Chapter 94 - Cilla and Emily:

"…Cease your attacks," Major Patrick Ferguson pronounced loudly, his eyes searching the press of homespun clad villagers. Was Colonel Isaac Shelby amongst this lot? Hiding in plain sight, to listen to Ferguson's message? The Major did not doubt it. His horse shifted restlessly beneath him, sensing its riders agitation, and his eagerness. Behind him were some twenty British regulars and triple that number in the Loyalists of North Carolina. Lifting his chin, the Major continued his speech. If Shelby did not hear it with his own two ears, he'd get word soon enough. There were rebels in this lot, eyeing him coldly, probably fingering their weapons - he'd never know, the press they hid in was far too thick. "If the Over Mountain-men refuse to cease their attacks, I will lay waste to their country with fire and sword," his voice rung, echoing off the buildings to hang heavily in the air. In a softer voice, but still loud enough to reach those in the rear of the crowd, he said, "have no doubt of it. I am giving fair warning, my patience is at an end. As is my mercy. Cease your rebellion, bring your allegiance back to the Crown, and perhaps I'll find a shred of mercy left after all."

He was left with stone cold silence. Oh, the children could not be quieted - a babe cried wretchedly in its mothers arms, wanting the teat no doubt. But from the adults, to a man they were deathly silent, staring back at him with wary and angry eyes. His message was delivered, and they knew better than to dismiss it.

Major Ferguson's fingers twitched on the reins, his heels kicked the mounts flanks gently. He turned, and a column parted amongst his men for him to ride through and out of the village. He was followed by the thunderous sound of hooves, picking up speed the further they were from the village. At length he made camp and, tossing his reins over to a Loyalist militiaman, he strode toward his tent.

"How did it go?" Captain Fenlock fell into step beside him. "Did you see Shelby?"

"I've no idea if he was there or not," Patrick replied. "But he will get word soon enough. I would imagine our old adversary will be quite incensed."

Old adversary was a slight exaggeration. The two had been circling each other, following and advancing, retreating and falling back. Patrick had skirmished with the fellow earlier in the month, and the damned rebel bastard killed almost half of Ferguson's force and had taken another half captive. The Loyalists - those who had been killed in that skirmish - were growing quite edgy and frightened, after that Patriot victory. He was lucky he still had militia at all, and he was damned charmed that more Loyalists were answering his banner call.

His long legs carried him into the tent, he ducked low to clear the roof. Waiting within were both his Virginia's, the two lasses who shared both their name and his bed. He'd heard the jokes whispered amongst his men, that he was a damned lucky bastard to have two such beautiful creatures to warm his blankets, and a damned clever bastard for choosing two with the same name. The joke ran that he never had to fear offending either of his mistresses by whispering the wrong name into her ear as she lay in his arms at night. He could never get the girls mixed up. As one Virginia smiled and offered him a tankard of ale, and the other Virginia began dishing the meal she had busied herself preparing, he hoped that his luck and cleverness held. For the little speech he had issued in the village a few miles away, was sure to have riled up Shelby and his fellow Commanders, and the entirety of the rebel militia to boot. With that luck, Shelby and his fellow traitors would be so filled with violent emotion they would make disastrous mistakes. With that clever speech, it was Patrick's hope that half the countryside - which might have followed Shelby prior to his speech, would be too terrified to leave their front doors.

Ferguson ate his meal quickly, and as the Virginia's cleared away the dishes, he began penning a missive to Lord General Cornwallis.

"Colin!" Thomas roared, filled with youthful excitement. It had been a long time - too long, since he'd seen his neighbour. He kicked his heels and his horse flew like a dart directly for Colin Ferguson, who was waiting on the road, ready to guide them to camp. Colin kicked his mounts flanks too and met the youth midway. They embraced whilst still in the saddle. Benjamin Martin and his militiamen caught up more slowly.

"Damn it's good to see you," Colin's face split into a grin as he greeted Benjamin, Thomas and - with much relief - Nicholas Watson. He felt slightly cooler toward Mark Putman, though he tried not to show it. "I was damned relieved to hear you were still alive after all."

"So was I," Nicholas laughed. He thumped Colin on the back.

"It's good to see you again, Ferguson," Mark tipped his hat, inclining his head.

"You too, Sir," Colin said, though with far less enthusiasm.

"How are you lad?" Benjamin asked as he pulled his pipe and tobacco from a pocket and began filling the bowl.

"Missing home," Colin admitted.

"I heard that was the reason you left," Mark said. "For your family." He cocked his head, he was the one who'd suggested to Colin to join the Green Dragoons to spy in the first place.

"Yes, that and because I had no stomach for it any more," Colin replied.

"I understand that," Mark said. "It'd make me sick to my stomach too, serving under Tavington."

Colin grunted; he averted his gaze from Mark in favour of Benjamin, who understood the silent exchange. Colin hadn't been able to stomach serving Mark, either, not after discovering an entirely different side to the man.

