Hi everyone - just a wee warning, there's explicit detail of Calvin and Major Fallows sex in the second half of this chapter. Hopefully no one will be offended, I've detailed all the other sex scenes in this story, it's just that this one happens to be between same sex partners :-)

Chapter 97 - Fine Distinctions:

When she was able to do so, Beth fled the house as fast as her legs could carry her - not toward her carriage, but toward the village proper, where the businesses were. She peered at faces, hoping to recognise known Patriots. What would she do though, if she did spy a rebel among the populace? Keeping back Mrs. Turnbull's message to William would be treason and yet another betrayal. So tell him she would. But revealing what she knew to a Patriot in the hopes that he or she would warn Oliver, well, that was treason and betrayal too. It wasn't long before she left the businesses behind - Pembroke really was a small village - and she was standing at the little gate of the church. Oliver wouldn't be there, she knew. But it was a church, and churches were calming places, and she felt need of such. She entered the gate, then waved down the Dragoon guards that had followed her, indicating she needed to enter alone. The door was unlocked and she walked right in, she strolled down the aisle between the pews, memories assailing her the whole way. She paused at the pulpit and stood there, soaking up the memory of standing at William's side as Major Bordon married them. She rounded the pulpit and gazed down at the ledger, her eyes scanning the page for the entry of her own wedding, which William had written in the day they were married.

It wasn't there. There was jagged strips of paper down the middle and she realised, aghast, that someone had torn it out. Hearing a sound behind her, she whirled, and came face to face with Reverend Oliver, who was peering around the edge of the door.

"Miss Martin!" He gasped, tension draining from his body. He must have been expecting British soldiers.

"What are you doing here?" She gasped back, stunned. "Lord, the place is crawling with Dragoons, Reverend!"

"Yes, you bought them here," he accused.

"I was visiting a friend," she replied. "William does not let me leave without a guard."

"Fears your father will snatch you away, I dare say," Oliver sniffed.

"My husband fears many things."

"Are they going to come in here too?" He asked and she shook her head. "If they hear your voice, they will wonder who you are speaking to. Come, into my office." He turned and she followed him the short way to the room at the back. As she entered, she thought on how dim it was in the chamber, the curtains were closed over the windows and Oliver had candles and lanterns lit to light the room. Didn't want anyone to know he was there, clearly.

The last time Beth had been in this part of the church, General Burwell had spurned her, rushing away as quickly as he could, as though the hounds of hell had been hot on his tail. As she entered, she stared at the three chairs that she, her father and Burwell had occupied that day, across from Oliver. Oliver would always sit there, in the large armchair facing the door, holding a cup of tea as he gave council to his parishioners.

And he was resuming that seat right now, in that same place, with a hot cup between his fingers. She lowered herself to one of the chairs opposite him. Eyeing the chair Burwell had occupied on that fateful day, she could almost see the General there, as he was told of the very great crime she had committed, at the Simms ball with Tavington. She remembered the look on his face and suppressed a cringe. He'd been so hurt, angry, heartbroken. Her father had worn the exact same look as her former fiance. Both had been disgusted. Lord, how Burwell had run… She turned back to Oliver with a sigh. "Why are you here? You need to leave, Sir," she said, no longer whispering.

"Running me out of my own village, hmm?" He asked her, eyebrow arched.

"I'm not your enemy," she said softly, holding out a hand in supplication. "You're in danger, Reverend. I was speaking with Mrs. Turnbull just now. She said she's recently learned you've been giving sermons in the area, to Patriots, beseeching them to join you. She's learned when your next meeting is to be held."

Oliver drew in a sharp breath.

"Has she now?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And you're telling me..?"

"I'm warning you. As I said, I'm not your enemy. I fell in love with a British Officer, Reverend. That's my only crime. I'm still a member of your Parish. And I'm still as Patriot as you, though I have promised William I would not work against him and that he could trust me fully. And now I'm faced with this - this message that I have to get to William now, of your intention to meet at Cosgrove Bridge…" She shook her head, gave a sullen sigh.

"And will you tell him?" Oliver asked.

"Of course I will," Beth replied. "I will not withhold information such as this. I won't risk his wrath. Besides, I vowed to be loyal and he needs to know he can trust me and what the devil am I saying?" She dropped her head to her hands, feeling utterly confused. "I'm betraying him right now."

