Beth couldn't move. The blazing pain behind her closed lids, the roiling in her stomach, the weariness in her body seeping to her very bones. All she could do was lie on her side, her eyes squeezed shut, and groan softly. She thought she must be dying, she was so utterly ill and wretched. One of the many sicknesses from the swamps, perhaps, causing her to be prone, unable to move a muscle.

Her head and stomach ached, but there was another pain making itself known to her, an ache deep inside her, centred between her legs, cutting to her very soul. For she had given it away, her virginity, her virtue. She had given it out of wedlock, to the man whose bare chest she now rest her weary head. She could feel the rise and fall beneath her ear, hear his heart beating within. She knew he was awake, for his hand gently stirred through her hair, waiting for her to awaken also.

Banastre Tarleton. She had given her virginity to a British Officer, when she should have waited to give it to her husband to be, George Howard. Would George know, has Henrietta had warned her? Beth kept her eyes shut and tried not to cringe, as she imagined the handsome young man laying beside her for the first time after they said their vows. Of him rolling on top of her as Banastre had done, entering her in the belief that no one had been there before him. Would he know? As soon as his phallus slid into her depths, would he freeze above her? Would he stare down at her, shocked and shamed? Would that shock turn to an accusing glare, would he beat her? Surely not - George was a gentle man. But what sort of marriage could they hope to have, with her having bedded an enemy Officer? What would she say - what excuse could she possibly provide him, that would satisfy him? It had not been rape - just utter stupidly, borne from too much wine.

Ahh, the wine, she thought now. That was why she was so ill just now. It had been the same after her day of drinking whiskey with Aunt Charlotte and the other women that afternoon so long ago. When the whiskey had pervaded her senses and caused her to try and unbutton Burwell's breeches. If her father had not come into her chamber, Beth wondered now, would she have opened her legs for Burwell as she had opened them for Tarleton the night before?

She had opened them for him several times too… It was no wonder she was so sore there.

At least Burwell had been her fiancé. What was Banastre Tarleton to her? A friend? Her lover, now? Was she a loose whore then? To give her virginity away just for the asking? Her stomach began to churn with more than the sickness that came from too much drinking. Guilt twisted her insides, remorse and shame bone deep and so cutting she could barely stand it.

Lord, what will George say? She fretted to herself. Will he demand an annulment? I couldn't bear the shame! Everyone will know it then, that I bedded a British Officer. They won't care which one. They already call me a Redcoat whore… Oh, Lord, I'm a Redcoat whore in truth!

Her thoughts were tormenting but there was nothing she could do to stop them - any more than she could stop a tidal wave from surging in the sea. They continued on, accusing and shaming her, causing her grief and remorse and guilt and shame to swell until she thought she would die of it. She did not love George but she liked him well enough and had hoped they could find happiness together - a mutual respect perhaps. But that would never be, not if he knew she was tainted, used, her innocence gone - given away so freely!

No body knows, she thought to herself now in an effort to console herself. Only Ban and I. He won't boast, he is not the kind. Is he? He won't tell anyone, will he? He loves me. He wouldn't do that to me, would he? He's be a rotter if he did. Surely not… Perhaps George won't notice…

It did not work, she was still feeling utterly wretched and she tried to steer her thoughts away from how shameful it was to give her virginity away so easily to an enemy Officer, merely because he was in love with her. She had felt such desperate need to be held, to be loved, to dispel the crushing loneliness that had been consuming her before their reunion. Only Banastre - out of all the people in the world, loved her. Tavington did not love her - she had convinced herself of that long ago. Burwell had abandoned her - how could he have ever claimed to love her, only to break their engagement at the first sign of trouble? Her father and her brother no longer loved her, would not even embrace her farewell. None of them cared for her.

Only Banastre did. He loved her and he didn't hesitate to show it. He'd thrown a ball for her, all for her. Merely to cheer her, to see her smile. And he'd stayed with her the whole night through, showing her how much he loved her, over and again.

How do I feel for him? She wondered now.

She had been unable to dispel her guilt and shame, her remorse over giving her virtue away to a man who was not her husband. It would not leave her and she could feel it pulling her under. So she did the only thing she could just then, she tried to convince herself that she felt more for Banastre Tarleton than she did. That her feelings were warmer than mere friendship. That she had given herself to a man she loved.

I love him, she told herself fervently. Her stomach gave another lurch, and she pushed away her doubt and repeated the phrase over and over in an effort to convince herself. I love him, I love him. I gave myself to a man I love. What is so bad about that? How could that be wrong? If I must spend the rest of my life with George - who I respect and like, isn't it better that the man I love was able to claim me first?

Deep down inside, she rebelled. She didn't love Banastre, she loved ColonelWilliam Tavington. The feeling tried to assert itself but she shoved it back down, deep, in the abyss where it belonged. She could not love William - she could not admit it. If she did, if she finally admitted that she was desperate to be with him, she'd climb Shadow Dancer's back and ride - without stop - all the way to Charles Town, to be with William. She couldn't do it - she wasn't brave enough to leave her family, knowing she would be disowned and sent from them. And so she did the only thing she could - she denied her love for William. Just as she tried to convince herself that she loved Banastre now - merely to stop feeling such terrible shame, over giving him her virginity.

"Good morning, sleepy head," came the fond murmur in Banastre's deep timbre. He had realised she was awake and he raised his hand, placed two fingers beneath her chin and lifted her head to meet his gaze. With a small shuffling, he laid her back against the pillows and his lips began to move across hers. She gazed at him gravely all the while, deep brown eyes starting into deep brown, his warm lips caressing hers. She wound her arms over his shoulders and opened her mouth, accepting his tongue when it entered. His ardour was rising again and Beth let herself sail away on the tide with him, letting her problems drift away. For what problems did she have? What could be better, than laying in the arms of the man she loved? Skin to skin, kissing and touching each other with tenderness and ever increasing arousal? Wasn't that the definition of perfect bliss?

"I feel sick, Ban," she confided, whispering against his lips. "I can barely move - can barely speak. My body hurts… my head is splitting. I'm dying."

"I feel that way every time I drink too much wine too, my love," he laughed at her. "I'll fetch you some water. I promise it'll do you a world of wonder."

He climbed out of the bed, as naked as the day he was born. Beth's eyes lingered on his body, on the ripples and hard planes of his stomach and chest, of the muscles moving beneath the skin of his back. His auburn hair, unbound, drifting down his back as he moved about the room, fetching her the promised water from a jug. He was returning to her, a glass in his hand, and she was afforded with a view of his front, her eyes now lingering on his rock hard erection. He was completely unashamed of being so thoroughly exposed to her, in all his majesty. She licked her lips, dragging her eyes away from his phallus.

"Here, I'll help you up," he offered when it became clear she could not even do that much. Taking a hold of her arm, he pulled her up and she clutched at the sheets to cover her nudity. A sharp contrast to his blatant exhibition. She kept her eyes on his face as he sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her. Even still, she could see the evidence of his arousal poking up from his lap, from the corner of his eye.

"Drink up," he murmured, his gaze on hers. "The headache, the sickness - it'll all pass, you'll see. Just drink up."

"I will," she whispered, closing her eyes and swallowing hard against a wave of nausea. And then she did as he ordered, and began to drink. One glass, then another. After the third glass, she could drink no more, and reclined against the pillows while he returned the glass to the side board.

"My poor darling," he murmured when he returned. Laying along side her, he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have let you drink so much."

She said nothing, she didn't have the energy to form a reply. Instead she snuggled in closer, her head under his chin, her arms loose about his waist as he stroked her back and hair.

"I'll have to leave soon," he said softly, and she could hear the reluctance in his voice.

"No, don't go," her whimper surprised even her, and she tightened her hold on him as though she could stop him climbing out of the bed. "I want you to stay with me."

He stiffened beneath her, shocked by this profession and by her obvious need. Hope bloomed in his chest as he wondered if she returned the strong feelings he felt for her.

"It'll only be for a short while," he assured her, instead of broaching the subject. "Just to be certain that the servants see me coming from my own quarters instead of from yours. We don't want them to suspect where I spent the night…"

For answer, she snuggled closer, clearly unwilling to release him. He was content enough - they had some time yet before the servants began to stir. Though it was morning, it was still dark outside - barely past 5-am. They wouldn't have time to couple again, for Banastre didn't want to take her quickly merely to assuage his own need. He wanted to pleasure her, to ensure she enjoyed it as much as he did. But they had time to snuggle for a bit, at least until the water did its job and her nausea left her.

"Oh, I didn't think of the servants," she said softly. "Do you think they already know?"

"No, my sweet. They did not see me come in here, and as I said, they will not see me leave," he smiled then, and kissed the top of her head. "We've had quite a fun evening, have we not?"

"We have," Beth sighed. "I am a virgin no longer."

"No, you are not," he kissed the top of her hair. "I've made certain of that, how many times did we make love to one another last night?"

"I've lost count, though I can feel it - I'm so sore!"

"Hmm, I'm sorry about that," Banastre's smirk showed he wasn't sorry at all. "Any regrets, my sweet?"

"No," Beth lied. "I enjoyed it as much as you did."

That wasn't a lie - she had enjoyed it, but she did regret it.

"And we'll enjoy each other again tonight," Banastre said wistfully. "And tomorrow night… It will be a long time before you grow used to me - a long time before you can walk straight."

"Don't be crass," she slapped his arm, then reluctantly climbed out of his embrace. "You were right about the water, I do feel a world better."

"Told you…" Banastre watched her as she pulled her shift over her slim shoulders. She seemed to be slipping back into her melancholia from the previous day and he felt his rage mount all over again. She'd been happy the night before!