"Last time we spoke, you said you didn't want to serve either side," Benjamin said to Colin, ignoring the surprised look Mark shot him. "Yet here you are with the militia. What changed your mind?"

Colin heaved a breath. "Didn't much like being called a coward," he replied and Benjamin's eyes widened. "The men around here aren't as understanding as you - they see a man not willing to join and they shame him until he does." Colin shrugged Benjamin's concerned look away. "And I figure I can't complain about the outcome of the war, if I don't do my bit to fight. Papa says we'll be able to go back when we've won the war - that they won't burn the house. What do you think, Mr. Martin?"

"Could be," Benjamin took a long draw from the stem and puffed the smoke, "your place and mine - one big bloody British fort… I can only assume they'll take care of the houses while they need them, though they might burn them when they're done."

"Hateful bastards," Thomas spat.

"Still, we can rebuild the houses," Mark said sensibly. "We can't rebuild you, Colin."

Colin nodded, again reluctant to engage with Mark. While he was glad the fellow wasn't dead, all he could think about was how he let his wife bed Bordon for information, and how he set Sumter onto Harmony, like a Master siccing his dog onto its prey.

"Christ, I can't believe you got clean away," Nicholas Watson said. "You made it all the way here without being harassed by the British!"

"Tavington released me readily enough when I told him I didn't want to serve under him anymore," Colin explained to Nicholas. "I let him know I was disgusted with him and couldn't stand serving under a Commander like him. Not in those words, but he knew what I was saying. Reckon he was glad to see the back of me. He gave me a pass that got my family and I all the way through British lines. Though I suppose his good will will end quickly enough if he does ever discover I was a spy - or that I'm here now, fighting with the Patriots."

"I'm sorry if put you in such danger, lad," Mark said.

"If?" Colin asked sharply and Mark's eyes widened. "What do you mean, if? They hanged Trellim and Banksia and those others. I'd say it was more than an 'if'."

Mark was speechless. Nicholas, frowning, said, "Colin, no one twisted my arm and they didn't twist yours."

"Yes, I know," Colin said shortly, unable to explain further his disgust at Mark. He wondered if Nicholas knew the full truth, of Mark letting Mage bed Bordon to gain information. And about his part in Sumter's filthy treatment of his hostage. Surely Nicholas would feel the same as he, if he did. Colin could feel Mark's eyes on him, but he didn't explain further or apologise for his bluntness. Best to simply leave it over, he'd let his annoyance be known.

They were on a road a few miles inside of North Carolina, in sight of the Appalachian Mountains. Colin and his family were living there now, with relatives on a vast plantation. Almost as soon as he arrived to North Carolina, Colin was coerced into joining his cousins who were active members of a militia Company. The militia, their homes, their very land was now under threat by Major Patrick Ferguson - no relation of Colin's, of course, a Scottish born British Commander who would lay waste, just as Banastre Tarleton had been doing in South Carolina. The countryside was up in arms, ready to lay waste to Patrick Ferguson, and - as Colin's cousin had so poetically put it several days earlier: 'ready to shove his words back up his Scottish arse'.

"If you'd like, I'll have a talk with those bothering you, lad," Benjamin offered soberly. "No one should be forced to this and no one should be calling you a coward, when you've already proved otherwise."

"No, it's alright. My training under Tavington has given me a good feel for command," Colin shrugged. "And that Major Ferguson - the devil take him for having the same name as me! He needs to be bought down a few rungs and I don't mind joining those who want to see the job done. Thought you might like to join us."

Benjamin grinned.

"You know me too well, lad. I dare say this Shelby fellow has enough men, however, and all of them from North Carolina. How does he feel about you inviting us along?"

Colin hesitated. He jerked his head, indicating they should go apart for a private chat. Benjamin followed.

"It's not that you're from South Carolina," Colin explained. "He'll take all the men he can get who wants to join him. But well, there was a few raised eyebrows when I suggested we send for you."

"For me in particular?" Benjamin puffed his pipe again, he savoured the flavor of the tobacco and the the soothing feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. "Why's that then?"

"Because, well… Because of Beth," Colin blurted. Benjamin nodded, understanding.

"Yea. That's what I thought you were going to say. Well, he either wants the extra hands on deck to help settle this Major Ferguson and his Tory's, or he doesn't. I can't change the fact that my girl has gone off and married a damned Lobster Colonel, but I'll be damned if I'll let any man question my commitment to the Cause. If it comes down to that, lad, I'll be heading on home and taking my nine hundred with me. He can settle for this Ferguson without me."

"He's a good man," Colin said of Colonel Shelby, "and he will come to the right judgement when he meets you. I just wanted to warn you, he's a little wary."

"Aren't we all? No one knows who to trust these bloody days. His reaction is understandable enough - I'm a complete stranger and my son in law is a blasted British Officer, one whose reputation has certainly proceeded him. I could be filtering information back to Tavington while telling the world that I can't stand the bastard. It's understandable, but I won't be putting up with it, either. Let's go meet the fellow and let him make up his own mind then."

