," she murmured in his ear.
Tavington hinted a smile and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her cheeks.
"Molly…" he stroked her hair, holding her to him until she fell asleep.
