Chapter 29 - Battle at the Falls

Tavington, his face set like stone, waved his arm in precise movements - signals. His Dragoons fanned out, penning the Patriot Militia against the falls. The gap was only wide enough for one to cross at a time, and as some of the rebels had already crossed, his men were now facing a much smaller group, led by Marion himself. Tavington allowed a small smile as he approached the rebel leader, who he now outnumbered three to one.

"Lieutenant Colonel Marion," he drawled quietly. "Colonel William Tavington, at your service."

His smile and polite tone belied the violent anger he held on a tight leash. The two men had never met before, they knew each other by reputation only.

"At my service? Hear that, lads?" Marion glanced around at his men. "The Butcher, and at my service, no less."

Tavington's smile broadened, Marion's attempt to provoke him was pitiful at best.

"Fox," he murmured with slow satisfaction. No matter the outcome, Marion was either caught, or dead. The rebel leader knew it, also, Tavington could see it in the other mans eyes. He pitched his voice high enough to be heard over the falls. "Yield, Sir, and I will see you returned to Charles Town."

"To hang like a thief? I'd rather die here."

"Order your men to cease their attempt to destroy the bridge and return my fiancé to me now," Tavington said in a clipped tone.

Marion quirked an eyebrow in surprise, and mouthed 'fiancé?', clearly bewildered.

Tavington smiled coldly again and continued.

"Miss Beth Martin, Marion. I want her back here, now. Do this," his voice became beguiling, and he edged his horse closer to the rebel's. "And I will see you do not hang. I vow it, on my honor."

"Your honor? Your honor is worth shit," Marion spat with derision. "Tavington's quarter! Here you are, outnumbering us three to one. You have no honor! And you have no mercy."

"No, that I do not," Tavington agreed. "Your decision?"

"The Devil take you!" Marion shouted. "Benjamin Martin is a man I respect and call friend! I'd not give you his daughter - not for my life! You can rot in the fucking fires of Hell!"

"Very well," Tavington frowned, his face was hard, carved from ice.

He glanced over the river and met Beth's eyes. Though she was well out of reach with the gorge between them, she was close enough that he could see the horror in her expression. She clutched her Aunt's arm, fearful of what was to come.

So close, yet so far. He turned his cool, pitiless gaze to Marion. "You had your chance."

He pulled his pistol.

"Charge!" He called and every single Dragoon pulled their pistols. The militia did likewise and shots rang out, loud even over the roar of the waterfall. Men fell, horses screamed. Another volley of shots from the second lot of loaded pistols, then with their bullets spent, the two groups surged together, snarling with bloodlust and faces twisted with rage.

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As the horrified women watched, men from both sides of the conflict fell before their eyes. Loyalist against Patriot, the battle raged on the other side of the gorge.

Tavington was hit. The force of the bullet twisted him, he jerked back and Beth saw blood gush from his shoulder.

She screamed, a loud and piercing shriek of horror. He must have heard her - his head jerked in her direction, their gazes locked once more - his eyes filled with bloodlust, hers with terror, terror for him. But then the Patriot militia closed and the fighting began in earnest. Tavington swung and parried, despite his wound, cutting men down before her very eyes.

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Tavington barely registered the pain of the shot in his shoulder, bloodlust burned through his veins making him insensible to anything but the battle that raged around him. Nevertheless, when Beth's scream split the air, heard even over the sound of battle and over the roar of the waterfall, a thrill of fear rifled through him.

Fear for her.

Thinking she was in danger, he twisted his horse in her direction. Her eyes were on him, however, her hands covered her mouth as though to stop more screams. She seemed about to faint from terror - though her terror was for him. She was in no danger. He tightened his lips, vexed at his moment of weakness and returned his attention to the skirmish.

He drew his sword and slammed it into a rebel chest, all the while looking for Marion.

The man had denied him, had not given Beth back to him. The bridge would be destroyed and regardless of the outcome of this battle, Beth will be lost to him because of it. Because the Fox had denied him. He saw Marion fighting one on one with a wounded and tiring Bordon and with a bloodthirsty smile the Officer urged his horse forward, closing the distance quickly.

Just in time too. Bordon could not get his saber up and Marion the Fox was raising his sword for the killing stroke, when Tavington was abruptly before him. With a quick flick of his wrist he turned the killing stroke aside and began his own dance with the Fox.

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Beth watched helplessly as Tavington fought for his life. When there were no more adversaries he darted forward to relieve Bordon and began fighting Francis Marion. The two men were evenly matched but it was over quickly.

She could not pull her eyes away from her wounded and bleeding lover. His face was twisted with feral concentration, he saw his opening and sliced his saber deeply across the Foxes chest. Marion clutched at his chest, the he toppled from his horse.