"Alright," Colin and Benjamin joined the others, Thomas was damned near jumping in the saddle with curiosity. He'd missed the entire conversation!

"How's Mrs. Ferguson?" Nicholas asked as Benjamin put his pipe away and the Company began to move out.

"Pregnant," Colin smiled. "Pregnant and beautiful."

"Ha! I can't imagine you as a father," Thomas said.

"Well, my thanks Thomas, that's a grand compliment," Colin said sarcastically.

Thomas laughed, then he puffed out his chest. "I'm a Corporal!" He announced, puffing his chest out with pride. "I can't wear my uniform right now, Papa made me put it away so we wouldn't attract attention. But I'm an Officer in the Continentals, just like Gabriel!"

"That's wonderful news!" Colin slapped him on the back. "I'll bet the camp girls swoon when you walk past them."

"He does hold his head a little higher when there's a lass about," Nicholas chuckled, teasing.

"Oh, is that right?" Colin asked. "You forgotten my sister already?"

"Nah, never that. And Papa says I have to be careful of those lasses anyway - their father's are in camp too and they are keeping their tomahawks nice and sharp," Thomas said. Nicholas and Colin chuckled. "Has Nancy been getting my letters?" Thomas asked Colin, who nodded. "I don't get many from her. She doesn't have another sweet heart does she?"

"Nah, nah our arrangement with your family still holds," Colin assured the youth. "There's no other lad whose taken her fancy. It just shows how lacking she is in taste, really. It's only ever 'Tommy this' and 'Tommy that'. Quite annoying really. Especially when she gets one of your letters - do you think you could write fewer? It sets her off for days and days, none of us get any peace…"

Thomas smiled and sighed, well pleased to hear that Nancy's feelings had not changed.

The Company rode on for another half hour before entering the Patriot militia camp. Colin made the introductions, then fell silent. It was up to Benjamin now.

"Thank you for coming, Colonel," Colonel Shelby greeted Benjamin. Shelby's voice was a little terse, seemingly on edge. Did he fear that Benjamin would swagger in and try to assume command? Or was it as Colin feared, had Shelby already taken Benjamin Martin's measure, and judged him without even meeting him?

"The militia of South Carolina stands with her brothers of the North," Benjamin said formally, gravely. His wording was careful and deliberate - no he would not attempt to assume command, he would fight side by side with them instead. Shelby seemed a little taken aback by the reply but a loosening around his shoulders told Benjamin that Shelby was softening.

"How were your travels?" The North Carolina militiaman asked politely. "How do you fare?"

How do I fare? My arse is taking on the shape of a saddle. I'm hungry. I'm cold. I'm dirty. I stink. My house is now a blasted British Fort. I haven't seen my children in too bloody long. Two of them are lost to the blasted British and, a far more immediate concern of mine, I have not had a bloody woman in months and my engagement to the woman I love ended on the same day it began. How do I bloody fare?

"It was a long ride to be sure," he replied, giving nothing away on his face, showing none of his discomforts. "So. When do we get the target practice you promised?"

Mark and several others in his company, including Thomas, snickered and laughed. Shelby blinked in surprise.

"Target practice - oh," he chuckled in understanding.

"Just so," Benjamin replied. "Where are the Lobsters, Sir? Just tell me where to point and I shall shoot," there, that aught to relax the other Colonel's fears, Benjamin thought, he had as much as placed himself under Colonel Shelby's command.

"A few miles off yet," Shelby replied, some heat entering his voice. "We're giving chase but he's keeping the distance - he's not allowing us to close. We've been swelling our numbers during the march, however, so that's a damned fine thing. That little speech he gave a few days ago," he cut short, fury whisking his next words away. At length, he was able to speak again. "That speech, about laying waste to our land by fire and sword… It's angered a few citizens, to be sure."

Benjamin glanced behind Shelby to the camp proper, where somewhere upward of nine hundred men milled amongst tents.

"Just a few," he agreed, chuckling. "Well, we'd like to join you on this little jaunt, if you don't mind."

"My father doesn't like to miss out when there's carousing to be had, he finds entertainment like this quite diverting," Thomas said.

"My son," Benjamin introduced shortly, "Corporal Thomas Martin," the youth - who had only received his new rank a short while ago, puffed himself up with pride. "My brother in law Captain Mark Putman," Benjamin continued on with the introductions. Shelby introduced the Officers in his immediate retinue. The Martin family was in disgrace with many a Patriot commander, but these ones seemed just plain relieved to have such an experienced Colonel on their side.

"What are you expecting to have happen here?" Benjamin asked a short while later, when they were bent over maps laid out all over a table in the command tent.

"What I expect, Colonel Martin," Shelby replied, voice grim. "Is to catch up with that Scottish bastard, force him into a pincer and crush him like pulp."