"Will you help me dress?" She asked, her stays dangling loosely from her fingers. He climbed out of the bed to help her.

"I've always preferred removing these," he said as he stood behind her, pulling the ties closed.

"I'm sure," she said, sounding slightly amused.

"Was that a smile?" He teased, leaning forward to brush his lips against the shell of her ear.

"Perhaps," she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You do have a wonderful way of cheering me…"

"Does that mean," he wrapped his hands around her waist and ran his fingers up and down her stays. "I can remove this after all? We can climb back into bed..."

"Hmm, perhaps…" She smiled up at him. "It was your idea to leave me, after all. Not mine."

Banastre exulted, feeling certain he would be buried to the hilt in her wonderful sheath, and moving inside her again in the next few moments.

"I love you, Beth," he said earnestly, without a hope of returning the sentiment. He froze dead with shock, when she did.

"I love you too, Ban," she whispered, then buried her face into his neck, her lips kissing his neck gently. He couldn't move to save himself, such was his astonishment. His confusion gave way to joy so deep, his heart pounded and he felt lighter than air.

"Beth…" He breathed, tilted her head back to meet his gaze. He crushed her to him and held her close, his lips moving frantically over hers. He edged her back to the bed, determined to be inside her, to consummate her wonderful declaration.

"Mrs. Rutledge!" A frantic woman screamed from somewhere in the house. "Come quick - it's young Master Eddie!"

"Oh, no!" Beth wailed, pushing Banastre away abruptly.

The mood was broken, the moment gone.

She finished dressing quickly in the clothes Henrietta had provided - the light blue bodice and skirts from the day before. He sighed heavily and watched, and made no move to protest when she disappeared through the door. With his mind on her profession of love, he dressed more slowly, drawing his breeches on and fixing the buttons on his shirt. It was not until he was completely dressed, with his cravat in place, his green coat across his shoulders and his boots on his feet that he finally stepped into the corridor.

The screaming in the house had not abated and it cut through his awe, destroying the moment utterly. He followed the noise of crying women. Hanger and Whitty, both curious to discover what the furore was about, fell in beside him. They climbed the stairs to the nursery in silence and finally, when they entered the nursery itself, they discovered the cause of the women's distress.

"Banastre," Beth stumbled to him, her grief stricken face streaked with tears. He glanced past her at Mrs. Rutledge, where she sat on the floor, clutching her younger son to her chest. It was clear to him what had occurred, but Beth continued brokenly in any case. "It's Edward - he passed away. He's been ill for so long and… Oh, sweet Lord…"

He wrapped her in his arms, giving her an encompassing, but brief, hug. Though the other women barely registered that the Dragoons had arrived, it still would not do for any of them to notice him cuddling Beth. He released her and she tried to compose herself, enough to stand by a very confused looking Henry - Edward's older brother. She wrapped her hand in his and the two stood back from the other women.

Young Edward Rutledge - at not quite three years old, had finally succumbed to his illness, and the household was grieving. The mother could not hold in her anguish - Mrs. Rutledge knelt on the floor, screaming over her little boy's body.

It was then that Banastre decided they would not remain at Rutledge Plantation after all. It would be far too dismal a place to reside and while he would not normally be bothered, he didn't want Beth to slip into a deeper melancholia. He informed Hanger of his intention to leave, as he turned on his heel and strode from the nursery, back down the stairs to pack Beth's meagre belongings.

::::::::::::::::::::::

Not an hour later found Beth in Shadow Dancer's saddle, trotting not far back from Banastre and Hanger, who led Tarleton's Raiders. The British Legion followed along more slowly - the Dragoons were not pushing very hard, which enabled the Legion's infantry, wagons and supply carts to keep pace.

Their destination - Fresh Water Plantation.

When he set out, Banastre had not been certain where they would go next. He had been pouring over maps of the area in the search for a suitable place, when a messenger - another dutiful Loyalist, had arrived at Rutledge Plantation as the Legion was breaking camp. The Loyalist had ridden hard to impart his information - that Burwell's force had been sighted further along Coleman Road, between Fresh Water Plantation and the village of Pembroke. Without consulting with Beth, Banastre decided that he make his encampment at Fresh Water. The Plantation was situated perfectly, in between Pembroke and to where Burwell had been sighted. Banastre would send out his scouts to search for Burwell, while he began his raids against Pembroke.

As he trotted, he glanced over his shoulder and met Beth's eyes - the poor girl had been prone to bouts of weeping ever since little Edward Rutledge died earlier that morning. She had tried to comfort Henrietta but the Society woman had rebuffed Beth completely. She had been deranged with grief and completely uncaring of the hurtful words she'd shouted at Beth, until Beth fled her presence and fell against Banastre's chest, weeping and distraught. She was not crying now, he was pleased to see, but her eyes were red-rimmed and her return gaze was evidence of her distress.

There was nothing more he could do for her just then - not on the road as they were.

The extensive plantation they were passing along just then, Beth had informed him, was Fresh Water. He spied the house further into the property - in the centre of the fields with the cornfield to one side.

"This is your property?" He called over his shoulder, surprised and he glanced at Beth in time to see her nod. "Huh," he grunted.

Where he had been expecting to see a properly large Colonial plantation manor house much like the Rutledge's - which was a mansion for want of a better word - he spied a simple two story home. It was a well constructed house and was clearly maintained well, with a fresh coat of paint. Still, it was not representative of the vast wealth he knew the Martin's to possess. Many smaller, well built cottages lined the drive further back from the house, the homes of the many Plantation workers. Clearly, judging by all he had been told of the family, the Plantation was quite well to do and it surprised Banastre utterly that Beth's father had not built himself a mansion to rival the Rutledge's.

He approached the mouth of the driveway and noticed the lack of sign - he could see the posts where the sign was supposed to be but Beth had already told him it had been taken down for maintenance. He held his arm up to signal the halt, and his Dragoons fell in behind him. Beth caught up to him, sensing he would have questions for her.

"Is that your property also?" He asked, pointing across the road to the fields beyond, as far as the eye could see.

"Yes," she replied. "Why?"

"I can't fit nine hundred men in your front yard," he smiled at her. "Your home will house a couple of my Officers, and the Dragoons will be immediately close to the house - in the field Burwell vacated," his eyes flashed fury - that had been a nasty surprise revealed the evening before, that Beth's family had hosted the Continentals. She lowered her eyes and blushed, but offered no reply. He continued, "but I still have the rest of the Legion to find some flat ground for."

He rose up in the saddle, standing in his stirrups and searching over the tops and beyond the tall crops. There were several large, flat, empty spaces that could accommodate the various units of the Legion. He did not like to split them up, rather he preferred to keep his battalion together with very strict and strong defences. Splitting them up left them open for attack and he would find it difficult to get to any one unit in the event of a strike. He lowered himself to his seat.

"Each unit will need to post sentries and pickets. I want no drinking in the camps - on pain of a flogging," he commanded and Hanger nodded agreement. "Burwell won't be able to do any damage to the Legion when it's camped together, but separated as we'll be, each unit will be vulnerable and might prove a tempting target."

"He's a brash one," Hanger agreed. "I wouldn't put it past him to try."

Beth's eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit her squarely between the eyes.

"You think he'll attack you here?" She squeaked and Shadow Dancer skittered beneath her, sensing her nerves. "There could be a skirmish outside my front door!"

"There could be," Banastre agreed. "As I said, we will present too tempting a target. And I'll not be able to respond quickly to direct a battle - not if I am quartered inside your home."

"Will you stay in a tent then?" Hanger taunted, his eyes flicking to Beth. He knew damned well that Banastre had bedded the girl the evening before, and was holding onto the hope that he'd be able to slip into her chamber at her father's home also. He couldn't very well share her bed if he was sleeping in one of the tents in the middle of camp. "Across the road amidst the infantry? In case they are attacked…"

"Don't be a bloody fool," Banastre muttered and spurred his horse forward, leading the way up the gate. Hanger barked a laugh, then issued several commands to his Captains to begin directing the bulk of Tarleton's Legion, in their various units, to the various fields. Then he turned and followed Banastre and Beth toward the house, with Lieutenant Whitty, Second Lieutenant Bell and Ensign Mitchell fell in behind him.

As bold as brass, Banastre galloped toward the house, completely unconcerned about the commotion his arrival was causing. A man approaching his middle years already awaited him on the porch and judging by the worry lines Banastre saw on the man's face, he guessed this to be Beth's father, Mr. Benjamin Martin. Behind him stood several other men, a woman and a few youths, all looking grave and huddling quietly. Banastre drew rein at the front steps of the verandah and nodded coolly at Mr. Martin. Her nervous gaze fixed on her father, Beth drew rein alongside the Colonel, as did Hanger, who exuded as much confidence as Tarleton. Beth, in contrast, barely seemed to know what she should say or do. She waited in breathless anticipation.

"Beth," her father greeted her, ignoring Tarleton for the moment. "I've been worried sick. Thomas came all the way to Wakefield to fetch me back - he said you'd been taken captive. Are you well?"

"I am, Papa. It was a misunderstanding, is all," Beth said, her voice a mere croak. She turned to Banastre. "Colonel Tarleton, may I present my father to you? Mr. Benjamin Martin."

Banastre and Benjamin eyed one another up, both taking in the measure of the other, both sensitive to the under currents playing between them.

"'Mr.'?" Banastre quirked an eyebrow in polite incredulity. "I was given to understand that this Gentleman was 'Captain' Benjamin Martin, veteran of the Seven Year War."

