Author's note: Hi readers. Yes, I have heard you about updates. Again let me apologize for not posting in 4 months or so. I had a full plate with family issues thru the winter and holidays.

I am glad you have stayed with the story and have been enjoying it. Thanks for requesting updates-you're all very kind and I am so flattered! I can't guarantee that I will be any more timely with them...real life likes to keep me busy.

So, let me warn you. This may not be quality writing here. I put myself under pressure to get something posted because I wanted to show that I haven't abandoned the story and haven't lost interest in it. There is still so much more I have planned for it...I would say that it is only about half way done. I am not a good "deadline" writer and feel I do better work when I can just write and put it out there whenever. And I'd rather put a good product out anyway. So, there is your warning that this chapter may not be up to par. As usual, I'll be back over it proofreading it in the next few days.

Also, I hope you all tune into the AMC channel to watch the Revolutionary War drama series "Turn: Washington's Spies" on Monday, April 13 at 9pm! Help bring it back for a third season! I hope you all got to see the recent Revolutionary War drama miniseries "Sons Of Liberty" on the History channel back in January! It was great!

Thanks

JScorpio

Chapter 35: Snap Decision

Betsy's stomach burbled at the sound of the chairs scraping on the wooden floor of the dining room. She gave a scant, sidelong glance at the officers as they departed after breakfast, glad they were leaving for it left her nearly alone—except for another. She stole a quick look up from her plate at Captain Bordon, sitting across from her. Both had eaten slowly, savoring their food and their presence with one another, although amongst a table full of redcoats. She said nothing and smiled slyly to herself as she looked down again and finished the last of her food.

Bordon was quiet as he finished his food. The two looked up at the same time, catching one another's eye. A knowing, yet secret look passed between them.

Miss Burwell couldn't explain why she became silent in casual meetings with the captain. For God sakes, she thought. She could take her clothes off before him and let him between her legs with no hesitation or protest. She could murmur sweet nothings to him as he lay atop her. She could moan appreciatively while he brought her to orgasm. All this, yet she became tongue tied in simple circumstances with him. It was astounding.

Perhaps she was afraid of giving away their secret affair. She just couldn't seem to put her finger on it.

Indeed the couple had been carrying on their clandestine romance for nearly a month. They made love in either of their chambers on nights that he was home. Kisses were stolen quickly and cautiously beyond the eyes of those around them. They embraced in dark corners and empty rooms. As well, the two had nearly been close a couple of times—too close—to being discovered. Though that scared the lovers, it didn't deter them from their elicit activity either.

Still, to the girl's dismay, Hugh had not whispered the words she longed to hear: I love you. If only she could know that he felt that way, for if she did, she vowed to find a way to break off her engagement to George. Then, she could marry Bordon, the man she truly loved. Betsy wanted to make him a good wife, bear him children and ease his quiet, but still lingering grief over Sarah's death.

The young lady had revealed her feelings to him days ago, and she knew he remembered. And she resolved not to utter the words again until he spoke them to her. He needed time, she thought, to sort his emotions out. She was willing to give him that much.

As they gazed at each other, the captain raised his glass and grinned as he quietly toasted her. Betsy looked down bashfully as a slow burn crept over her skin, making her cheeks rosy as with a blush. Hugh stifled a laugh at her as the maid Polly breezed into the room.

"Would either of you like tea?" she said as she gathered some of the plates. Both of them nodded 'no'. As the servant continued picking up the meal dishes, she addressed Betsy.

"We're making an apricot and berry compote for this evening," the young girl informed.

"Oh, very good," Betsy acknowledged with a nervous smile.

Soon the servant's arms were full of dishes. Betsy and Hugh watched anxiously as she headed out of the room and across the breezeway.

After another moment of quiet, Miss Burwell asked a curious and cryptic question. "Why me?"

The redcoat officer was puzzled. Perplexed, he answered back with a question. "What do you mean?"

"You are from one of the wealthiest families in England, so I have heard," Betsy began as she rose from the table. "You don't have a woman back home?"

The young lady walked to the end of the table, where she picked up the sugar bowl. "The fathers back in England must be knocking each other over to make matches of their daughters with you."

She placed the bowl back into the corner cabinet. As she did she trembled with anticipation as she heard the captain's chair scoot backward. She kept her focus on the fine porcelain in the cupboard before her as she heard Hugh's footsteps nearing.