"Well," Benjamin laughed under his breath. "You know, that sounds mighty fine to me. When do we get started?"

"Now that your lot is here, we'll continue the chase this afternoon. If we push hard enough, perhaps we can catch him in a week or so, two at most. I wish to thank you again for coming, Colonel," Shelby extended his hand across the table, Benjamin shook it. "And for bringing so many of your friends."

"All nine hundred of them," Benjamin quipped. "And you're most welcome."

"We're gaining on him, I think," Thomas mused. "That's what they're saying, anyway."

"Not nearly quickly enough for my liking," Benjamin frowned into the camp fire. He reached for a long branch and began stabbing into the centre of the fire, sparks rose high as the logs were disturbed. Colin placed another thick log on the top and flames began lapping around it greedily. "We've been chasing him for days now."

"But the distance is closing," Mark cocked his head to one side as he studied his brother in law. "With Shelby coming in from the South, Ferguson will have no choice but to choose a ground soon, and try to hold it. Why are you chafing at the delay Ben?"

"I just want this affair settled and done is all," Benjamin replied. "I want to be back in South Carolina. We've business there that needs tending."

"Tavington," Mark agreed grimly, his blue eyes flint of chipped ice, "and Bordon."

"Not just those two," Benjamin chided. "Though they are certainly on my list. I know Burwell and Sumter are doing what they can but if we were there, how much more damage could be done to the British?"

"A damned sight more," Thomas said, swelling with pride. In the months he'd been riding with his father, he'd come to understand what a true genius the man was, and he was so very proud to be his son. "We'd have them quelled in a matter of days!"

"All of 'em, hmm?" Billings asked, grinning a tooth gapped grin. "Tavington at Ben's place, Rawdon at Camden, Balfour in Charlestown, Cornwallis at Charlotte, Tarleton, O'Hara, Wemyss -"

"Alright, alright, I get it!" Thomas scooped up a handful of rocks and threw them in Billings general direction. The older fellow laughed. "Alright, there's too many still, but I know papa is right. We'd do far more damage if we were there."

"This is every bit as important," Colin replied, looking about at the group of men, who gazed back at him with interest. "Major Ferguson and his detachment, and all those Loyalists following him. Shelby thinks we'll deal the British a major blow, if we are able to quell Ferguson. Besides, he's threatened us, hasn't he? He's going to come after all Patriots, with fire and sword, just as Tavington and Tarleton have done in the South. We need to settle for him now, him and his Tories. Besides, with him gone, whose going to protect the opening into North Carolina, for Cornwallis? He won't be able to traipse on in with his battalions, if his watchdog is no longer on the gate."

"Watchdog…" Benjamin chuckled. "That's clever, Colin. You're right, of course," he began to brighten. He understood all this as well, but Colin's words helped to clear his head. In a much happier voice, he said, "and with the watchdog gone, there will be no close reinforcements for Cornwallis, he will have to drop back down into South Carolina or risk being cut off from his main force. They will have to winter in our territory. If that comes to pass, then by damn, we'll give them hell."

"It'll also mean that Tavington and Bordon will be staying put, right were we need them to be," Mark added and Benjamin nodded.

"Indeed, they will," he said. "Well, lads. I say it's time to bed down. I want us nice and fresh for an early start in beginning the chase on the morrow. The sooner this dog is leashed, the better."

Richard stared down at Cilla, who thrashed and groaned on the pillows. Candlelight flooded the room. Her face was slick with sweat, her breathing laboured. Her baby had passed from her body because of the terrible illness; he thought she looked near to death. She was sleeping, but fitfully. He lowered himself to the chair beside the bed and stared at her. He'd stretched his time with Harmony to it's limit, keeping her at Doux Ruisseau for the two full days he'd told the Turnbull's they'd been gone for.

For two glorious days, he hadn't left Harmony's side. They wasted little time sleeping, they spent as many hours awake as was possible; drinking wine, eating and bedding one another.

Throughout that time, Cilla was back at Fresh Water, losing their child.

It was gone now. Done. He'd returned in time for the worst to already be over, and it left him feeling stricken. He loved Harmony and did not regret his time with her, but he could not help but feel, perhaps if he should have been here, by his wife's side, perhaps there might have been something he could have done. He, the child's father. The babies life had slipped away, and Richard had been with his mistress.

"She's strong, Sir," Mrs. Andrews said as she tugged the sheets up to Cilla's chin. Mila, who was in the chamber with them, nodded agreement. "And young. She will pull through this. And there's time yet, she'll be able to conceive again."

"She's not… broken inside?" He asked Mrs. Andrews.