Banastre saw Benjamin's sudden tension - the tightening around his eyes and hardening of his jaw - and he knew his comment had hit its mark. Clambering down from his mount gracefully, he strode up the steps of the porch, pulling his helmet off and placing it under his arm. He held his free hand out to Benjamin, who clasped it warily in turn.

"Colonel Banastre Tarleton at your service, Captain Martin," Banastre said with deliberate emphasis on the man's military title.

"Mr. Martin, at yours," Benjamin replied. "I'm retired from the military."

"Ah, once a soldier always a soldier, I dare say?" Tarleton smirked.

"You can take the soldier out of the fighting," Hanger called, working together with Banastre in an attempt to ruffle the Patriot. "But you can't take the fight out of the soldier."

"I disagree," Benjamin's reply was stoic. "A man is just that - a man. He can be whatever he wants to be, he can leave behind the fight if he chooses. I'm naught more than what you see before you - a family man," he jutted his chin toward his many children, who formed a silent wall behind him and the tall, gravely silent woman at his side. Who Banastre recognised now, as Mrs. Charlotte Selton. Before he could greet her, Benjamin pointed to Tarleton's Legion as the many soldiers began to move off the road, turning into the surrounding fields. Nine hundred men and some two hundred women, making their way to their various, designated areas. The carts and wagons were lined along the road for as far as the eye could see. If he was disconcerted by seeing such a large force, he showed no sign of it. "Are you planning on a long stay then?"

"I am. Miss Martin has explained there are only two free rooms within your home, now that the Officers you played host to previously have departed," Banastre said this with an edge to his tone, throwing down the challenge for Martin to dare deny having played a willing host to the rebel, Colonel Burwell. He waited Benjamin's response, curious to determine if the man would show his rebel roots and protest the Legion's presence, or be sensible and invite Banastre in.

"You are welcome to both those rooms, and more besides," Benjamin replied, understanding fully well that he was being put to the test. If he balked - he could lose his home - especially after Benjamin had willingly provided succour to the Continentals, which Tarleton would view as an act of treason. Banastre lifted his chin, a small smile playing about the corners of his mouth. Ignoring the smirk, Benjamin continued, "I shall empty other rooms for you, Sir. My son's can share one room, as can my daughters. My sister in law will she will share with the girls, also. This will free up both Beth's room and Mrs. Selton's."

Banastre's smile turned a little sickly now and he cast a glance over his shoulder at the still mounted Beth. He would not be able to slip into her room if she was sharing with her sister's and her Aunt! Frustratingly, he had no valid grounds to protest Benjamin's generous offer - not without drawing attention to his and Beth's affair.

"Thank you, that is very kind," he said politely when he turned back to Martin. He carefully stifled all sign of his vast and desperate disappointment.

"I have other options also," Benjamin continued. "My cousins here," he indicated the men standing behind him - Curly and Rollins. Both of them were well known militiamen - it was time to give them new names, a new identity. And to let all of his family and workers close enough to hear, know that the militia men's true identities would need to remain hidden while the British were present. And so he named them his cousins, and would soon provide them with false names. "My cousins will be more than happy to shuffle around. I should be able to offer you six rooms, by making these rearrangements. Where do you want to pitch your tents for your Dragoons? There is a particularly bountiful area over yonder - with plentiful grazing for your horses."

Banastre, taken aback by Martin's overt generosity, stifled his snide remark. He was about to bait Benjamin further for hosting Burwell, was about to declare he would place his Dragoons where Burwell had camped, but in light of the man's co-operation, he decided against it. Both men understood that Tarleton could do as he wished - Hell, he could kick Martin out of his sleeping chamber and claim it for himself, then burn the house down to the ground after he was done! But Beth's father was showing no animosity and Banastre decided to treat with him cordially.

"Again, I thank you," he inclined his head.

"Sir," Charlotte came forward, her eyes flicking toward Beth and back again as she spoke with a hint of challenge. "With respect - if my niece is no longer a captive, if it was all a misunderstanding, what has upset her? Why has she been crying?"

"Oh, no!" Beth spoke up, cutting Banastre's next words off. She climbed off Shadow Dancer and adjusted her skirts around her legs, then stepped up to the verandah. At Banastre's side now, she continued. "It's Mrs. Rutledge. Little Eddie, he -" She gasped back a sob, then continued in a soft voice. "He passed away this morning."

"Oh my Lord!" Charlotte cried, tears springing to her eyes. Margaret, standing behind her, placed her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Oh! What happened!"

"He… Succumbed," Beth replied, feeling useless and wretched. She tried not to think of little Eddie's small body, far too quiet and still, but it was impossible to dispel the horrible image. "He was sick for so long and… It was his time."

"Oh, my Lord," Charlotte repeated. "I must go to her at once. Beth - come upstairs now and have Mila pack a bag. I know you only just arrived home but you'll come with me anyway. You too Margaret."

She was already turning to the door, oblivious to everyone else standing in the small circle. Therefore, she did not see Banastre's sudden frown. The Hell would he allow the woman to take off with Beth. Christ, if he had to, he'd use Burwell's previous presence on the farm as a reason to place them all under house arrest, before he allowed her to take Beth away from him! He was on the verge of making this declaration - the words that would stop Charlotte in her tracks were on his tongue, but then Beth began speaking and he decided to hold his silence for the moment.

"Ah - Aunt," Beth whispered and pressed her hands to her stomach and lowered her eyes in distress as Charlotte turned back to her. "I… I am not welcome… She doesn't want me there. You and Margaret… Should go alone."

"Oh, I see," Charlotte drew a sharp breath. She studied Beth for a long moment, before coming to the conclusion that Henrietta must have rebuffed the girl. As loyal as she was to her family, Beth had bought it upon herself - she couldn't blame Henrietta entirely. Her friend needed her, she would go to her anyway. "Very well then."

It took her a moment to get over her shock but she was soon all business, calling for her maid Polly to assist her and Margaret, and for her driver, Mr. Tennant, to begin readying the carriage.

"Will you permit this, Colonel?" Benjamin asked softly, having watched Tarleton intently throughout the entire exchange. He had seen the Colonel's frown, and wondered if the Officer intended for the family to remain close, under his eye. "Is my sister in law allowed to leave or is my family under house arrest?"

Beth gasped, shocked. The thought had not occurred to her and she couldn't understand why her father would think it. But one glance at Tarleton's cold, hard face, and she began to wonder if her father's question was not so far fetched after all.

"That is yet to be decided," Tarleton said, his eyes locked on Benjamin's. "Despite your declaration that you would not involve yourself in this war, I can not ignore the fact that you have provided shelter to your former Commandant. Nor can I ignore the fact that someone sent word of warning to Burwell of my approach to Rutledge Plantation yesterday. Your own sons are the likely culprits, Captain Martin. They were aware of our presence and were close enough to Burwell to give that warning. These are acts of treason - how do you explain them?"

He raised his chin with haughtier, daring Benjamin to deny the charges.

"Colonel -" Beth tried to reason but he was having none of it. He whirled on her, his eyes flashing rage. So did Benjamin, for that matter.

"Silence!" Colonel Banastre Tarleton and Captain Benjamin Martin snapped in unison, their voices holding the same, steely ring of command. In this, this one time, they were in complete agreement. Beth quailed beneath the combined weight of their hard stares, she swallowed and lowered her eyes, clutching her skirts in tight fists and resolving to keep her mouth shut from this point forward.

"Sir," Benjamin began when he was certain Beth was cowed. "I will answer your second accusation first, if it pleases you. My sons did not warn Colonel Burwell of your approach - they could not have had time. You see, as soon as they learned my daughter was to remain in your custody, my sons," he nudged his head in the direction of the boys standing behind him, shifting nervously and looking apprehensive. He continued on, keeping his face dead pan as he lied through his teeth. "My sons rode straight for Wakefield to find me and they made it there before dark. Now, based on the time my daughter was taken to your camp - which was late in the day already to my knowledge, there is no possible way that my sons could have made it all the way to Rutledge Plantation first, to warn Burwell of your approach, and then backtrack to arrive at Wakefield, all before dark."

Benjamin delivered this speech with an utterly sober face, not allowing his lies to show - in his voice or his expression. The truth was, Thomas and Nathan had not arrived to Wakefield until close to midnight - when it was far too late for Benjamin to do anything about Beth's circumstances. He held Banastre's eyes and projected an air of calm, and the Colonel tilted his head to one side and studied him closely. Benjamin had the feeling that he was an ant, being inspected by a curious scientist.

"You have entered a heavily Patriotic area, Sir," Curly spoke up for the first time, drawing the Colonel's attention to him. Hoping against hope that Tarelton would not recognise him as one of the rebel militia who had hounded Tarleton's Legion with Captain Huddy under Francis Marion's Command. Curly put his hand out and introduced himself, thinking up a name before Benjamin could. "Mr. Ethan Sydney, Sir," he lied as Tarleton shook his hand. "And this is my brother," he pointed to Rollins. "Mr. Lucas Sydney. Those are his boys -" he pointed at the larger, older boys standing behind Thomas. That should explain the Patriots presence at the farm, he hoped.

"And your relation to the Martin family is..?" Tarleton said as he shook Rollins hand and nodded greeting to his sons.

"Cousins, as Benjamin here said," Rollins spoke up. Beth said nothing as the men told their falsehoods to the Colonel, giving Banastre a short back story that would satisfy his curiosity and, hopefully, prevent the Colonel from associating these particular men with the rebel militia. She made a note to herself, to try and remember to call the men by their false names - Uncle Ethan for Curly and Uncle Lucas for Rollins, perhaps? Christ, she thought, that was going to be hard. It was imperative, however. The men would hang, if Tarleton grew suspicious enough to dig for the truth.