"I am sure that our family is lower in society than the Bordons are," she remarked. She turned to find him at the end of the table, the salt and pepper shaker in his hand. "I'm just some country girl on some farm in the middle of the colonies."

"I grew up on an estate in the English countryside," he said as he handed her the china accoutrements. She put them in the cabinet as he continued his answer. The girl blushed and tensed as she felt his fingertips on her waist. "Why shouldn't I be drawn to a country girl?"

He was so close to her now, near enough that she felt his breath on the back of her neck. Her cheeks went from pink to red as she blushed. His hands gave a light but noticeable squeeze on her middle.

"You're congenial," whispered Hugh as he placed a light kiss on her neck, "And a beauty."

His lips grazed her skin again, making her shiver. Then he kissed the shell of her ear when he murmured, "I like you. I pine for your company. I can't help myself."

Betsy pulled away from him and turned to face the man. Her hands gripped the edge of the pie shelf as she felt her knees weaken. She stared at him with a starry eyed expression at the sweetness of his words and the warmth in his voice. She knew he was sincere.

"I care for you, Betsy," he declared in a soft, lovelorn voice as he gazed down at her. "So very much."

The two were lucky that a servant did not enter the room at that moment. Their actions and looks were clear enough to give themselves away to some stranger on the road.

"Join me in the south parlor," Captain Bordon whispered. She nodded her head. Her eyes followed him as he left the room and went into the main house.

The girl took in a breath and closed her eyes as she let it out. As usual, to be in his presence in anyway caused her stomach to flutter. After giving him a moment's head start, she too left the dining hall to find him. She fought herself to keep her pace to a languid walk through the house lest a purposeful trot cast suspicion upon her.

As Betsy crossed the threshold of the parlor, Bordon's warm hand caught hers. He tugged her over against the wall behind the door. She gasped as he did but did not hesitate to throw her arms around his broad shoulders. The officer smiled down at her as he slipped his arms around her waist and walked her backwards into the wall. With her body pinioned willingly against it, Hugh pushed his body to hers, holding her close.

The captain lowered his head and put his lips to hers, capturing them in a hot, demanding kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth and met hers without hesitation. They rolled and dueled hastily, then slowed the pace. For the next moment, they kissed leisurely, savoring each other's lips.

Hugh pulled away and gazed down at the girl. "A kiss goodbye, before patrol."

Her fingers toyed with his lapels. "I'll miss seeing you today."

"As I will you," he declared. He dropped his head to kiss her right hand, which stilled smoothed at his jacket folds. His mouth moved to her ear, whispering a secret only for her to hear. "Even though we cannot act openly upon our feelings, my eyes appreciate seeing a lovely sight."

She blushed, then embraced him and rested her head against his chest. Betsy wanted to tell him to be safe. She didn't want to let go of him, but knew she had to. "Thank you," she murmured to his compliment.

"I'll see you tonight," he assured with a smile. "Off to your chores."

Betsy giggled when Bordon gave her a playful slap to her bottom as she left the room. The young girl seemed to float, her feelings somehow carrying her, out of the house. The reverie was over though, when she seated herself behind the butter churn outside the kitchen building.

As Captain Bordon's detachment rode out, the quick nod and glance that Hugh gave her didn't escape her. Miss Burwell tried not to look for too long—or too longingly—at the officer as he left. She forced her eyes down again, pretending to concentrate on the mixing the cream. She couldn't help but steal another glimpse, and by this time it was she the lane curved and took him out of sight.

Minutes after he was gone, she worked away mindlessly churning the butter, paying no heed to whether the substance within thinned or thickened. Betsy's mind was occupied with thoughts of Hugh. She pictured him naked and glorious, then she envisioned them linked physically, his stone hard cock buried in her youthful wetness. She closed her eyes and could feel him stroking within her slowly and smoothly, making her moan and gasp.

Mrs. Leyanova shouting at the slaves tore her from her pleasant thoughts. The girl looked about and reddened, having that feeling that all around her could read her mind; she was damn glad they couldn't.