She heard a clink as Oliver placed his cup on the table, and then Oliver was sitting beside her, his hand on her back. She lifted her head, met his grave eyes.

"You'll be taken prisoner, Sir, if you do this," she told him. "I will tell William. I'm just so glad I was able to tell you first." Tears stung her eyes, she had no idea why but she was on the verge of weeping. The enormity of what she'd just done swept over her. She'd betrayed him. She was always betraying him! "He'd take it better if I was having an affair," she whispered. "If it was another man I'd betrayed him with, at least he'd have someone to stab. But this? I can't keep going against him like this!" She wailed.

"You should have chosen your consort more carefully, Miss Martin," came the gentle reply. In using her maiden name, he was showing he was still unwilling to acknowledge her marriage. "I understand your confusion. You are conflicted and overwhelmed. I do appreciate your warning me in this manner."

"Will you stop recruiting from here about?" She asked him, voice hopeful.

"No. I'll just be more careful of who I invite to the gatherings," he smiled and despite herself, she managed a soft laugh. "Would you have gotten warning to me, if I hadn't been here?" He asked, studying her face carefully.

"Yes."

"How?" He cocked his head to one side, considering her carefully. If she revealed a sound plan, then he would believe her.

"I was looking for someone I could tell just now, but I wasn't sure who I could trust. So I decided that perhaps I should pay a visit to Mrs. Rutledge," came her simple reply.

Oliver was stunned for a moment, then he laughed out loud.

"Yes, that certainly would have done the trick. I thank you. I will be sure to tell your father you did this."

"Oh, please don't," Beth drew a shuddering breath. "He might expect more from me and I won't do it. How is he? How are they all? It's been so long - too long. I worry and… How are they?"

"Well, Mrs. Selton is in Gullah with the children," he replied. "The Howard's are there. Did you know that Gabriel and Anne are married?"

"I heard," Beth said shortly, pain piercing her. She had not been at the wedding. She would not have even been invited and she probably would not have been missed.

"Gabriel visits Gullah as often as he can but, well, you know. He is quite busy. And Thomas - he looks quite fetching in his Bluecoat. He is very proud of himself."

"Of course he is," Beth smiled. "At least Tommy still liked me when last we saw each other. Will you tell him I wish him well?"

"No message for your father?" Oliver asked, eyebrow arched.

There was so much she longed to tell her father…. Where to start? If she began, she'd be there for an hour and Oliver could not possibly remember it all anyway.

"Only… that I love him. I miss him. And to take care," she shrugged. "I'm not sorry, if that's what you're asking. I love William and I will not be sorry for marrying him."

Oliver looked disappointed, and he averted his gaze.

"I hope he'll accept William as his son, someday. But I doubt that will happen."

"Neither do I," Oliver agreed. "Where is Samuel, lass? He's not on the plantation."

"How do you know?" She asked, surprised. Oliver maintained a mysterious expression, and eventually, she shrugged it off. He was not going to tell her and, perhaps, it was better she didn't know. "He is with Captain Gordon. Captain Gordon's unit was sent to reinforce Rawdon's at Camden. Samuel went with them, I didn't know he was gone until it was too late to do anything about it." Beth hung her head, feeling wretched. "Papa gave me charge of the children, but I've done a poor job of protecting them. First Nathan, Maggie, William and Susan flee with Aunt Charlotte, then Samuel hides stows away with Gordon's lot. William has since found out that Rawdon arranged to have Gordon's unit detached elsewhere, so I wrote to Samuel, asking him to come home. I received a reply from him recently, refusing. He said he's become an important part of Gordon's unit, which is absolutely ridiculous, but there it is. There's nothing more I can do for now. Samuel is gone and won't come home."

"He's willingly serving the British," Oliver said, voice flat. "A son of Benjamin Martin's, in the British Army."

"He's twelve years old, for crying out loud. He can't be a soldier," Beth heaved a sigh. "But after what father made him do… what Samuel was forced to see that day… Captain Gordon led the party that papa attacked, of which twenty British soldiers were brutally killed. Sammie was there - he killed a man, he said, and he was awfully confused by it. It left him feeling wretched, he is far too young for war. He did not like seeing papa killing indiscriminately, and with his tomahawk, too. It affected him, it really did."

"So your father told me. And it doesn't surprise me that Samuel has reacted in this way, he was always a gentle boy," Oliver mused, "and he had always thought his father was, also. He witnessed an entirely different side to your father that day."