Tavington glanced around for more opponents, but they were all down, dead, wounded and yielding.

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"Kill them," Tavington commanded with a sneer. Bordon had expected it. Despite his wounds, he nodded to two Dragoons and the three men dispatched the wounded and yielding rebels while Tavington watched calmly, dispassionately.

He crossed his hands over the pommel of his saddle, his eyes locked with Beth across the great divide. She stared back, her face grave as Bordon carried out the grisly task.

"Sir," Simms asked at his side.

"Corporal." Tavington responded without pulling his gaze from Beth's.

"Your orders? We could try to cross under the falls -"

"We could only die, Corporal. We would be sitting ducks, and it would be for nothing. The bridge is already destroyed."

As he watched, Beth's maid and Aunt took her by the arms to turn her away but Beth shook them both off, not breaking her eyes from his. Her Aunt was speaking to her urgently, but Beth ignored her. Tavington smiled, a slow smile filled with promise and Beth shivered.

"Corporal, Sir?" Simms frowned.

"It seems fitting," Tavington replied as the last rebel died on Bordon's sword. "You have earned it thrice over."

"Thank you, sir," the boy swelled with pride.

"I will speak with Clinton about it as soon as we return," Tavington said. "Have your wounds seen to, Corporal. And Fox - I want him returned to Charles Town."

"Yes, Sir. I will have a Corpsman attend your wounds, also."

Tavington nodded.

"What of Miss Martin," Simms asked, glancing in her direction across the divide.

"She is lost to me," William replied coldly. "For now."

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Bordon and two other Dragoons moved amongst the wounded rebels, killing them where they lay. Tavington's orders, Beth did not doubt it, he sat astride his horse, his eyes fixed on hers and his expression was stone. Utterly pitiless.

The Butcher.

It was a slaughter and Beth could not take her eyes off of it, off of him.

"Is the bridge out?" A quiet murmur - though Beth had no idea why they would whisper - the falls drowned out most noise.

"Yes, we can leave - they can not offer pursuit." The equally quiet reply.

"We will watch for a few moments more, then. Make sure they will not try for pursuit."

"Beth, come away," Charlotte and Mila stood on either side of her, but Beth shook them off. "Beth, you should not be watching this!" Charlotte said urgently, speaking of Bordon's dispatching of the Patriot wounded. Beth ignored her as she studied William's face for the slightest emotion, a hint of humanity.

He smiled at her. Despite all the carnage, the dead, and broken bodies, he smiled. It seemed to hold a world of deadly intent and sent chills up her spine, making her shiver. Other Redcoats bustled about, Arthur Simms spoke to Tavington, then moved away.

Beth's eyes still on Tavington as a Dragoon tended his shoulder and many other wounds. He was stone, barely registering pain as the corpsman poked and prodded him. His cold eyes stared across the river, his implacable gaze fixed on her.

"Mount!" Mr. Doyle commanded, drawing her attention, "we are leaving."

Beth glanced at William one last time, then turned her back on him to mount her horse. The detachment rode out.

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The Green Dragoons rode straight back to Charles Town. The wounded were taken to medical units while Tavington and Bordon went directly to Clinton to make their report. Clinton was not alone - many of his Aide De Camps were in attendance.

"Mr. Putman a Patriot all along?" Clinton frowned. "I should have listened to you and had Miss Martin removed from his household! Dear Lord, she is probably in Burwell's clutches now!"

"I fear so, Sir," Tavington ground out.

Clinton paced to the large bank of windows and stared out tensely. There was nothing he could do for the girl now, however. The foolish child - leaving his protection to tend her father. A dutiful lass, to tend her father so, but foolish nevertheless.

"Continue your report, Tavington," Clinton said over his shoulder.

William told of his gathering the Green Dragoons in an attempt to 'rescue' Beth. He made it clear that he hoped he would encounter Marion the Fox, in case the Commander in Chief chastised him for taking so many Dragoons from Charles Town. He described the chase, and the skirmish.

"The Fox was dueling with Captain Bordon, who had sustained too many wounds and was faltering. I intervened. We fought and when I had an opening I sliced him across the chest. He died of his wound on the way back here."

"Ah, some good news!" Clinton cried passionately. He turned from the window, his face alight with elation. "Good Lord, man - I knew you could do it! Well done indeed! Marion the Fox, dead! The rebels will lose heart now - he was the only thing holding them together!"

"There is still Colonel Burwell and General Gates, Sir," Tavington would have preened under the praise normally, but this victory was blighted by his loss of Beth.

His words were barely heard by the other Generals and Aides, all calling for wine so that they might congratulate Tavington.