Miss Burwell couldn't figure her feelings out. Captain Bordon was a strange addiction. Betsy needed to be near him; hear his deep voice; kiss his lips; feel his arms around her; lay next to him. Her teenaged infatuation of him had turned him into a Greek God which she adored on a pedestal. She worshipped him and saw no fault. Since he was near mythical to her, he would not be hurt. She knew he would return to her. The few battle scars upon his body that her fingertips raked over had not made their way onto the imaginary marble statue her mind had formed of him.

She had sewn his chest wound and tended his venom filled body of recent months, but none of that reality sullied her image of him. Captain Bordon was perfection. He would never die, and therefore be alive at the end of this Godforsaken war. He would be a war hero for His Majesty and return decorated with gaudy medals by the monarch himself!

No, she thought. Not Hugh. He will be safe. I will see him in glory!

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Betsy couldn't breathe! She was startled awake, trying to catch her breath. Something was smothering her. Someone's hand. She knew it wasn't Hugh Bordon's.

"Shhhh. Be still, Miss Burwell," a voice said. A young man's. Vaguely familiar. The girl sat up, not knowing what to do or if to scream. In confusion, she looked at the shadow at the side of her bed rise to full height.

The silhouette was that of a young man. A boy, perhaps. She stayed silent and still as she tried to place the voice.

"It is Johnny….Johnny Lander….from town," he informed in a low voice.

The girl was stunned that one of the village sons was in her house. In her bedroom. In the middle of the night. She worried if Hugh was home or not as she sat up, pulling the coverlet up to cover her.

"Why are you in my house?" she asked her voice bordering irritation. Where is Hugh, she wondered again. Why isn't HE in here?

"I joined up!" he announced proudly, but softly, making no attempt to get up from his kneeling position beside the girl's bed. "After I saw them lobsters beat you, I enlisted. I serve under your father."

"My father?!" she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice down. Her heart soared and she wanted to scream. Betsy sat forward and squinted to see the Lander boy's face in the shadows. "How is he? Is he here?"

"No. He is in our camp, but I can't tell you where that is," the young man answered. "He is loyal to the men and committed to the cause."

"Yes," Betsy murmured painfully as she relaxed a bit. His commitment to the rebel effort had caused heartache, which Harry Burwell made no apology for. His daughter remembered how he lectured her and her late brother Stephen and the family servants that sacrifice during a war would eventually be known by all. Betsy had certainly felt and lived the loss every day.

The lanky teen aged boy stood. "I can tell you that I am here to take you to him."

"What?!" Miss Burwell exclaimed, nearly bolting out of her bed. Confusion washed over her. How could this be? Maybe she hadn't heard him right.

"What? I don't understand?" the girl stammered.

"The general chose me to come on this mission because I know this area well," Lander informed. He told her that he and three other handpicked men had stolen onto the farm with the sole purpose to collect Betsy. They would sneak her off the farm and to the safety of Burwell's rebel camp. Once there, Harry planned to move her quickly to a safe house.

General Burwell had stewed over his daughter's capture by the British for months. Finally he had been able to arrange a plan to spirit her away from the enemy and bring her to protection sanctioned by him. Tonight, now, was that time.

Betsy was completely bowled over by the suddenness of all this. Still half speechless, she finally pulled herself out of her covers and groped in the dark for her robe which she knew to be laying on the floor somewhere near her bed. Her fingers hit the familiar material of it, jerked it up and pulled it on as she rose from the bed.

"Oh dear, I'll have to pack fast," she muttered, still in confusion, to herself.

"No," the Lander boy said as he grabbed her wrist. "We have to be able to travel light and fast."

"I have to at least get dressed," the girl protested.

"No, miss," answered Johnny. "We have clothes for you for the journey with us, and your father has arranged more clothing for you in camp."

"Certainly," she replied, a little distressed. She surely didn't want to be traversing the countryside in her night gown and robe with nothing but a very small band of ragtag soldiers. It seemed that she had no choice. But that wasn't all that dismayed the young woman.

"Please, Mr. Lander," she begged, "Could you leave me a moment alone. I have to relieve myself."

"Yes, Miss Burwell, but please hurry," he bade. "I'll hide myself downstairs."

"I'll be there soon," she promised as she disappeared behind the privacy screen to where her chamber pot sat.

The young lady had lied. She didn't need to relieve nature. She only needed to relieve her emotions.

The minute she heard the door click shut her head began to spin. She wanted to see her father, but things had changed recently. Betsy was in love. She didn't want to leave Hugh. The girl was in a quandary, hesitating at the choice before her.