"No, I do not believe she suffered damage inside. Everything… ah… has been coming away cleanly, you know?" She asked, trying to find the right words to describe what she meant, without the need for deeper details. Richard did not truly understand, but he nodded anyway. He rose suddenly and stalked about the chamber. Would it have ended differently, if he had been at the Plantation? Cilla was his wife, and, during the time that he was laying in his beloved's arms, his wife had been miscarrying their child. Had she been in much pain? Had the baby been in pain, while it was dying? He couldn't bring himself to ask. Gods. He curled his fingers into fists, feeling worse than useless.

A chance glance toward a chamber pot was cause for alarm, for he caught sight of the gruesome contents within . A napkin covered most of the opening of the bowl but at that glimpse, he pulled the napkin to reveal more.

"Sir, I'll put that away," Mila was moving toward him. She stood at his side as he stared down at the dark blood in the bowl. In the middle of the puddle, there was a large, grotesque looking... lump of something. It was the size of his palm. Mila made to remove the chamber pot.

"Is that it?" He asked, gesturing to that wet, misshapen lump. "Is that my baby?"

"No, Sir, it's just a blood clot," Mila replied, folding away the grizzly sight from view again. "I haven't had a chance to remove it. You weren't meant to see it."

"It's very big," he frowned. "Can clots really get so big? Are you sure that's what it is?"

"Yes." It was Mrs. Andrews who replied. She sighed, she had not wanted to go into the details, but it was too late, Bordon had seen the thing in the bowl Mila was holding and a further explanation was now necessary. "This is what I meant Major, when I said everything has come away cleanly. This is a good thing, it's better for these to be out of her. It's when they are left inside that the troubles begin."

"You're certain?"

"Yes."

Mila pulled the chamber pot away and placed it on the dresser beside the door.

"Did you see the babe, then?" He asked the two women tentatively. "Do you know if it was a boy or…"

"It was too early to tell," Mrs. Andrews replied, not without sympathy.

That was about right, Richard thought as he stared down at Cilla. Lord, his child was gone. And he'd never know if it had been a boy or a girl. The growing life had been ended so abruptly, it was shocking to him. Since their forced marriage, he had imagined holding it, the small bundle, his own child. It had been the only thing he'd looked forward to in his marriage, back when he thought Harmony and his child with her were lost to him. Now, he and Cilla had nothing.

"Her blood will run normally now," Mrs. Andrews was saying. "She will be able to conceive again, I do not believe she is damaged inside."

"Thank you," he said to Mrs. Andrews, who did not know his was a marriage in name only, that he had no more desire to bed Cilla than she did him. "Does she know?" He asked the woman.

"Yes," came the sombre reply. "She knew from the moment it began."

"Was she... Well, how did she react - how did she feel?" He asked. Mrs. Andrews looked to Mila, for she wasn't there when it began, she was summoned later.

"She was distraught, Sir," Mila said, casting a sympathetic look at the sleeping girl in the bed. "She told me she did not think she would be, but now that it was leaving her…" Mila's eyes filled with tears. She placed her hand over the swell of her stomach and she turned away, unable to continue.

"She is heartbroken, Sir," Mrs. Andrews said.

"Oh," Bordon said, casting his gaze toward Cilla. The girl was sleeping, but restlessly. She thrashed and moaned, tossed and turned. The pain of the miscarriage, as well as from the sickness raging through her body. He wondered if she would survive both ailments at once.

"She's strong," Mrs. Andrews repeated. "But one never knows... I'm sorry, Sir, I can not reassure you further. You should hope for the best, and prepare for the worst."

He nodded again. Perhaps, if Cilla was as distraught as Mila said, then she might agree to try for another baby.

The thought surprised him, shocked him to his soul. He'd made promises to Cilla, that he would not demand his husbandly right from her. He'd made promises to Harmony, that he would never bed his wife. But now? Now was not the time to think on it overly much, but he was certain he could not suffer a childless marriage. His marriage to Cilla was miserable enough, without that.

"Look after her," he commanded, though he knew that the two women already were, before he slipped away to speak to Tavington.

Emily stared gravely down at Cilla, who lay on the pillows, eyes closed. On top of being ill, Cilla had her menses, Emily had been told. She understood the girls bleeding was upon her, but she knew it was more than her usual monthly courses. Vicky had confirmed it, when Emily asked the maid. Up until now, Vicky had only been able to report her suspicions that Cilla was pregnant. But she'd been tending Cilla right alongside Mila, under Mrs. Andrews direction, she knew her mistress was miscarrying and according to Mrs. Andrews, Cilla was three months along before it started. Cilla and Richard had only been married for a little over one month. Vicky had been sworn to secrecy, but was not above exchanging information for Emily's coin when it was offered.

Emily's strong suspicions were all confirmed now, Cilla married Bordon because he'd gotten her pregnant. And now, she had miscarried the child, because of her illness. Emily didn't know what to say, especially as she wasn't supposed to know.

Instead, she fussed over Cilla, who lay weak in the bed. Emily lowered herself to a chair, it was her turn to sit with the stricken girl again. Deciding it was best simply to play along, she said, "did you know that when a lot of women are living closely together, they all begin to get their menses at the same time? Beth has her courses too, and so does Rebecca."