William took it in his stride, his face a mask of stone as he seethed over his loss.

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"Bordon, return to the Tisdale manor and organize for our belongings to be packed, we are shifting residence," Tavington commanded crisply as he mounted his horse.

"Changing residence?" Bordon asked. "Only a few weeks before we ride for the Santee? Where will we be quartered?"

"The Putman's." Tavington replied. "Miss Jutland also, if you wish. The Putman's will make no protest to your Mistress's presence, I assure you." His voice was firm and threatening, almost hoping they would make protest.

Bordon began to laugh, then he stopped abruptly and wince, clutching the wound in his side.

"Very good, Sir." Still chuckling, he mounted carefully and nodded curtly to his men. He rode away in the direction of the Tisdale's manor.

Tavington led the remainder of his Dragoons to the Putman's. Once there, he handed his reins curtly to an under Officer before striding purposefully into the manor. The family were still where he had left them several hours earlier, with Wilkins standing watch over them. The tension was palpable, William could feel it as soon as he entered the parlor.

He stopped short, gazing coldly down at Mark Putman, who said not a word. Tavington considered his options as he studied the other man. Zeke the slave had given him a goodly amount of information earlier and there was still more to be told. The slave would not know everything, however. Putman himself would need to be questioned.

"Lieutenant Anders, have Mr. Putman escorted to the cells." He commanded quietly.

"No!" Mage and Cilla cried in unison. Tavington ignored them both, his gaze fixed on Putman as the man rose to his feet.

"On what charge?" Putman asked in a steady voice.

"Treason," Tavington replied calmly. "Sedition against the Crown and His Majesty King George."

Mark's hands convulsed once, then stilled. Tavington smiled, a small, dispassionate smile, as Mark was dragged from the room.

"Now," he rounded on the women and addressed them in a crisp voice. "I am seizing your home, Mrs. Putman," he informed her.

The two women clutched at each other, fear shining in their eyes.

"The two of you will be allowed to reside here, sequestered in one room. You will have no contact with anyone outside this house without my expression permission, which you will not get, so you will have contact with no one."

"Sir -" Mage breathed. Cilla, for once, was at a loss for words.

"You will not be able to leave," Tavington ploughed over her relentlessly. "You are officially under house arrest. Be thankful you are not confined to the the cells with your husband."

The two women shared a glance, their breasts heaved with fear.

"I will choose a room for you to share myself. You may continue to manage the house, catering for the needs of my Dragoons."

"You can't mean -" Mage cut off with a gasp.

"What an impure mind you have Mrs. Putman," Tavington's smile did not reach his eyes. "If you wish to cater to their needs in that manner, you may, of course. With your husband gone, you might become lonely. I, myself, would not refuse you."

"You dare!" Cilla, headstrong and fiery, was pushed beyond her limit. "You will not speak to my mother with such disrespect!"

Tavington eyed her coolly, his gaze took her in from head to toe.

"Too much like her cousin," he muttered as he turned sharply and strode from the room.

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The day was wearing on. Marion had been absolutely right, Beth's rump was killing her. They were safe now, the Dragoons had not been able to follow through the waterfall once the bridge had been destroyed and nearest crossing was miles away.

Nevertheless, their wild ride had taken them far off course. If their journey had not been interrupted, they would have been at Fresh Water by now. For many hours they had ridden through woods and over pastures, taking small trails rather than the roads in case they encountered British forces.

They had stopped often, to water, feed and rest the horses. It became increasingly harder for the ladies to climb back on their horses after each stop. Their bodies were tired, sore. Exhausted. And they were still another two hours from home at least.

The column wound its way through the woods. Beth did not even bother to lift her head from Doyle's shoulder to glance around and enjoy her surroundings. The beauty of the woods, with the sun shining through the leafy canopy over head held no charm for her.

They slowed again as they entered another clearing and still Beth did not raise her head, though she knew they would be stopping for another rest.

Men were talking and shouting, greeting one another with excited voices, then Colonel Harry Burwell was standing at the stirrup of Beth's horse.

She finally raised her head from Doyle's shoulder to stare down at Harry in shock, unable to credit it.

"Beth?" He was holding his arms out to her, ready to help her down. "Come now, you are safe. Are you hurt?"

Temporarily dumbstruck, Beth simply could not take it in. Her mind was playing tricks with her.

Then, with a shriek she threw herself bodily from the saddle into his arms. He stumbled back with a grunt, almost losing his balance as his fiancé was suddenly wrapped around him, her arms clutching tight as she wept against his chest.

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Tavington chose Beth's room for himself. His wounds were dressed properly, he had questioned Zeke more closely, taken a bath, eaten a hearty dinner. Now he sat on the edge of Beth's bed, finally ready to read the letter she had left for him.