"He was so affected by it, he saw the dead afterward and he probably worried over which one he'd killed."

"My thoughts precisely. Your father regrets it now, but he was… unhinged, I think. He shoved the rifle in Samuel's hand and told him to shoot… Samuel was not ready for such harsh realities."

"I agree," her tone became grim as she commiserated with her brother. She had never killed a person herself and could not imagine what sort of affect it would have to do so. "I really wish he would just come home - I really don't like Captain Gordon's influence over Samuel," she ground out. "He is teaching Samuel the sword, spending time with him, he took him under his wing, when Samuel needed someone most. The way he spoke in his letter, you would think he has found a new family. But I don't think Gordon is doing it out of the kindness of his heart. He's probably filling Sammie's head with all sorts of lies, so that Sammie never comes home. I'll wager Samuel doesn't know that Captain Gordon had ill intentions toward Maggie."

"Yes, I had heard about all of that," Oliver said. "It's why Nathan and your aunt insisted on escaping Fresh Water."

"Yes," Beth agreed. "Gordon was deprived of five targets, when Nathan and aunt Charlotte got everyone away. So he'll concentrate on the only one he has now. He'll turn Sammie, he'll use him for his own ends."

"I shall tell your father," Oliver promised. "And if something can be done to drag Samuel away, then it will be."

She rose, and so did Oliver. "The fewer people who know I warned you, the better," she said as she stared up at him.

"The more Patriots who know, the better they'll feel toward you," he replied, holding her gaze.

"After how they spurned me, I do not care. Let them hate me. It's better than William learning of this and…" she paused with a shudder. He had not taken his hand to her since they'd married, but for this, he bloody well might. "Well, I'll be going."

"Good bye, Miss Martin," Oliver said.

"Still unwilling to acknowledge my marriage?" She asked archly.

"Always," he replied firmly.

"What if I told you that William and I said our vows again a second time? With an actual Reverend," she said and Oliver's eyes widened. "Reverend Premmon demanded it, he drew up a marriage license and everything. I'm sorry, but you refused to do it, and it needed to be done. You might not like it, but you have to accept that I am Mrs. Tavington in truth, even by your standards."

His jaw began to work and she knew he was struggling, still not wanting to acknowledge her marriage. He'd find some other reason to deny it, she was certain. Oh well. So be it. She turned to leave, but he caught her hand and drew her back. With a kind smile, he embraced her farewell.

"Thank you for the warning," he whispered.

Beth held frozen in his arms for a moment, before relaxing into the embrace with an unhappy sigh. She sniffled, then rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her head.

"You're welcome," she said, stepping back from him. "Don't let it be for nothing. I can't help you to escape Fresh Water - that would be beyond me, so don't let it happen."

"I know. Though in truth, I doubt they would bother to take me prisoner. Hangings are far more to their liking, I'm afraid."

Beth nodded, agreeing that it was likely true.

Beth laid alongside William, her fingers stroking his cheek gently. She stared at him, her face only inches from his. She'd done the right thing, she knew she had. But still, it was another betrayal. When would it end? How many more times would she find herself in this situation? Her husband trusted her now and she felt a wretched, deep sick feeling in her stomach, for failing him again. He slept soundly, on his back, the chamber as dark as Banastre's. William was so ill… so helpless… She hated to see him like this…

When she returned from Pembroke, he'd been awake. She had passed on Mrs. Turnbull's warning, she waited while he had an Officer scribe a message to O'Hara, and then she locked their bed chamber door and laid down beside him. He'd taken her into his arms, he'd held and kissed her gently, and all the while she'd felt so empty, so conflicted, so guilty. Torn. Between her loyalty to her husband, and to that of her father and her country. She hadn't realised until then, just how difficult her marriage was going to be. When William's hands began roving over her body, when he pushed down the covers and revealed his erection, she made no move to stop him. Instead, she allowed him to guide her until she straddled his lap, for he was in no condition to take her in any other way. She slid down on his length, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of him inside of her. It had been days since they had last been joined. He lay mostly still beneath her, only moving his hips slightly, his hands moving over her bodice as she rocked on his length, bringing them both to blissful release. Afterward, she lay down beside him again, she covered his body with the blankets against the cold and kissed him gently. He was asleep within moments, the last of his strength discharged along with his seed.