"And do you live here, then? The house is not large enough to accommodate everyone, surely?" Tarleton asked dubiously. "Where are your own homes? What is your purpose here?"

Benjamin remained silent, trying to control his nerves as Curly and Rollins tried to dig their way out of Tarleton's suspicions.

"Over yonder," Curly said vaguely. "I've been livin' with Lucas since my wife died a few years back - I don't have children you see and he needed help on his Plantation. As for what we're doin' here - why, we're visitin' our cousin of course!"

He slapped Benjamin on the back, hard, grinning for all he was worth, and their former Captain returned with a weak smile.

"Though that's not the whole reason, of course. We're trying to get young Bryson here married off to a local girl - a pretty wee thing she is too. As soon as we've got the match settled, we'll be on our way."

"I see," Banastre said, losing interest. As far as he could tell, the men were speaking truly and he had no interest in whether or not Rollins' son was married off to some local girl. He was more interested in whether or not Martin's sons were guilty of warning Burwell and so far, the men had not entirely allayed his suspicions. He met Benjamin's eyes and found only calm assurance, self confidence. "Captain, you maintain your sons went directly to Wakefield and could not possibly have given warning to Burwell?"

"I do, Sir," Benjamin replied firmly. "It is my belief that your force was spied by a local, who must have made haste to warn Burwell of your approach. Whether this is the case or not - I can tell you with absolute certainty that it was not my sons."

He said this with such conviction that Banastre was finally inclined to believe him. Nevertheless, he was not finished with Benjamin Martin.

"And the other?" He said now. "You allowed Burwell to quarter here."

"I did, Sir," Benjamin agreed. Beth held her breath, wondering how her father was going to talk his way out of this one. "Colonel Burwell has long been a friend of mine. My own son serves under his Command. Perhaps I should not have hosted the Continental's, but for me, their stay here was less providing succour to an enemy force, and more assisting a friend."

"This part of South Carolina has not seen much of the war as yet," Hanger said firmly at Banastre's side. "Even still - you must be aware that sheltering the enemy is a treasonous act - especially as you yourself are a soldier?"

"What of sheltering you, then?" Beth asked tartly before she could stop herself. Hanger's words had irritated her and she spoke up despite her father and Banastre's command to be silent. "There are nine hundred of you - and my father is offering to shelter you readily enough! Can't you view him as a Pacifist? They host both sides! Lord, I can't imagine what this will do to our food stores…"

"So he is," Banastre murmured, agreeing that Benjamin was being more than co-operative. He wouldn't view Martin as a Pacifist, that was utter nonsense. Still, he didn't have to act on Martin's treason immediately - that could be dealt with when it was time for him to leave, unless he chose to forgive it altogether. "Very well. As you have invited us into your home, Captain, we shall discuss this no further," he said and Benjamin relaxed slightly.

He could not relax completely, he was still quite tense, for Banastre had not announced the Martin's to be entirely free of guilt and from Benjamin's experience with the British, he understood that Banastre could very well decide to burn the house down at a later date. The Colonel continued and his words caused Benjamin to stiffen again.

"Fear not for your larder, Miss Martin. There is a granary not far from here, I believe. And other public stores of food. We shall take what we need from them before they are destroyed."

"Destroyed!" Beth gasped but Banastre had swept past her and was striding between the men into the house. Benjamin followed more slowly, after sharing 'significant' glances with his comrades behind the Colonel's back. In short order, the small group entered the parlor where Banastre stood, studying his surroundings with interest.

"Your family is free to come and go as they wish, Sir," he told Benjamin now. Benjamin inclined his head graciously, pleased that he did not have to inform Charlotte that she could not tend Henrietta Rutledge.

"That's all well and good," Beth snapped before her father could open his mouth. "But I'm more interested to know exactly why you would wish to destroy the granary?"

Banastre arched an eyebrow. He quite enjoyed her little flares of temper, they amused him greatly. Such a beautiful creature, when her eyes flashed as they were just now. A fiery thing she was, and he relished it, especially when they were alone together in the privacy of a bed chamber. She had proven herself to be as passionate between the sheets as she was when her anger was roused and he longed to be alone with her now. He wished he could soothe her anger with kisses, to feel her rage drain from her as she melted against him, her passion shifting to an entirely different kind.

He took a certain amount of pleasure in her defiance. Not many stood up to him - but Beth - she charged on in where grown men feared to tread. Still, he recognised that he enjoyed it only because he was in love with her - he would not tolerate such provocation from any other rebel - woman or not. Any other rebel woman would be over his knee - with the flat of his blade striking her bare backside until it was red raw. He would not do that to Beth. But nor could he allow her to speak to him in that tone before their current company. Not in front of his Officers and her father and his 'cousins'. So, despite his amusement, he fixed her with a cool stare, and he waited, suspecting her father would call her down for her rude challenge. He would leave it to Benjamin Martin to chastise her, rather than shaming her by reprimanding her himself.

"Beth!" Benjamin snapped as if on cue and Beth glanced at her father uncertainly. "You will apologise to the Colonel at once!"

"Apologise..?" She asked weakly, clearly confused.

Banastre could read her thoughts like an open book and he almost laughed aloud. Here she was, his lover, who knew damned well that he - Colonel Tarleton of His Majesties Dragoons - the dreaded Bloody Ban - was besotted with her and would tolerate her challenges because of it. She took advantage of that more often than not, speaking freely and bickering with him when she felt the need. Only now, with their arrival to her home, their circumstances were greatly altered and it was a struggle for her. She was just realising that a certain conduct was expected of her in certain situations. She was, after all, a Colonial woman from a family who could still be accused of treason, and he was a Commandant in His Majesties army. She and her family should be courting his good will, not arguing with him at every turn.

Her father stepped forward, his expression thunderous and Beth cowered from him.

"Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton is an Officer in His Majesties army and as such, is deserving of respect," he ground out, ominous and soft. "You will apologise for your rudeness immediately."

"I…" Beth swallowed hard, her eyes shifting from her father's to Banastre's. "I'm sorry, Sir," she whispered, and even offered him a curtsy. "I should not have spoken out of turn."

Banastre's amusement fled then, to see her so thoroughly daunted.

"No harm done," he said and Beth awarded him with a weak but grateful smile. He turned to Benjamin. "Captain Martin, I'm afraid it's my own fault - I quite admire Miss Martin you see and I've indulged her temper only too often. It is no wonder she feels free to speak up now, when we have enjoyed heated debates in the past."

"I see…" Benjamin murmured, studying the Colonel in a different light, noticing how his concerned filled eyes darted toward Beth.

Placing her in with Susan was the right move, it seems, he thought as he gazed at the Officer now, suspicious of his 'admiration' for Beth. He almost wished Charlotte would stay, for Susan was far too young to be a chaperone. He'd be keeping a close eye on the Colonel now. "Well, I thank you for your leniency. If you'll excuse me, I'll see to having your chambers emptied."

He nodded curtly at Banastre, then turned and took a firm hold of Beth's arm, ushering her past the others and out of the parlor - away from Banastre Tarleton.

As much as he was loathe to do so at that moment, Benjamin set out to make the Colonel's stay in his home a comfortable one. Benjamin kept Beth at his side while he began making the preparations, marshalling his servants to begin rearranging the rooms, though he understood he could not keep her glued to him forever. Charlotte sought them out at one point to announce she was ready to leave. Benjamin was desperate to get away from the British for a short while, and the roads were not entirely safe for a woman travelling with a short entourage, so he handed Beth over to Thomas, deciding to escort Charlotte to Rutledge Plantation himself.

He commanded Thomas and Nathan to chaperone Beth where ever she went in the manor and the grounds, in case Tarleton tried to separate her from the others, to be alone with her.

With Benjamin long gone, Banastre tried precisely that. After settling into his new chamber, he went in search for Beth, finding her sitting on the verandah with her siblings. He offered her a bow and invited her to walk with him, asked her to show him around the grounds. She accepted of course, but as soon as she rose, so did her brothers. They trailed along behind, not allowing Banastre and Beth a moments solitude.

"Guards, are they?" He muttered quietly as they passed under a canopy of trees.

"I'm afraid so," she replied sadly and he shot her sharp glance. "My father is suspicious of us, Ban. Do you think I like being watched, to make sure we don't steal away together?" She whispered. "I want to be alone with you, too."

"Oh," he relaxed slightly then, realising he was not alone in his frustrations. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Always thinking of yourself," she quipped. "Lord - that was horrid earlier. I can't believe I had to apologize to you. For being disrespectful," she curled her lip and Banastre laughed.

"You were disrespectful! Any other rebel woman would be over my knee, suffering the spanking of her life!"

Beth rolled her eyes.

"I saw how it amused you," she accused softly. "You enjoyed every moment of it. I shall have to punish you for that."

"I look forward to it," he smirked. Then he said seriously, "and no - you are mistaken. I didn't enjoy it all - not at the end. I don't like how afraid you are of your father. He doesn't beat you, does he?"

"No of course not!" She gasped. They were under the apple trees now and Beth took a hold of Banastre's sleeve to steer him around and away from a particularly large one, as though the site were hallowed ground. "It was my parent's favourite place," she explained. "They used to wile their days away there and when my mother died, Papa buried her there. It's sacred to us."

As they walked around the tree, the small fenced grave came in to view. He nodded understanding.

"As for your question, no - my father doesn't beat us. He doesn't have to," she hesitated as she thought of the best way to explain. "He just… Has a way about him."

"Most father's do," Banastre agreed.

"And I'm not exactly in his good books just now, which made it even worse," she said sadly. "I should try and be less… Myself, I think. Try to be less 'me'."