As expected, when he opened the enveloped, his grandmothers ruby pendant dropped into the palm of his hand. Though he had not checked earlier, he had known it was the pendant that gave the envelope weight. The ruby glinted in the candlelight, mocking him. He could still hear Beth's piercing scream as he was shot before her eyes, still saw the terror on her face.

She loved him and yet she still took herself away from him, willingly. She had betrayed him, then left him - though he had told Clinton a very different story. A slow burning rage smoldered within him as he unfolded the letter and began to read.

William,

We have only known one another for a short time but my love for you is so strong, I can not imagine ever loving another person as much as I do you.

If you had proposed to me, as I believe you intended, I would have accepted you in a heart beat. Despite the repercussions. My father loves me, I believe he would have forgiven me eventually. I was prepared to accept you. When my Aunt's argued that you were merely after my inheritance and dowry, I was still willing to accept you.

It has been bought to my attention that your family is struggling, their finances almost deplete. You have told me some of it yourself, I remember you telling me your father squandered your wealth. You are in need of a wealthy bride to help support your loved ones back home. I argued with my Aunts, I told them I did not care. That with careful investment, we could have helped your family and lived a comfortable life ourselves, such is my love for you. My need to be with you.

When it became apparent that I would accept you, my family was forced to reveal further truths that they would have preferred to keep to themselves for they knew those truths would cause me pain.

The first, that you received a five thousand pound inheritance that you yourself squandered in less than a year. I must admit, I was hesitant to marry you when this was revealed to me, for if you have not outgrown your carousing ways, we would be destitute in just a few years. And if by then my father had still not forgiven me, then neither of our families would aid us.

But that was still not enough to dissuade me, not truly.

The death knell for me, was learning that you have continued your affair with Miss Linda Stokes.

Oh my dear Lord, William. Can you imagine the agony, when I heard this? Every night this week I've lain in my bed, unable to sleep for thoughts of you have plagued me. And every night this week, you have held that woman in your arms, in your bed. You have kissed her, touched her, coupled with her.

Make no mistake, learning of your continued affair with Miss Stokes has hurt me deeply. I would have accepted you, if not for learning this.

Although the loved one who revealed this truth was loathe to do so, I am glad she did. My path is clear now, no long murky. I will not marry you. For how can I?

Honestly William! Would you have continued on with Miss Stokes after we married? Would my mothers money and my dowry support not only your family back home, but your mistress right here? Good Lord, I would have been a laughing stock! Fawning over you while everyone knew you were keeping a mistress! Its disgraceful.

My husband keeping a mistress would shame me utterly. And it would shame you also!

This is not easy for me, and if you think it is, then you are a fool.

But it must be done.

You already have a bastard growing within Vera Tisdale. Will Miss Stokes bear you one also?

Enough, I have reached my limit. I can take no more and so I will leave Charles Town. And I will not return until the war takes you far away from South Carolina.

I recall your words - that you would pursue me to the end of my days. The Santee is not so far as that, and you will be out that way in a few weeks. But I must beg you, please, to let me be. Let me find peace.

If you care for me at all, you will do as I request for you are breaking me, William. You are utterly destroying me.

I am sorry if this letter causes you the slightest distress. I know now that you do not love me, but I would like to believe you do care for me a little. Or perhaps its just wishful thinking. Either way, I know you will find solace in the arms of another. Miss Stokes, most likely. Or some other. I will not allow myself to be jealous of those women any longer.

You shame your own name with your conduct, surely you must see that? You sully the entire Tavington family.

But I do not care, for I will never bear your name, I will not share your shame. Continue spreading your seed and siring bastards. Do what you wish, because I will have no more of you.

Do not doubt the depths of my feelings for you, William. But nor should you doubt my strength. Leaving you is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I will do it. I will move on. It would be far more painful to stay and suffer your continual infidelities.

You will have found the pendant within the envelope - it is a beautiful piece, I must say. Such a glorious piece should be given to a woman you truly love. I do hope one day you will find her, if you have not already found her with this Linda Stokes.

Miss Elizabeth Martin

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A/N - Whitewaters does exist, its an actual place, but I have no idea what it looks like, how large or how small. I have no idea if you can cross beneath it - I doubt it. I got the idea from The Last of the Mohicans.

Also, the real Marion the Fox was never caught. Banastre Tarleton was never able to capture him no matter how hard he tried. I believe he died in 1795, almost fifteen years after the Rev War ended. But I had to make way for the Ghost, so, Marion has died in my story.

Lastly - to all the Tavington fans - I am one of you. I do not want to give too much away, but if you bear with me for the next few chapters, the Beth and Tavington will be reunited.