The coupling had not helped her in the slightest. As enjoyable as it had been, it had chased away her demons for only a short time. At length, Beth rose from the bed and slipped her feet back into her shoes. There was too much work to do to loll about in bed all day, guilt and demons not withstanding. She straightened her skirts and her hair, then after kissing him one last time, she slipped from the room.

"There's no need to blush so, Cilla," Banastre teased. "I was merely describing how wonderfully delightful it was to kiss you."

"But that's just it," Cilla cast an eye toward the open doorway. There was no one in the hall, no one to hear their discussion, but still she lowered her voice. "We should not be discussing it at all. We should not have done it, at all."

"Ah, but as I said that night, it's only kissing. And you can not deny how enchanting it was," he turned over onto his side to face her. "Go on, Cilla. I dare you to tell me you did not find it utterly enchanting. Captivating. Delightful, kissing me."

"Lord, you are abandoned," she laughed softly.

"Do you deny it?" He pressed.

"I do not deny how much I enjoyed myself that night," she replied, her own smile teasing. She was much easier in Colonel Tarleton's presence these days, since the night of the ball, when he'd cheered her with his company and his whiskey. And his kissing. She enjoyed her turn sitting in with him, it helped to take her mind off her troubles. Her grief was never far from her, but even sick, Banastre was so cheerful, it was infectious.

"Not good enough," he said. "You need to be more specific. Which part of the evening did you enjoy most?"

"Oh, you'd like me to say that I enjoyed myself most at the end, before we came up to the house?" She arched her eyebrows and she saw his smile broaden. "No, my favourite part of the evening was when I had the wonderful opportunity to dance with my husband."

Banastre fell back against the pillows, laughing. "Oh Lord, you're such a fibber," he said, chortling.

"Sir!" Cilla adopted a mock stern look. "What a thing to say! I am insulted."

"You are not," he was still chuckling but he slowed and eventually turned onto his side to her again. She was seated in the armchair, facing the bed. "Come now, I've admitted it to you - our stolen moments were the highlight of my evening. Will you truly not admit it to me? Even though I'm so dreadfully sick, and such a revelation would make me feel so very much better?"

"Dear Lord," she rolled her eyes. "I'm sick too, if you recall."

"I do recall. And haven't I made you feel better, by revealing how delightful it all was?"

"Hmm, indeed you have," she smiled. "Very well. If I must. It was very nice."

"Nice. Nice!" He tossed his head in disgust. "Lord, it looks like I'm going to have to step up my game, if that is the best description you can come up with."

"Yes," she giggled. "Your technique can certainly do with some work."

"Cilla!" Banastre gasped, outraged as she laughed at him from her chair. He lifted himself up onto his elbow, his eyes becoming shrewd and hooded at the same time. "Nice is not the reputation I desire, my darling. Perhaps you will give me a second chance, that I might redeem myself?" The truth was, he had enjoyed it so much the first time that, now he was at Fresh Water, he was truly hoping that there would be a second.

"You're incorrigible," she said.

"No argument there," he said, noticing that she didn't say 'no'. "Lord, it's hard to get comfortable," he pushed himself up until he was sitting and Cilla rose to place an extra pillow behind his back. As she worked, he gazed up at her with a hopeful smile, his head tilted back, lips pursed. She laughed at him and resumed her seat. "Did you not find it so?" He said, ignoring her rejection. It was temporary only, he'd heard the hitch in her breath, he strongly suspected she would not mind kissing him again. Nice indeed. "If I lay too long on one side, it hurts. I lay too long on the other, it hurts. I lay on my back, I sit up, I turn over, I simply can not get comfortable."

"It will pass soon," she said. "If you're well enough to complain about it, then you're definitely on the mend."

"My Lady," he said with mock insult. "I do not complain."

There was movement in the doorway and they both turned as Beth walked into the room.

"Captain Wilkins is back," she said by way of greeting.

"Do you want to sit down?" Cilla made as if to move but Beth waved her back down, for although Cilla was better, she was still quite weak. She still felt tired far too quickly. It took much of her vitality just to visit Banastre and he was only down the hall. It was because she could not sit with him in her shift and robe, her maid Vickie had to dress her properly - her hair and all, in order for her to leave her chamber. But she did it - for she could not bear to be stuck in her chamber all day, with Richard also sick in their bed. She much preferred to take her turn in tending Banastre, even though she wasn't entirely well herself. It was better than spending time in her room with Richard.