"I did not know that," Cilla whispered. Early morning sunlight streamed through the window, but provided no warmth. Not that Cilla needed warmth - it was already too damned hot, she wanted to throw her covers off her body and stand naked before an open window. Well, perhaps not stand, she doubted her weak legs would bear her weight. And the room spun and tilted each time she rose for the few moments it took to use the chamber pot.

"It's quite true," Emily placed her hands in her lap, then leaned forward to ask, "just how horrid is it, Cilla? I am so worried. How are you feeling?" She laid her fingers across Cilla's brow to gauge the girls temperature. "You poor thing, you're burning hot."

"I am," Cilla closed her eyes. She could barely speak but was grateful for Emily's company. She did not want to be alone, though she could not tell the woman why. The loss of her child was hard enough to bear when she was alone. "It is horrid, I would not wish this on my worst enemy."

"Not even on Mrs. Farshaw?" Emily laughed softly.

"Not even on her," Cilla managed a smile. "I don't hate her, Em. I don't much like her either, but I don't hate her."

"I do," Emily sniffed. "She's a damned little trollop and had no place amongst us."

"If anything, I think I was jealous of her, but I certainly didn't hate her," Cilla said. She groaned as she shifted her weight from her aching back, to lay curled on her side, her head on the pillow facing Emily.

"Jealous!" Emily gasped, surprised to hear Cilla confess such a thing. "Oh, because of your husband, I suppose."

"Because of her friendship with Beth," Cilla said after a startled moment.

"Oh, of course," Emily said, remembering how little Cilla cared for her husband. "Well, you don't have to worry about her anymore."

"Beth visits her every day. Well, not now, with Tavington sick and all. But when he's better, she'll start going next door again. I despise having to share her, Em." Cilla laid a weary hand over her eyes.

"No, she won't," Emily said, leaning forward, all eagerness. "I mean you don't have to worry about her at all anymore! I have some gossip for you."

The girl lifted an eyebrow. "I'm on my death bed, and still you'll gossip," Cilla managed a weak laugh.

"I could be on my own death bed and I'd still be willing to gossip," Emily laughed and Cilla nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Tell me," Cilla replied, curling into a ball, her knees to her chest. It was the most comfortable position she could achieve for now, though she knew she'd start aching and would have to change position again soon.

"She's gone!" Emily crowed, clapping her hands. "I don't know where or how or… But I can tell you this. Farshaw is in a right fit about it."

"What do you mean? What happened?"

"She just… vanished! She was seen last in a corridor at the Ferguson house three days ago, and then… she vanished!"

Calvin had told her of Harmony's disappearance almost as soon as it happened, he'd sent Mrs. Salisbury to the Great House to fetch her to the tent, where he'd told her everything. Emily had soothed his raw temper by sitting in his lap, her legs straddling his thighs as he impaled her. He'd been much calmer after they'd finished. She had met him again that night and the following, and would continue to do so, she'd spend every night in his arms if she had to, in order to convince him that he was a wonderful creature. And that it was a wonderful thing the damned cow was gone. Still, he was fuming because he suspected most strongly that Bordon was involved. It was being thwarted by the Major and Tavington, yet again, that had him angry - not because he was missing his wife. He wouldn't care two figs about her, Emily knew. Not when he was so deeply in love with Emily.

"I heard he is furious," Emily said. That was true, she'd heard him fuming quite a few times since. "Not because he cares about her, because he doesn't."

"You're good at ferreting gossip, Em, but how can you be so sure of that? That he doesn't care about her?"

"Oh, I just… I heard it. He couldn't care less for her, I'm told, but it would be quite galling, if Bordon was involved in spiriting her away."

"That would be galling - for me too!" Cilla gasped. She groaned again as she tried to push herself up. She gave up halfway and settled for laying back on the pillows, on her back. "Ours might not be the happiest of marriages, but it would be quite shaming if my own husband were to take up with a mistress again, especially her!"

"It would be shaming…"

Cilla had no doubt that Bordon felt the same way - if Cilla took a lover and Bordon heard the gossip, he'd be in quite a fit. They had their reputation to maintain, the appearance of a happy marriage, presenting anything less would reflect poorly on them both. She did NOT want to be the butt of gossip!

"Three days ago, you said?" Cilla asked and Emily nodded. "Major Bordon left here, three days ago. He was gone two nights, Em."

"On Dragoon business, surely?" Emily asked, though her face paled with realisation. She'd known Bordon had left with his Dragoons but she'd believed he was routing rebels. Now, she felt foolish for having even thought it.

"So I thought. But now, I wonder!" Oh my God, was my husband with another woman while I was miscarrying our child? She tightened her lips, her hands balled into fists.

"I… Lord, I don't know what to say -"

"Don't tell Becky and Sarah, please Em -"

"Of course not!" Emily said, she knew when to keep a confidence. "I… I don't know that Major Bordon was involved."