"Now that would be a great shame," he resisted the urge to take hold of her hand - not with her two sentries striding along behind to bear witness to such an intimate gesture. "I like you just as you are."

" 'Like'?" She arched an eyebrow. "You were professing your love for me last night."

"Vixen," he smirked. "Love then. I love you just as you are."

"You would be the only one then," she said sadly.

Banastre scowled. Just then, he wanted to take a hold of Benjamin Martin and punch the man's face to pulp.

"I'll find a way for us to be alone, my sweet," he whispered, knowing they both needed it. Both of them were craving the solitude and privacy they'd had the previous night at Rutledge Manor. He had duties to attend to, he needed to pay a visit to the Howard's. Rebel merchants and planters had been sending supplies to George Washington and the Continentals for years. They had supplied the army with food stores, clothing, even parchment and ink - much needed necessities. And according to the late Mr. Gillard, his associate Mr. Howard was the mastermind behind it all. Banastre had found the fellow's name in Mr. Gillard's ledgers, there had been quite a few references to Gillard's associate, Mr. Howard - a merchant who owned a mercantile in Pembroke. Always suspicious of any Colonial, Banastre had questioned Gillard about Howard and in doing so, had discovered yet another rebel, another traitor. Mr. Howard might know where Burwell was hiding and if he didn't, he'd certainly have the names of those who did. He would be given the same treatment that Mr. Gillard had known; he would be hung - after being questioned in the same manner that Gillard had been. Mr. Howard was one of his main reasons for coming to Pembroke. Beth being the other.

As ambitious as he was, as much as he strived for recognition and promotion, his need for Beth was proving stronger. Their affair was so new, he was flesh, blood and male, and his new lover was waiting for him to explore her. He could have both, he decided. Beth now, and the Howard's later. If he could contrive of a way to get her alone in the next hour, before her father returned. By then, it would be too late and he might as well just ride out to the Howard's.

An idea began to take shape and he turned Beth around, steering her toward the house. Her brothers fell in behind her, keeping silent and frustrating vigil over the pair. Not for much longer however.

Not for much longer.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Beth met Samuel's worried gaze as she walked past him and Nathan down the hall leading to her father's office, where Banastre Tarleton was waiting. She was not frightened, as such. More… apprehensive. So far, Thomas, Samuel, Nathan and Mr. Rollins - no, her cousin: Lucas Sydney, she had to remember that! Had been questioned by Banastre. One after the other, never two at the same time. Now it was Beth's turn. She was surprised to get a summons, and she could see her brothers were not very well pleased about it, not by a long shot. They had been charged with protecting her, guarding her, her three chaperones. She frowned - where was Thomas, anyway? It was just Nathan and Samuel standing watch as the door opened and one of Banastre's Redcoats gestured for her to enter. Nathan stepped forward as if to follow, but the other Redcoat blocked the way.

"Each person is to be questioned alone," he said and Beth glanced over her shoulder, meeting Nathan's helpless eyes.

"I'll be fine," she mouthed, but his fear did not seem to lessen, not even slightly.

"Guards on the door, Ban?" Beth said somewhat nervously as the door was closed behind her. Banastre, who had been sitting at the large oak desk, rose so quickly the chair almost toppled backward to the floor. He crossed the room in three or four strides and pulled Beth into his arms. Cupping her face, he kissed her deeply with a profoundly satisfied groan.

The kiss went on for some time. Beth, beginning to feel light headed and breathless, clung to Banastre as his lips moved over hers and his tongue explored the cave of her mouth, playfully gliding over hers. Finally, the two came up for air.

"Guards on the door," he confirmed, his voice husky and every bit as breathless as hers. "So no one will feel free to simply walk in and check on us. All of this - interviewing your brothers and your cousin - all of it was so I had a valid excuse to be alone with you." He took her hand and began to guide her to the desk, where he walked her backwards until she was at the edge. And then he lifted her and sat her on the desktop, pushing her legs apart to stand in between them.

"You're such a schemer!" She laughed, draping her arms over his shoulders. "I thought you were going to question me about Burwell, too!"

"You've already told me everything you know," he said as his lips drifted along her neck.

"Sweet Lord - did you really only have… This… in mind?"

"Certainly. I did find out a few useful things from the others, but yes, I absolutely had this on my mind. I won't be able to slip into your room tonight, my darling - not now you're sharing with your sister. And with your brother's standing sentry, we don't have a hope of slipping away during the day. It's making me wild with need for you," he kissed her again, even as he placed the flats of his hands to her thighs and began edging her skirts up. "When he returns, your father will be keeping an eagle watch on you, and so I had to come up with something - some way to be together - before he returned. I've endured each interview, my darling, knowing it would be your turn in here soon enough. And I'd get to be…" he glanced down at her bare thighs, his hands hovering so close to her womanhood that he swallowed thickly. "Here…"

"Hmm," Beth sighed as his thumbs began to caress her folds and she felt her entire body relax. "That does feel… nice…"

"Nice only?" He smirked. He removed his hands in order to unbuckle his belt and push his breeches down enough to free his erection. Taking hold of his rock hard phallus, he positioned himself, then began to move inside her with a hearty sigh. "Tell me - does this feel 'nice only', also?" He groaned as he thrust slowly and Beth's breath caught. Lord, it was not only 'nice', it was wondrous. Slightly painful, for they had coupled a few times the previous evening and she was unused to it. But the pain was nothing beside the pleasure - a mere candle flame beside a blaze. She told him so now, whispering the words against his lips.

"You can scheme to be alone with me any day, Banastre," she finished in a murmur as she began to move with him, rocking her hips and meeting his thrusts.

"I will, don't you worry," he whispered. "Lay back, my darling."

He gently guided her to lay flat on the desk, and took a hold of her ankles, placing her heels to the edge of the desk to either side of his body, hard against her backside. His hips began to snap back and forth and he groaned as he drove inside her fluidly. Before long, he lifted her ankles and placed them on his shoulders, then leaned over her to kiss her lips as they writhed together, moaning as quietly as they could.

"Oh, God, Ban," she whispered, clutching at his shoulders as he filled her, impaling her so completely. Feeling wanton, she wiggled, trying to angle herself so his shaft hit her just so. "Oh, yes…"

"God, it feels so good to be inside you!" He groaned, pumping back and forth into her velvet tightness hard now.

"Sweet Lord, I know!" Beth panted, clutching at him, her heart racing as her stomach flipped and her pleasure soared. "God, it's worth the discomfort of after!"

Banastre's laughter was thick, harsh with pleasure. "I told you, you won't be able to walk when I'm through with you!" He punctuated his words with quick, hard thrusts. "God, I'm so close!"

"Mnnnn!" Beth agreed, writhing wildly now as she built steadily toward that apex. "Harder, oh, faster!"

"As you command!" He hissed. He reached past her and gripped the far edge of the desk as he rolled and writhed his hips as fast and as hard as he could. Beth arched, her fingers clawing at his cravat, panting as she came. Sweat popped out on her forehead, her face flushed, her lips swelling as blood rushed to her head. Seeing this, and feeling her clamp around him, her walls massaging and milking him drove him over the edge and his own orgasm exploded through him. He withdrew from her at the last moment and he grunted harshly as his seed burst from him in spurts to coat her dark patch of curls. He collapsed on top of her then, their breathing laboured as the calmed.

"I can never get enough of that," Beth confessed, her guilt over having given herself to him - and not to George, was damped down. He lifted his head from her shoulder to smile down at her.

"Nor can I," he agreed. He reluctantly pushed himself off her and took both of her hands to pull her up. She sat at the edge of the desk, with Banastre between her legs still.

"This little scheme is spent, it won't work a second time, especially not when your father is gets back. I'll devise another way though, I promise," he nuzzled his nose against hers.

"You don't need to," she said. She leaned forward to begin a slow, moist trail of kisses along his cheek and jaw that set his heart to racing. "I was not going to keep to Susan's room tonight. She is a very deep sleeper - she won't miss me. I'll come to you."

"You will?" He gasped, honestly shocked. "What if you're seen?" An idea occurred to him then, and he became as excited as a young school boy. "I know - I'll have a guard set on my room - with these rebels living under the same roof, it's only to be expected. My men can tell you when the way is clear - they can escort you to my chamber and ensure the corridor is clear later, for your return!"

Beth laughed up at him.

"I'm only going to take the risk if you promise to do to me that wonderful thing you did last night, Ban," she teased.

"Why wait?" He smirked and dropped to his knees before her. She gasped and pushed herself up to her elbows to watch him.

"You're beautiful," he sighed, staring at her bared, glistening womanhood. Her dark blonde curls above the lovely pink petals of her flower. He began to press those petals - her folds - aside and to gaze at the bud within. "Just relax, my darling." He said and, heedless of his own seed pooling in her curls, he began to kiss her folds, tracing his tongue along the flesh there, torturing her and making her ache. Beth sighed and dropped back to the table. His tongue was soon flicking over her quim, that hard bundle were the pleasure was most concentrated. Banastre placed her ankles over his shoulders and continued torturing her, until she writhed and moaned beneath him.

"Ban, Ban - oh God!" She gasped and Tarleton smiled. It was music to his ears - her moans, her whispering his name. She soon strained beneath him, her legs stiffening, her pelvis lifting, she held her breath and he felt her shudder and gasp. And then she was still, melting into the desk. He stopped then, aware that she had climaxed and would be too sensitive to be touched. He rose to his feet and leaned over her, propped on his hands, he stared down at her beautiful flushed faced, smiled to see her glazed brown eyes. She smiled back and held her arms out to him and the two began to kiss - canoodling right there on her father's desk.