Beth perched on the side of the bed, instead, which made Cilla's eyes bulge. She knew Beth was friendly with the Colonel but this? This was way too familiar - not even Cilla would dare such, and she'd kissed the Colonel!

"And now it begins," Banastre said.

"No need to sound so gleeful about it," Beth rebuked him. He spread his hands wide.

"I didn't even smile!" He defended himself.

"He's been waiting for Captain Wilkins to return for days. He's a dreadful gossip and I'm sure he takes great joy from all of this," Cilla said to Beth.

"That's not true, Mrs. Bordon," Banastre said. Cilla had asked him that night, not to call her that. But she knew he could not call her anything else, when they were not alone. "I'm just bored, that's all. It's dreadfully dull, being sick. All I can do is lay here and do… What? Nothing. I can't read - it's too dark in here and if you open a curtain my eyes start watering and stinging…"

"Oh, you too?" Cilla asked, empathising. "And you probably couldn't concentrate on a book anyway, from the pounding in your head."

"Yes! You understand!" Banastre pointed a finger in her direction. "I can barely move to get out of bed, so I can't go in search of company -"

"There's no company to be had, everyone is sick," Cilla added. "Which, by the way, is the only reason I come in here to you."

"You say the loveliest things," he laughed. "But I quite agree, there is no other Company to be had and the sick make dreadful conversationalists."

"I'll say," Beth agreed fervently and Cilla threw back her head and laughed.

"You took the words out of my mouth, cousin," Cilla said.

"My word!" Banastre protested. "I was not referring to myself, my dear ladies. I am and always have been the greatest of company," he turned back to Cilla. "All I can do is lay here and wait for visitors. Yet when they come, in the form of two beautiful lovely young women, all I get is this! Horrid teasing. I deserve none of it!"

"You deserve every bit of it," Beth scoffed.

"I worry that Wilkins is going to beat Emily," Cilla said, drawing her knees up to her chest and shifting until she was comfortable in the big arm chair. "Honestly, I don't know what to make of it all. Emily and I became quite close these past weeks, we shared many confidences." She paused, wondering if she should say anything further, then decided it was common knowledge now anyway. "She told me she'd had a few affairs, I already knew that."

"So did I," Beth sniffed primly. "Though it wasn't Emily who told me."

"Who did?" Cilla asked.

"I just… Heard about her taking up with some fellow in camp - some Lieutenant; another one, not Farshaw."

"Oh, yes, him," Cilla nodded. "Yes, she told me about him. I'm not sure what shocks me more, that she was having an affair with Farshaw, or that she didn't confide it to me!"

"You must have grown close indeed, if you'd expect her to reveal that," Banastre said.

"We had…" Cilla said.

"As for Emily Wilkins - well, James Wilkins can hardly be too outraged - as if he kept only to her bed," Beth said tartly.

"And he's horrible to her," Cilla said. "From their first night, their wedding night and every day since for the past three years. The things she has told me…" Cilla shook her head, lips tight with anger. "I know you are close to Mrs. Farshaw, Beth. But I don't think Emily should have been birched for what she revealed to her husband. Yes, he beat her, but shouldn't that have been Mrs. Farshaw's look out? And my dear husband's," she curled her lip. "If they didn't want to incur Farshaw's wrath, they should not have courted it. No point pointing the finger at Emily and saying 'oh, you tattled!' "

"I said much the same to Bordon," Beth said and Cilla's eyes widened with surprise.

"Oh. I'm glad you did," Cilla said. "I'm aware that Mrs. Farshaw suffered greatly - but no one can be blamed for Lieutenant Farshaw's actions except himself - and those who crossed him. From what I heard, the camp followers were not gentle at all. And now Emily will receive another beating, from Captain Wilkins this time, for having an affair," Cilla wrapped her arms around her legs. She felt the desperate need to lay down, but was resisting it with all the strength she could muster.

"Yes, that's especially hard to take," Beth said. "When he is no better. Captain Wilkins never did settle down. He's almost as bad as Banastre."

Far from being insulted by the jibe, Banastre stretched his arms high over head and gave them both a satisfied grin.

"At least he's not married," Cilla said in Banastre's defence.

"Why thank you, Mrs. Bordon."

"Would that he was - it might settle him down some," Beth sniffed. "Then again, it hasn't settled Captain Wilkins down any. He used to flirt with me, all the time. Even after marrying Emily," Beth confided.