She knew that time was of the essence, and she had to settle her mind down enough to be able to make some fast and wise decisions. The girl forced herself to calm by taking two big breaths and letting them out slowly.

Before she could even think, she gazed out the window over the yard full of canvas tents. Miss Burwell saw the picket walking the wood line. Then the laughter of a whore, who was draped over the arm of a drunken soldier, caught her attention and she watched the couple toddle drunkenly across the yard toward some tents. How did papa's men get in here and how are we ever to get out without being seen?

As she pondered that question, the answer was before her. The truth was that the stealthy little band of rebels had made it in. She would have to trust that they had a plan just as good to get away.

The young lady was near tears. Men were here to take her to her father, who she hadn't seen in over a year. Though he had managed to steal into her room when she was so sick with Malaria, that had been the initial plan: to take her then, but she was too sick to travel. And now, Harry Burwell was making a second attempt to collect his daughter. How could she not go?

But that meant she had to leave home…and Hugh Bordon. She would be going now, without the chance to say good bye; to see him a last time not knowing when she they would be together again; to explain things to him.

She briefly thought about leaving a note for her lover. It would have to be written quickly and in the dark. But if she did that, her father's men would be found out and possibly caught if not enough distance was put between the rebels and the farm. Betsy did not want her father's efforts wasted.

The young woman felt that the was making a choice between two men that she loved. She was also deciding between situations. She could stay here with Hugh, carrying on secretly with him and living relatively comfortably in her house under redcoat scrutiny. Or she went to her father, lived with him in his camp, or he packed her off to a safe house. She would be alone there, the war would end, George would eventually come home and she would be made to marry him.

God no, she thought. I love Hugh. I want to be with him.

A lot had happened since she had last seen her father. The gazettes reported stories of George Rogers Clark's heroism, but they also reported on how popular he was with the females in the Northwest territory. There were also the rumors of his drinking and that he was near bankruptcy.

Had Papa read or heard all this? How could he let her marry a man like that?

Harry had no idea of his daughter's feelings for Captain Bordon. Betsy knew this because no one knew they were having an affair. But if she went to her father now, she could tell him about the Captain. She could tell Harry that Hugh was from one of the wealthiest families in England, and high ranking in society. She could explain that they loved each other. Perhaps Papa will break the engagement to George, given his actions of late. Maybe he will give consent for Hugh and I to court outright?

I can send word back to Hugh of where I am, and that I am safe. I know Hugh….he would come after me. He will ride in under a white flag and request to see me. He and father could speak at that time. They will settle everything and I will no longer be a British prisoner.

Betsy decided that to go to her father now was the right thing. She knew she would see Bordon again soon enough and she could explain why she left then—if he hadn't already found out through his intelligence sources. The girl knew he would understand when they were reunited.

She tied the belt of her robe into a tight knot as she walked toward the door. Then she slipped quietly into the hallway, and her heart panged as she stared at the closed door of Captain Bordon's quarters. The girl closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then hurried quietly down the hallway and the steps to the first floor.

Johnny heard her quick steps descending the stairway and he met her at the landing. After a quick and very quiet introduction to Lander's companion, Private Robson, the three exited the back of the house.

Once outside, the trio slinked around the edge of the building making their way to the Southwest corner. The tiny group fell back into the shadows just in time to avoid the residence sentry. As they paused in the dark, Betsy's hand rested upon the wood siding of the domicile. It was cool and rough, and she realized that this may be the last time that she would see her home for awhile.

This moment of hiding nearly made the girl sick to her stomach as she second guessed herself, wondering if she had made the right decision. She assumed that Hugh would be angry, confused and hurt that she had left without a word to him. Miss Burwell could only hope that she could make him understand later and put things right with him.

"Make ready, miss," Lander whispered. His words made her pull away from the thoughts that weighed her down. When the picket soldier moved on, the trio moved stealthily across the lawn from buildings to garden to bush to copse of small trees, using the darkness as a shield. Once at the tree line, they met up with two more men called Mathews and Grover. From there, the small band blended into the foliage.

Betsy, at the back of the small line of soldiers, stopped and gazed back at the house. "Hugh. Papa," she murmured. That was her last glimpse of the house as Johnny's hand grasped her wrist and pulled her along further into the woods.