"Hmm, as much as I am enjoying this, I have duties to be about. A visit to Pembroke…"

"To burn the granary?" She asked weakly. After the pleasure they'd just given one another, she was too tired and sated to be too fired up about Banastre's plans.

"Amongst other things," he confirmed. "Come, Beth. I have a duty to do and don't wish to argue with you. What must be, must be. The local people will still have enough to eat - but I can not allow for that grain to fall into Burwell's hands."

"Oh, so that's what it's all about," she said, finally understanding. He helped her off the desk and held her - her legs were still unsteady after her climax.

"Of course. I don't do anything just for the sake of being cruel, Beth," he replied, then continued firmly. "But I won't stop just because you feel poorly about it, either."

"I'm not arguing with you," she said quickly, in case he lost his temper with her. Banastre was still the only person in the world who truly cared for her, or so she felt. She did not want to lose his good will as well.

"I love you," she whispered unbidden, and his breath caught, his firm expression shifting to a joyful smile.

"I love you too," he kissed her with a groan, a searing kiss, that ended all to soon. "Tonight, then? You'll come to me?"

She nodded.

"Tonight."

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"He's a damned fool," Benjamin commented to Curly, who had accompanied him to Rutledge Plantation. The two men were returning now, in time to sit down with the Martin family - and the British Officers no doubt - for lunch. At the moment, however, they were approaching Fresh Water from the North, along the main road that ran through Benjamin Martin's property. To the far distance they could see signs of the British encampment, on both sides of the road. Most of the units were laid out in clever, strategically defensive, formations. The one who had occasioned comment, however, was one Captain in particular, who had placed the small wedge tents of his unit side by side in a long, single row, along a long dirt road that ran between Benjamin's tobacco and corn fields. It was far from a strategically sound position for along the narrow road - to either side, ran two rail fences - about three yards tall, comprised of horizontal wooden palings. If the unit came under attack, the only way out were the roads exits, at either end. And if those openings were blocked by their aggressors, they would have no hope of escaping at all. They would be sitting ducks. Despite there being at least seventy men in the unit, a small force of ten men - placed at either end of the road, could fire into the tents and decimate the unit completely. Worse yet, the unit bordered the outskirts of the camp, and would be the first to fall in the event of an attack.

"Should we tell him?" Curly laughed, knowing what Benjamin's answer would be.

"Are you mad?" Benjamin muttered. "As if camping between the rail fences is not bad enough - this fool's unit is on the outskirts of camp! Burwell could easily swoop in, fire into the fools and sweep away again before the rest of the Legion rallies."

"So, don't be surprised if we are woken up by musket fire tonight, is that what you're saying?"

"If we could get the information to Burwell somehow, yes," Benjamin smirked. "Though I suspect Bloody Ban will be watching us fairly closely. Come - I'm hungry. And I want to see if that Lobsterback bastard has made himself at home."

"I'd say he has," Curly replied as the two spurred their horses forward.

The British presence was visible around the house, but not nearly as much as was camped in the field. There were a few Officers with a handful of rank and file soldiers, but no Dragoons to be seen. Benjamin recalled Banastre Tarleton mention the granaries earlier and he wondered if the damned bastard had gone to burn it down. There'd be no supplies for Burwell from there, and Benjamin himself would be unable to supply the Continentals, not now that Tarleton had taken up residence at Fresh Water. It was a good thing that Pembroke was so heavily Patriotic, Burwell had other Planters he could rely upon to strengthen his stores.

"It's a damned sorry sight, seeing such a young body," Curly said as if haunted.

"A damned shamed," Benjamin agreed. Poor Mrs. Rutledge, Benjamin thought as trotted toward the stables. To lose Little Eddie… It's not as though she was not expecting it, but still, for it to have happened - and with Edward in prison in Charles Town… Yes - poor Henrietta… Benjamin had never lost a child. Eight children Elizabeth had bought into the world and eight children he still had, though the bearing of one had cost his wife her life. Henrietta only had little George now, and with her husband in Provost Dungeon, who knew when they'd be reunited, so they might have more? She had been in such a state of shock when Benjamin arrived with Charlotte. After her trancelike greeting, Henrietta had fallen silent, her eyes wide and haunted. Charlotte had swung into action, taking over from the Plantation mistress' duties and began commanding the servants as if they were her own. She took Henrietta in hand and Benjamin - who had wanted to return home to protect his family as much as he could - had left them to it.

Now he was home, he thought all over again how blessed he was that none of his had passed away in childhood - as so many did. Susan was still young - almost eight years old, but she was strong a hale. With each passing year, his fear that he would lose his children to sickness was dwindling.

No, he would lose them to the war, if anything. And to Goddamned British Officers.

"Captain Martin, I'm afraid it's my own fault - I quite admire Miss Martin you see and I've indulged her temper only too often. It is no wonder she feels free to speak up now, when we have enjoyed heated debates in the past."

That's what Tarleton had said earlier. Benjamin tried not to scowl as he thought of Banastre Tarleton and his obvious admiration for Beth. Under ordinary circumstances, Benjamin would not have had a problem with a young Gentleman paying court to his daughter. But Beth had gone and ruined herself with a British Officer. And now it seemed his daughter was to be hounded by not one - but two of the Redcoat bastards. Right when she needed to be as far from Lobsterbacks as was possible. In such a heavily Patriot Parish, if their neighbours heard how friendly the two were, she would never be able to claw her way into their good graces!

Benjamin dismounted in the stable and handed the reins over to one of his groomsmen, Curly did likewise. He noticed the far stall was empty. Frowning, he strode to the stall and saw that Shadow Dancer was gone. He was turning to ask the groom where the horse was, when Nathan and Samuel came walking in, both looking over their shoulder as if fearing pursuit.

"Father," Nathan said, his voice sounding high with panic. "Something's happened."

Benjamin's stomach dropped to his ankles, his heart sinking along with it. They were alone except for Curly and the groomsmen, who both stopped their tasks, one taking up a position on the door where he could keep watch, the other coming closer to stand beside the boys. This could not be good. "What?" Benjamin gasped, fearing the worse.

"It's Tarleton. He questioned us, all of us," Nathan said and there was no mistaking the panic in his voice now. Rollins came walking in, pipe in his mouth, smoke trailing upward. At least he knew how to look at ease in the middle of enemy territory.

"About the Howard's," Rollins said, giving Benjamin a significant look. "About other things too, but specifically about the Howard's. And as Howard has been doing the same here in Pembroke as Gillard did up in Hartsville, I'd say Tarleton is on to him. I'd say he's about to be confronted with the same fate as Gillard. His wife might get the same as Gillard's wife did." He said with meaning. Benjamin shot a glance at his boys and saw them exchange a confused look, the question ready on their lips. What did Mrs. Gillard get? The British had been doing a lot of harm all up and down the country, some of it he'd told his sons and his daughter. But some of it, a father needed to keep to himself. Death, they knew aplenty. They understood death. But they were simply too young to know or understand about some of the other atrocities, such as Mrs. Gillard's defilement.

"Damn and blast it," Benjamin breathed. He ran a hand through his hair, nudging his tricorn off. He picked it up, dusted it, then looked up at Rollins. "There's nothing I can do. If I go riding off now, Tarleton might figure I warned them and… Damn and blast it." He sat his tricorn back on his head and turned back to the stall his horse had just been put in. Anne would one day be his daughter in law. George his son in law. And even without that, the Howard's were already his dearest friends. He wasn't going to let anyone harm them, if there was something he could do about it. "I'm going to the Howard's, might be I get there before Tarleton." He knew the trails like the backs of his hands, he could get there far more swiftly than Tarleton could, surely.

"You don't even know how long he's been gone for," Rollins said. Benjamin glanced past him and saw Beth was coming into the stable, her face white as a sheet.

"Thomas went," she said, folding her arms and clutching herself as if she were cold. "I told Colonel Tarleton that I was sending Thomas on an errand - he thinks Thomas went next door to the Fergusson's to fetch me some hair pins. I told him to take Shadow Dancer."

Benjamin studied her for a long, cold moment. He was so angry with her that he wanted to punch something. He'd felt that way since the truth had come out - for days now, constantly on the verge of doing violence. Not to Beth. He'd never raise a hand to his children. But to something. The damned, stupid girl, letting herself be swept away by Tavington.

But not by Tarleton, it seemed.

"That was good thinking, Beth," he said grudgingly and her face lit up as if she was suddenly bathed by the sun. He turned to the others without another word for her. Over the last few days, he'd constantly had to remind himself that she was still his daughter. Still his little girl. That he still loved her. He did, of course. But the anger… Gods, the anger. And the disgust and shame he felt for her now. They rode far more heavily, far more deeply in his soul that his love did. Perhaps that would change overtime, but right now, he didn't even want to look at her. "How long has Thomas been gone for?"

"He a good hour now; he should be back soon," Rollins said. Benjamin caught the sidelong glance Rollins threw at Beth, who was shuffling to one side of the stable, keeping herself just outside the group, as if she knew she wasn't entirely welcome. Benjamin never treated his children like this. Rollins must have been wondering why. Curly too. Gods knew, they'd both know soon enough. They must have heard the rumours by now… Likely the did already know. What were they thinking of his little girl now? Benjamin wondered.

"Hopefully he reached them in time."

"I'm certain he would have done," Rollins said. "When he left, Tarleton was still marching about here giving orders and carrying on like he's six feet tall. Looked ridiculous, little man that he is. Short little man puffing out his chest," Rollins chuckled.

"He might not cut an imposing figure, but he's got the authority to hang each and every one of us," Benjamin said solemnly. "Peter Howard included. Gods, I hope Thomas got there in time. And got away without being seen. He might have gotten caught up in it, might be him that gets hung."