"Oh, he never did," Cilla gasped.

"I shall smite him with my sword," Banastre said wrathfully.

"Oh hush you," Beth said to Banastre before answering Cilla. "He did. He's a horrible flirt."

"Yes, he is that," Banastre agreed.

"You're one to talk!" she said archly and Banastre affected a look of innocence. He pointed at himself and mouthed 'me?'. Beth snorted. "Yes, you. You're one of the worst. I don't think you can sleep without a woman in your bed."

"I can't believe we're discussing this," Cilla rubbed her temples.

"I have been sleeping without a woman beside me for what..? Too many days to count!" Banastre protested.

"Because you're filled up with laudanum," Beth laughed. "And because you're too sick to go and find yourself a pretty." He smiled in such a way that even Cilla knew he was flirting with Beth. He did not come out and say 'I've got a pretty sitting on the bed right now', but the words hung in the air, anyway.

"I still can't believe that Emily had an affair with Farshaw," Cilla said.

"I don't condone it," Beth began, "but why should Emily receive a beating for doing what James himself does? And don't you go prating the vows, Ban, because James vowed the same as her. To be faithful. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. The only difference is, the goose is a damned sight stronger than the gander and he can do what he likes to her. She can't hold him down and smack his backside the way he did to her that time."

"Hypocritical," Cilla sniffed in agreement. "After everything Emily has told me about him, I have found myself liking James Wilkins less and less every day." She cut off sharply when a shadow filled the open doorway. Seeing James standing there, she blushed crimson.

"Mrs. Tavington," Captain Wilkins said, voice cold as he deliberately ignored Cilla. "May I have a word with you?"

Beth slowly uncoiled herself and rose from the bed, then padded out of the room.

"Oh, Banastre, you don't think he heard me do you?" But Banastre was unable to answer her for he was holding his stomach and laughing too hard.

"Oh, what wonderful timing you have, Cilla," he managed to wheeze.

"Beth is right, you are horrid," she said.

His ridiculous grin was banished immediately, his laughter silenced so quickly, it echoed in the chamber.

"She never said that!" He stared at her, looking remarkably like a gaping fish. He added uncertainly, "did she?"

Feeling she had scored a point, Cilla laughed. Banastre Tarleton was so good for her - since falling sick and suffering her awful loss, she still found herself laughing whenever she visited him. It felt good - truly good - such a wonderful release. There was healing in laughter, and as she began to banter with Banastre, she embraced those wonderful sensations that had been so long denied to her.

Simple mirth and good cheer.

Beth followed Wilkins down the hall, the stairs, through the house, all the way to her father's office. His back was ram rod straight, his stride a marching clip. He entered first, and when she closed the door behind them, he whirled around to confront her.

"Just who the devil do you think you are?" He snapped, glaring down at her She blinked up at him, shocked. He was taller - taller even than William and Bordon and just then, he used his height to his full advantage, towering over her. Bordon had told her she looked ridiculous when she drew herself up to her full height in an effort to intimidate, and so she did not bother with such tactics now. Still, she was having none of it - she was the Colonel's wife, that's who she thought she was! And another Colonel's daughter. And not to mention a member of two high ranking families!

"Just who in the hell do you think you are?" She snapped back, folding her arms across her chest. "You needn't think that just because you've put 'Captain' in front of your name, you'll get far with speaking to me like that, James Wilkins!"

"Did you, or did you not, allow the entire bloody camp of women beat my wife?" He bellowed, his voice rebounding from the walls.

"Oh," she lowered her hands to her sides, irritation draining from her. Earnestly, she said, "no, James. I did not."

"How can you say that?" He ground out. "I was told that Colonel Tavington ordered Emily be punished, and that the leader of the women - that's you," he pointed out, his gaze fierce, "chose the manner of it."

"No…" She shook her head, then rubbed her temples. Lord, but his yelling had given her a headache - his voice was so loud! Like a lion roaring… "Can we please sit?" She suited her words by taking one of the arm chairs and gestured for James to sit opposite her. Ignoring the offer, he stood straight backed, his fingers curled into fists at his sides. She sighed. "I did not have the choosing. I never would have had Emily birched! Indeed, I begged William to rescind the order, but he would not. James, William has taken the responsibility of the camp women from me. He thinks it was too much for me, he wants me to rest more and…" She trailed off, not wanting to disclose more than that. That they were trying to conceive a child and were eliminating the causes which might be preventing them, was none of James' business. "He passed the responsibility on to Mrs. Andrews. She is the one who executed Emily's punishment."