"Really? Then how did she get away? And don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence, that she left the same day he did?" Cilla asked.

While she did not actually care if he took a mistress, and nor was she the least bit jealous, she prayed fervently that he had enough sense to keep the liaison hidden from prying eyes and ears. She resolved to tell him thus, the very next time she saw him. To be discreet, always discreet.

"I know! I'll keep an ear out, just in case," Emily promised. "If I hear the slightest whisper that Bordon knows anything, or has been to see her or is going to see her, I'll tell you immediately!" The poor girl had a right to know if her husband was dallying with whores again. And I'll tell Cal, too, Emily thought.

"As long as he is discreet, I don't care," Cilla waved a weak hand, her indignation fading with her energy. Her eyes felt quite heavy, she thought she might drift back off to sleep.

"Cil, you can't be serious."

"I am. I was shocked just now, but the truth is, as long as no one discovers it, my husband can lift the skirts of any woman he likes, I simply do not care." A thought occurred to her and she asked, "I've heard Farshaw is quite brutal. What do you think he'd do if he finds her?"

"Kill her, I reckon," Emily said, brushing her skirts and feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She disliked Harmony but did not actually wish her dead. "Or maybe he wouldn't. He was most upset that she's taken off. Or so I've been told. I think that he'd wait until the baby is born before he did anything… Brutal."

"What if the baby wasn't his?" Cilla asked carefully, curious about how Farshaw would react then.

Emily stared at Cilla, shocked. "You know, I rather suspect it isn't," she said, neglecting to add what Calvin had told her - that Harmony had had her menses when she went back to him. "Do you suspect it too?"

Cilla heaved a breath. "It's rather an embarrassing thing to have to admit, your husband having a bastard."

"Are you admitting that Cil?" Emily asked, leaning forward, her face sharp. Cilla looked away. Emily's heart was galloping so fast, she felt like she had a thoroughbred in her chest. "You know I'm the last person to judge, Cil; I don't know how many bastards James has sired, and that's while we were married. At least you weren't married to Bordon at the time."

"Doesn't make it any easier to bear," Cilla replied. Gods, especially not when her own baby was gone from her. Richard had nothing to mourn about, his mistress was still going to provide him with a child.

"So Mrs. Farshaw's child is Bordon's?" Emily asked, barely able to contain herself.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone, Emily?" Cilla begged. "It's really very shaming."

"I -" Emily cut short, unable to promise that, for she did not want to break it. Gods, she wanted to leave right this moment, she was desperate to see Calvin now, to tell him. How was she going to hold on to this until tonight? Perhaps she should risk another daytime trip to Mrs. Salisbury, to have the woman summon Calvin to the tent again. "Oh, Cil, I vow, on my honour, I won't tell any of our friends or family," she said, getting around the problem that way. Calvin was not friend or family to Cilla, Emily would not be breaking her promise in telling him. And by damn, he needed to know. "It's passing strange though, I am certain I recall someone saying that she had her menses when Lieutenant Farshaw came here? It might have been Beth…"

"Well, I don't know about that," Cilla said with a shrug. "O'Hara told me on the way back from Camden. He preferred for me to know from the outset, in case I heard it from someone else later. That would have been galling…"

"O'Hara knew Mrs. Farshaw was pregnant?" Emily was thinking back on dates and the like, wanting to get all of the details correct before laying all the facts too Calvin. Oh, he'd want to know this, that the General himself had betrayed him. "

"Yes. O'Hara said it's why they became engaged - Bordon wanted to make Miss Jutland an honest woman," Cilla heaved a sullen breath. "He confided all this to me, I'm not really supposed to repeat it. Then again, it's not like I'm the only one who knows," Cilla sniffed. Emily sat listening in stone silence as the younger girl spoke. "Beth and Tavington knew as well. And Mrs. Andrews."

"Mrs. Andrews? You don't say…" Another to have betrayed Calvin!

"Yes. I only know about that because I overheard Beth speaking to Bordon about Mrs. Andrews lying for Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw. When Bordon left, I confronted Beth and asked her. Beth tried to deny it of course, until I told her that I already knew Mrs. Farshaw was pregnant, because O'Hara told me. I was quite angry with Beth, for keeping it from me - I had words for her that day. Do you see what I mean? I can't believe I've lost her to that… that…" Cilla shook her head. Emily's fingers closed over hers.

"You haven't lost her. I daresay she's been caught between you both - though in truth, I can't understand why she'd let herself be caught up with such a woman at all! Anyway, you were saying? Mrs. Andrews knew, as well? And was lying - how?"

"By lying for Mrs. Farshaw. By telling Lieutenant Farshaw that his wife was one month pregnant, when she was already at least two along. That was to trick Farshaw into believing the timing of the child's conception coincided with his arrival. If she thinks she had her courses, then she's somehow found a way to trick him there, too."