Silence descended as the fear settled upon them all, none were about to make the assumption that Thomas reached the Howard's in time to warn them, or that he got away in time to tell the tale. At that very moment, Peter and maybe even George, could be hanging from a tree while Alice and Anne could be… Benjamin tried not to think of that. Could be that Thomas was strung up beside Peter and George… Gods, it was all he could do not to mount up and ride for the Howard's, the wait was going to be the death of him.

"We've lingered out here too long," Benjamin said gruffly, thinking of the Redcoats that were still milling around the house. "Let's go inside, I need a rum."

His children and his 'cousins' followed him inside where Benjamin discovered that Banastre had taken over Benjamin's master office. There were two guards standing in the corridor outside the office, guarding the room even in Banastre Tarleton's absence. That was where they'd been questioned, Nathan whispered as they continued on past toward the parlour. The damned bastard would be using Benjamin's ink and parchment, sitting in Benjamin's comfortable desk chair as he did his administration work of sorting through missives and messengers and reports from his men. If only he, Benjamin, could get in there. Five minutes alone with Tarleton's correspondence was all he would need. The amount of information sitting on Benjamin's desk at that very moment - Burwell would give his right hand just for half of it. But the guards were there for that very reason, Benjamin would not be allowed in.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

With a tea cup in his good hand, George stepped from the back of the shop into the mercantile proper and walked over toward his sister. A tall, well set up young man, he would have been an excellent addition to the army if not for his mangled hand. He still felt cheated somewhat, certain that he could have served, even though he was not entirely whole. Nevertheless, Burwell had refused him, however gently, leaving the youth to dreams that would never be realised.

As cheated as he sometimes felt, he was not bitter about it. George did not want to join the Cause for personal glory, but to help gain that final dream - Independence. And for the last four years, since the decision to go to war was made in Charles Town, the Howard's have given what aid they could - by helping to supply the army. More recently, they had turned to spying as well, and even more recently, had been helping to conceal Captain Huddy's many militiamen in homes throughout the County, for some of those men were unable to return to their farms in case they were caught and arrested. Those militiamen were supplied by the Howard's own store, with no expectation of renumeration. George had discovered long since that there were many ways to fight the war - one did not have to hold a musket or wield a sabre. They were all soldiers - Hell, even the women were too, those who assisted as and when they could.

"Mooning over Gabriel again are we?" George smirked at his sister as he approached where she stood at the long counter. Loosing her far away expression and dreamy smile, Anne raised her head, startled, and blushed crimson. Then her blue eyes narrowed as George had known they would and he stifled a laugh as she began to rage at him - as he had known she would.

"You just shut it," she growled. "I'll have you know I was working on the darned ledgers - which are not adding up right, by the way. You keep making mistakes - look here -" she pointed at a discrepancy written on the page in his own hand. "We had ten barrels of rice come in, I saw them! And here you've written only eight in the ledgers. Where are the other two -"

"Silence, Anne!" He admonished harshly, immediately losing his amusement. He glanced over his shoulder to see if any of shoppers currently in the store had heard. Two girls were sighing over the new silks which had just arrived and an older woman, Mrs. Patterson, was perusing the shelves. None of them paid Anne and George any mind. He pinned Anne with a hard stare and saw realisation creep over her face in the form of another blush.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I wasn't thinking."

"You rarely do," George scoffed. The two, unaccounted for barrels of rice were on their way to Burwell at that moment.

Nevertheless, if Anne had noticed that ten barrels of rice had been unloaded from the cart, but only eight had been bought into the shop, then perhaps others had noticed also. If they were being watched - spied on by Loyalists - those Tory's might start wondering why there were only eight barrels in the store. The most discerning of them might question what had become of those other two barrels and might even put two and two together, drawing to the correct conclusion - that the Howard's were supplying the Continentals. And with Tarleton in the area, George feared what would happen if that were to happen. And so he placed his tea cup down on the counter and took hold of the quill to write a brief explanation in the column.

"Ten barrels received," he amended. "Two destroyed - water damage."

"Very good," Anne murmured approval. "You're good at this, George."

"Father taught me," he shrugged, dropping the quill down and sipping at his tea again. "He's done this lots of times."

"Then father's good at this," Anne taunted. "While you are just a copy cat."

"That's me!" George agreed cheerfully. "I'm copying you now also, in marrying a Martin. At least I'm not mooning about it though."

"I'm not mooning!" Anne grouched. "I was just thinking of how wonderful it will be - Mamma says that Papa and Mr. Martin have been talking about having a house built - bigger than the Martin's home, maybe as big as Mrs. Rutledge's! And we'll live there together, Gabriel and I, you and Beth and we'll raise out children together. I can't think of anything better!"

"I'd have thought you'd want to be mistress of your own house, Anne," George said. "But now you'll be sharing the responsibility with Beth."

"I think there'll be so much to do, and the plantation will be so big, it'll need two mistresses to run it! Don't you think so?"

"Perhaps," he admitted. It would be a large task after all. "Papa is thinking about purchasing Mrs. Hatsfield farm, for she wishes to sell up and move to Charles Town. It's a thriving plantation, even with Mr. Hatsfield passing."

"Oooh, that would be perfect - it's close to Pembroke and right in the middle of our home and Fresh Water!"

"Yes, I think the purchase will go ahead, they are quibbling over the price at the moment."

The two girls mooning over the silk made their way out the front door. George hadn't thought either of them were serious about purchasing, the bolts were expensive. Mrs. Patterson might, however, and he was pleased when she began looking them over. He was about to go over and ask if she'd like any assistance, but Anne seized his sleeve.

"Price! With Beth's doubled dowry, I'm certain you and she could afford it -"

"Nah, nah - there you are, not listening again. Papa is purchasing it for us - as a combined wedding gift to his children. Beth's money will not be involved in the purchase."

"Oh…" Anne's eyes were wide. "Lord, you're going to be a wealthy young man, you realise? Owning a thriving plantation and with Beth's dowry intact… I can imagine the silks she could buy - and the balls we'll attend -"

"There won't be any balls for Beth for a while, I'm afraid," George said sadly. "She will need to keep her head down for a long time, even after we're married."

"Until everyone forgets what she did?" Anne asked softly and George nodded. "Does it upset you? That Beth dallied with that Tavington…"

"A little," George admitted. "What does it say about her, that she'd do… those things? And with a British Officer. I can't claim to be entirely happy about it, but I know her and… There's a part of me that feels bad for her. She's suffered so much backlash from people who once called themselves her friends. I'm going to be her husband now and I have to do my bit to protect her. Lord, I've wanted to punch some of the bastards for their comments! Hell - I've wanted to punch some of the women!"

"George!" Anne laughed, scandalised, though she knew her brother would never do any such thing.

"It just makes me so angry. If I hear 'Redcoat whore' one more time, I will punch the bastard who utters it, no matter their sex, or how old and infirm! She's to be my bride now, they insult me when they insult her."

"That's true," she said shrewdly.

"I'm a little conflicted, to be honest. I'm outraged that she would behave in such a scandalous manner, but I feel bad for her too. But I'm going to have to reconcile myself with what she did because at the end of the day, I could never have hoped to marry such a beautiful, young woman, and one so wealthy at she is. I'm pleased to be marrying her - I welcome it. I could wish she and I were in love like you and Gabriel are but we like each other well enough. Perhaps love will come."

"It it doesn't, then she's a blind fool because you're every bit as handsome as she is beautiful," Anne said loyally. It was quite true, however. Most women disdained him - they could not look past his ruined hand, but George was quite a handsome youth, a larger, masculine version of his little sister, Anne. George smiled at Anne, not truly believing her opinion.

Just then, the rear door of the mercantile crashed open so hard it rebounded off the wall and almost shut again swiftly. George's head snapped up and he glared, ready to give the intruder a blistering dressing down, but his fury filled gaze quickly shifted to concern when Thomas Martin rushed in like the hounds of hell were on his trail.

"Thomas, what is it?"

"Tarleton is coming for your family," Thomas rasped out between breaths and Mrs. Patterson gasped behind them. "I just came from your da's, I went there to warn you all but he said you were here. He's leaving with your mother and he said you're to leave too. He'll meet you at Mr. Renshaw's."

"He mentioned us by name?" Already moving, George grabbed up a handful of ledgers and began shoving them in a sack as he rounded the counter to confront Thomas.

"Yes," Thomas said shortly, adding urgently, "remember what they did to the Gillard's in Hartsville!"

"Oh, they hung that poor Mr. Gillard!" Anne gasped, her hand over her mouth.

"For doing the very thing your father's been doing," Thomas said gravely, urgently.

"How long do they have to get away?" Mrs. Patterson stepped forward to ask Thomas.

"I don't know," Thomas said helplessly. "I went to Mr. Howard's house first so I've lost some time. I don't know how long after I left that Tarleton would have left. In truth, he might decide to come here first!"

"Might be better for them to hide rather than flee," Mrs. Patterson said, setting her hand on Anne's arm. "Come quickly Miss Howard, we'll hide you until it's safe."

"I don't know -"

"You might run headlong into them on the road," Mrs. Patterson said, urgency entering her voice. "Come with me now. You too, Mr. Howard," she beckoned George.

"I will," George said as Mrs. Patterson began leading Anne toward the door. "Just got to the strong box - we'll need our money if we're to be on the run! Tarleton can't see you here, Thomas - he'll know you warned us. Go now."

He shooed the uncertain lad out and a few moments later he saw a flash of grey pass the window - Thomas riding away on Beth's horse. Anne was gone and George was in a back room, pulling the strong box out of a cupboard when the door opened again.