"Mrs. Andrews, hmm?" James quivered from head to toe, bright spots of colour flushed his cheeks. "Mrs. Andrews felt free to have my wife birched. Thanks to the command that Tavington gave her," James said, his blue eyes flaring as if on fire.

"James -"

"He handed her over to a flock of bloody drudges!" He threw his arms wide, his face twisted with rage. "My wife, treated like rubbish! Has he forgotten who she is? Who her family are? Who her husband is?"

"I doubt very much that William has forgotten her standing, James," Beth said patiently, hiding her astonishment. She'd expected James to be wroth - but with Emily, not with William!

"We've had this argument before, you know!" He ranted. "Back in Charlestown, when Colin didn't want Miss Jutland coming to his wedding. I tried to tell Bordon then, that our aristocracy is every bit as important as his! Honestly, a common drudge, at Colin and Mary's wedding? It's no wonder they eloped to avoid it! And now, my wife is beaten, by a bunch of low born wenches, and all because of Miss Jutland! Because of Bordon's bloody whore!"

"James!" Beth gasped, her hand at her throat. "How could you say such a thing? I thought you liked Harmony!"

"More than my own wife?" He shot back. "When your husband had Emily birched for gossiping about Bordon's whore, do you know what Tavington did?"

"No," Beth shook her head, wide eyed.

"Tavington shit all over my standing is what he did! Taking the side of a common strumpet, who was doing precisely what Emily revealed her to be doing! It's not as though Emily were lying - Harmony was rutting with Bordon again! Yet Emily gets birched for speaking of it? Now, I like Harmony well enough," he ground out, his nostrils flaring. "But she's not one of us, is she?" He asked pointedly. "Her family is of no consequence at all! No, she's not like you and me - and she's certainly not like Emily, whose higher than us both! She was a Simms, damn it! And this is how she's treated? Handed over to a pack of sluts, her chest bared for the world to see, and birched right there in the middle of the camp!"

Beth valued Harmony's friendship and loved her like a sister, but she had been raised to the higher families of the colonies and she understood, intrinsically, the sentiment behind James' words. There was a distinction between the greater and lesser families in the Colonies, just as there was in England. The only difference was, one could rise higher, even one from the lowest families, if one earned enough wealth to do so. They gained respect with that wealth, their name became valued by those around them, their peers. Emily had been treated with anything but respect, and her treatment could only bring great shame to both the Simms and the Wilkins, and all because of Harmony. Beth did not agree with James, but she understood him.

"Emily broke the rules of the Regiment," she said, though with great uncertainty in the face of Wilkins' arguments. "She caused trouble for the other camp followers, which you yourself punished her for. She was warned not to do it again, but she ignored that warning when she repeated what she knew too Farshaw."

"You believe that, do you? That she deserved it? The birching?" Wilkins asked, voice snapping. "You just told me you pleaded with your husband to overturn his command!"

"I did. And no, frankly, I do not believe she deserved the birching. What Farshaw did to Harmony, his complete loss of reason, can be laid his own feet. Emily didn't ask him to do what he did. She didn't tell him in the hopes he would do it. However, Colonel Tavington is my husband, I must support him. And Major Bordon is my cousin's husband and -"

"Hells teeth!" James threw his weight down into one of the chairs, forcing it back onto its two hind legs. The chair settled back down with a thump. James was agitated, shifting about, tugging at his jacket. "Major bloody Bordon! I don't care if he is your family now - that doesn't make his actions innocent of wrong doing! He's had it in for Emily for months now!" He pinned Beth with a stare as shrewd as it was hard. "Tell me honestly, if Emily had over heard a conversation regarding some other woman, and if she went on and told that woman's husband, and if that husband beat his cheating wife for her infidelity, would Richard bloody Bordon have been bothered by it? Would she have been birched for it? No! He wouldn't have given two figs about it!"

"Um…" Beth blinked, astonished. Beth had already had her misgivings about how Emily was handled, but now James was making her consider Emily's side even deeper than she already had. Remove Harmony from the situation and place some other woman, some other camp follower, one barely of his acquaintance. Would Richard have cared? "I… Yes, James, I believe you to be right in your thinking."