"Sweet God, those conniving… Of all the…" Emily shook her head, stunned and fuming. She met Cilla's gaze. "Why didn't you tell me?" They'd confided so much to one another, why not this?

"Don't think poorly of me, but in a way, I'd hoped if Farshaw accepted the child to be his. That way, I'd never have to suffer the embarrassment of my husband having a bastard."

"Oh," Emily nodded. "I understand."

"That's why I didn't tell you, because I'd hoped no one would ever know, outside of those who already did. But now, with her taking off three nights ago, and Bordon being gone the same length of time, I'm starting to worry that I'll be saddled with him looking after his mistress and his bastard and it's going to be so public and shaming!"

"Well, you don't know for certain he was with her."

"Of course he was," Cilla sighed. While I was miscarrying our child, he was relishing his bastard and mistress.

"You don't know," Emily repeated, though she was as certain as Cilla now, too. She was going to risk it - she'd head straight to camp and tell Mrs. Salisbury to fetch Calvin to her immediately. Just as soon as she took her leave of Cilla. "But as I promised, I'll keep my ear out and I'll tell you as soon as I know if something is amiss."

"Thank you, Em. And you won't tell Becky and Sarah?"

"I promise, I won't. Never fear, I like to gossip, Cil, but I can keep a secret when it's important," Emily said, relieved Cilla specified those two, which still left her free to tell Calvin.

"Thank you," Cilla sighed. "Can we change the subject?"

"We can," Emily said. She shot a look toward the door to make sure it was indeed closed, then she turned back to Cilla, her lips curved in a smile. "I heard today that Banastre Tarleton has this horrid illness too."

Hearing that name, Cilla's face flushed red. "That's not something to smile about. Why are you smiling?"

"Because, Cil," Emily lowered her voice, though there was no chance anyone could hear them. "He has been bought here."

"Here?" Cilla breathed, her heart beginning to pound.

"Yes. He was convalescing in some hovel not far from here, but he only had a few Dragoons to protect him. Cornwallis almost had a fit when he found out that his favourite was sick and unprotected. What if he'd been caught by the enemy?"

"That would be dreadful," Cilla whispered.

"And so, he was bought here, to the fort, where he will be safe. He is getting settled into Benjamin Martin's chamber now."

"Oh my Lord," Cilla swallowed hard. She closed her eyes but could still feel Emily's grinning eyes boring into her.

"He'll be here for some time, I'd imagine. You'll be better well before he will be. He'll need nursing back to health…"

"Oh Em, I never should have told you about the kiss," Cilla groaned.

"But you did!" Emily said cheerfully. "And you also told me you enjoyed it, very much."

"I never should have."

"You shouldn't have told me? Or you shouldn't have enjoyed it?"

"Both," Cilla said and Emily laughed. On a previous occasion, after admitting she'd taken lovers, Emily had described to Cilla what it should truly feel like, to bed a man. Cilla had listened in confused rapture, something deep inside her had yearned for the thing Emily had told her about. Cilla had never thought she could experience pleasure with any man after being treated so horribly by Bordon. But then she'd spent a drunken ten minutes in Banastre's arms while he kissed her, she'd felt wonderful flares of delight in her stomach, her heart had raced with excitement and warmth.

And now Emily was saying that Tarleton had returned.

"I'll help you, if you want to spend time alone with him. When he's better that is."

"Emily Wilkins, that's a terrible thing to suggest!" Cilla gasped. "What an offer to make!"

"I'm just saying," Emily said, spreading her hands wide.

"He is in love with Beth, and I am a married woman," Cilla ground out.

"Which is why he is perfect," Emily giggled. "I've heard what a fabulous lover he is and you certainly had a taste of it yourself, that night."

"He is not my lover," Cilla said.

"He held you in his arms, kissing you for upward of ten minutes. Cilla, he is your lover," Emily smiled. "All I'm saying is, if you need help to visit him occasionally, do ask me. I won't tell a soul."

"You're incorrigible," Cilla said, closing her eyes. That was the best she could do, her energy was fading fast. She'd managed to stay awake longer this time than she had for a while, perhaps she truly was on the mend. For now, though, she felt herself draining, her eyes becoming heavy. "Em, my head…"

"Oh, here, you poor thing," Emily jumped up to prepare a remedy for Cilla to help ease the girls headache. She helped the girl to sip it, keeping her head propped up with the cup pressed to her lips. "I've kept you awake far too long. I'm sorry. You should be asleep by now. Why don't you get some rest?"

"You won't leave will you?" Cilla asked. She hated to be alone now, alone with her thoughts and her heart ache. Though she had said nothing of it to Emily, she could not set her grief of her loss aside and when she was alone it was worse. It ate at her until she felt certain she would die.

"I'll stay until I'm certain you're asleep."

"Thank you," Cilla sighed. She could not keep her eyes open and she drifted off to sleep.