"What's happened?" Mr. Frank Higgins demanded.

"Thomas Martin came in a few moments ago -"

"I know, I saw him riding off like the devil was on his tail."

"It is. Tarleton is on his way. He'll probably burn the mercantile. Anne's gone into hiding and I sent Thomas away so Tarleton wouldn't see him here."

"Then what the Devil are you still doing here?" Higgins snapped.

"Getting the strong box - we'll need our money -"

"Don't be a fool, boy! Get gone with you!"

Higgins gripped George about the scruff of his neck and all but dragged him from the mercantile. Once they were at George's horse, Higgins helped the lad to mount, then with a promise that he would keep the strong box safe - it was too heavy and bulky and would only slow George down - he slapped the horse hard on the rump to get it moving. As George disappeared around a corner, the thunderous sound of approaching horses came from the other direction. With the strong box under his arm, Higgins turned to watch as the dust was kicked up from the many horses of Tarleton's Raiders, drawing closer by the moment as the troop bore down on them.

:::::::::::::::

Banastre led his detachment of Dragoons up the driveway toward the small manor house. He had split his force and sent several raiding parties out to perform various tasks in Pembroke. Hanger's raiding party had the task of visiting Howard's mercantile, while another unit was sent to destroy the granary and yet another to visit the Council building and the church to destroy Official records. He did this in every town he visited, it helped to create havoc amongst the populace. People had a hard time of tracking whose land belonged to whom, even marriage certificates where destroyed - creating mayhem and chaos.

He and his unit drew rein and were now dismounting in front of the eerily quiet home. Banastre knew before he even entered the house that it would be devoid of life. And there could be only one possible explanation - the family had been warned of his intentions.

He entered the home and began checking the rooms. The furniture was still in place - though in the bed chambers, the draws and cupboards were empty. The family had packed quickly, but had not enough time to take the larger items. He made his way down stairs to check Howard's office - and found it was mostly still in tact. Nothing seemed out of place there, obviously Howard had not had enough time to conceal his ledgers and the like.

Banastre coldly took possession of everything that could be used as evidence. The ledgers, invoices and letters from Burwell of the Continental army, all of which would hopefully contain information that would lead him to more rebels, the same way that Mr. Gillard's accounts had led Banastre to Howard.

Filled with fury over his escaped quarry, Banastre left the house and commanded his men to fire it. He mounted and waited for some long moments as the house was set a blaze, then turned his back and galloped for Pembroke.

The smoke from the burning granary was visible, rising above the tree line. He was stopped before he reached the town, a messenger bearing a message from Hanger that he had caught a rabbit. Banastre and his unit followed the messenger through the woods until they were met with Major Hanger.

The rabbit, as it turned out, was a young man - not much younger than Banastre's twenty six years. Banastre exulted to have caught his quarry.

"Hanger, who is this?" Banastre called, wanting confirmation. He dismounted near his second in command. "Who is this?"

"One George Howard, Sir," Hanger said officiously. "He must have gotten wind that we were coming, but he didn't have enough time to get far, he was floundering here in the woods when we caught him."

"Good job," Banastre nodded. "The house was empty, I assume they received warning of our approach. These damned rebels will be the death of me, news of us always flies ahead of us! Question him, I want to know where his rebel father has gone and I want to know who did the warning." His eyes fell on the young man before him, and he addressed George directly. "Who was it, Sir?"

George tamped down his fear, and clamped his mouth shut, refusing to speak Thomas' name to these men. He tried to keep his fear from showing on his face, but the truth was, his heart was pounding and sweat was pouring down his face. Mr. Gillard had been hung and now George wondered if he was about to face the same fate.

At least Anne is safe, he thought. His sister was hiding with Mrs. Patterson and would avoid being tormented and defiled. As would his mother. His father would not be hung, either. He would protect them, no matter what was done to him.

"Sir!" A man was approaching on horseback, galloping through the woods until he was close enough to call out. He dismounted in a flurry of panic and urgency. "Sir - Reverend Oliver at your service," he panted when he stood before Tarleton. "What is the meaning of this - what do you want of this young man?"

"He is accused of treason," Banastre said flatly. "He is guilty of treason. His father, also. Tell me, Sir - do you know where Mr. Howard is to be found?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Oliver replied primly. "These are very strong accusations, Sir. What proof do you have? Young George is one of my own flock. He is naught more than a business owner. He is not a rebel - look at his hand, Sir! He couldn't fight even if he wanted too!"

George managed not to scowl. He hid his mangled hand from view as best he could though it was too late, the Lobsterback Colonel had seen it. George despised the weakness himself, despised it when others drew attention to it, though he understood why Oliver would do so now. He had no other weapons with which to defend young George Howard, except to make him look helpless.

"I did not say he was a soldier, Reverend," Banastre said slowly, as though speaking to a child. "There are other ways a man might conduct treason. This one's family has been providing assistance to the rebel army."

"You've no proof of this!" Oliver cried.

"No?" Hanger asked, standing there beneath the trees with a pile of ledgers in his hand. George winced, why had he bought them? Better to have tossed them in the river! Or left them back at the mercantile. What had he been thinking? He'd wanted to carry away the evidence, but here he was, caught with it. Hanger deliberately opened the latest ledger at the most recent entry, showing it to Tarleton. "See here - he has crossed out and corrected how many rice barrels came in. He wrote in ten, then crossed it out to read eight and put some foolishness about the rice being destroyed. Flicking through the pages, there's many such entries in the last few weeks - all of them food stores."

Banastre watched George's face while Hanger made this pronouncement. "So, the extra 'ruined' food stores are passed along to Burwell's Continentals, hmm? Did you think we'd fall for such, boy?" He asked him. "How long do you think I've been about this business? I wasn't dropped in the Colonies yesterday."

George tightened his lips and said nothing.

"It proves nothing!" The Reverend protested. "He should be tried properly and -"

"I have the authority to meet out justice as I see fit," Tarleton ground out. "And I see fit, right now! If you do not know where his father is, please step out of my way and let me about my duty, or you will be taken into custody for treason also."

Oliver spluttered with outrage. Several Raiders grabbed the Reverend and tossed him from their midst, causing him to land hard on his rump on the forrest floor.

"Will you tell me where your father has gone?" Banastre asked George, ignoring Oliver's shouts as the Raiders closed ranks behind him, preventing the Reverend to enter. "Will you tell me where he is hiding?"

"No, Sir. I will not," the young man announced in defiance.

"On pain of death?" Banastre arched an eyebrow. "Come now - tell me what I wish to know, and I won't hang you or your father. Neither of you have to die. We'll take him into custody, and you'll both be given a fair trial as your Reverend has requested."

On the surface, this sounded like quite a good bargain. George didn't think he could ever bring himself to accept it, but he decided to at least pretend to think it through. Yes, on the surface, it seemed as though his life could be spared, and, if their lawyer was good enough, his families name cleared. But there was something in Tarleton's eyes that George didn't like, a hint of something sharp, an eagle eyeing its prey. And a lack of sincerity. There was something of his intentions that this Officer was not revealing, George knew it instinctively, and he pondered what it might be.

Ultimately, Tarleton was asking George to betray his father, on the pretence of sparing both their lives. But if George did as Tarleton asked, then the Officer would have both of them in custody for the time it took for him to deliver them to their trial. His father - who had evaded Tarleton - was the greater prize, for Mr. Peter Howard had far more knowledge of Patriot activities than George could claim to. And with a flash of incite, George understood that that was the source of the gleam he had seen in Tarleton's eye - the Commandant wanted Peter Howard.

It would mean that Mr. Howard would be in Tarleton's custody, entirely his to interrogate at will. As a Gentleman, he would keep his promise to not hang them, and he would keep his promise of a 'fair trial', but only once he himself was through with them - once he had gleamed all the information he could. Then he would hand over what was left of them, to a higher authority for the 'fair trial'. From there, he would have no control over their fate - no say in the manner of their punishment if the Howard's could not prove themselves innocent. No - Tarleton would hand them over, accept the accolades for having caught rebels and for the information he'd gleaned, then he'd wash his hands and walk away.

From there, George could not trust that anything the British presided over to be done with fairness. He and his father would get their trial but it would be anything but just. They would still hang - and worse yet, George would have betrayed his father, his father's death would be his own doing.

It would be senseless to take Tarleton up on this offer - senseless and utterly shaming. He'd never do such a thing, in any instance, but discerning Tarleton's true intent helped to harden his own resolve. He made his decision, knowing fully well that he would feel a noose tied around his neck in the next few moments.

"No, Sir. I will not," word for word the same answer as before.

Tarleton's lips tightened, his face flooding red with fury. He'd been so earnest, had offered a damned good bargain! He wanted Peter Howard, Goddamn it! But he could see it in the other man's face, he would not give up his father.

"Well, I guess your mother will be weeping over your cold, dead body this evening," Banastre inclined his head curtly to Hanger. "String him up."

George drew a sharp breath. His knees felt weakening as the Raiders hauled him away toward a large oak. He glanced at Reverend Oliver, caught his horrified expression. Oliver rushed to his feet and tried to push through the Raiders, bellowing with rage as he did so. He was but one man, however, and he was shoved back and beaten down until George was worried for his Pastor's life. Two Raiders hauled George toward the tree and he lost sight of the Reverend. It was not as easy as he'd thought, walking to his own death.

Be brave, George. He admonished himself. He continued in that vein, repeating it like a mantra, trying his best to steel himself.

To die like a man.

Holding his head high, he walked within the group of Raiders, with Tarleton and Hanger watching impassively, to the oak tree in which he was about to be hung.