"Thank you. He goes and screws around with Harmony, after her husband comes back to claim her. And he expected that Farshaw wouldn't learn of it?" James spluttered. "Christ, the clock was ticking from the moment their affair began! So, it was Emily who revealed it. What of it?"

"I said the same. Emily didn't know of Farshaw's violent nature. Harmony and Richard on the other hand, they both knew. They both knew what they were risking, what they were courting," Beth said. "Harmony did not deserve what Farshaw did to her, but she knew he would do it. Emily had no idea."

"Do you think Emily deserved even half of this punishment, just because Farshaw chose to beat his wife bloody that night? No. It's not Emily's fault. It's Richard's damned fault Harmony's husband beat her, as you said. And it's Harmony's too. Certainly not Emily's!"

"James," Beth said gently, a little worried that what she was about to reveal might change his way of thinking. She wasn't particularly well disposed toward Emily, she never really had been, really. But she didn't want to cause more trouble for her. Still, James had to be informed. "Have you been told about… Well, about…" her voice grew even softer, the words dragging from her with reluctance, "Emily and Farshaw?"

"Yes, yes," he waved his arm dismissively. "I know. Bordon took great enjoyment in detailing it all to me in that letter he bloody sent. And never mind that the messenger might have been intercepted, the letter read by any bloody rebel and the news of my wife's infidelity spread across South Carolina! He didn't even have the decency to couch his words in code! He took equal enjoyment in telling me that Emily was to be punished, the manner of that punishment and - get this - he wrote that if I dared to complain I would be evicted from the Regiment! The gall of it!" He glared blindly at a tapestry on the wall. "And all because his bloody whore was slighted."

"Well, it was because she was beaten, James," Beth said.

"You just said yourself that it was nothing to do with Emily. You need to choose your side and stick to it, Beth," he spat, exasperated. "If you're feeling even slightly confused, allow me to ask you a question. Did Emily hold Farshaw's arm?"

"No," Beth said.

"Did she guide his punches?"

"No."

"Was it her fist that beat Mrs. Farshaw?"

"No."

"Was it Emily's boots that kicked into her, was it she who caused those bruises?" James snorted, infuriated.

"No," Beth said again.

"That Farshaw is bloody mad. Everyone knew what he was capable of, and still, Bordon goes and courts Farshaw's wrath by fucking his damned wife! If he didn't want harm coming to her, he should have kept his damned hands off of her! And now I can't even deal with Farshaw myself - I can't demand he be disciplined, because Bordon's gone and done that already! And for his own selfish reasons. I didn't even get to witness it! And how can those punishments fit, Beth? Farshaw gets thirty lashes for beating his wife. And my wife's back is ripped to shreds, for spreading gossip? Gossip that was true! Why should her punishment have matched Farshaw's, when their crimes were worlds apart?"

"I… I agree, but… what do you mean, selfish reasons?" Beth asked, confused. James had her head spinning with the twists and turns of his arguments.

"Yes, as I said, bloody selfish! Bordon did not demand Farshaw be whipped out of loyalty to me. He didn't do it because Farshaw screwed my wife. He was not seeking justice on my behalf. No, Bordon wanted it done because of all Farshaw has done to Bordon's damned whore, but Bordon knew he couldn't touch Farshaw for any of that, or O'Hara would have had his head! So he uses me to see the job done, instead! Any excuse would have done! And now I'm deprived justice - I never got to witness the flogging or any of it!"

Beth heaved a sigh. "James… I don't know what to say. To be honest, I'm surprised at you. You treat Emily with such indifference and you are… well…" She hesitated, blushing, then continued, "you're not exactly, ah… celibate in your dealings with… ah… other women…"

"So, you thought I wouldn't care? That Tavington and Bordon could do whatever the hell they liked with my wife? It doesn't matter how high or low I regard her, any insult to her is an insult to me. Jesus. One does not simply hand a woman from the higher families over to a bunch of damned drudges for punishment! Last time she caused trouble, Tavington let me deal with it discreetly, out of respect for me. Has his respect gone, then? For him to have taken the matter in hand in such a flagrant and public way? He should have waited for me and I would have dealt with her again!"

"What would you have done to her?" Beth asked, curious. "Let us say you arrived back here, you were told Emily gossiped about a camp follower, which in turn caused the woman's husband to beat her. What would you have done too Emily?"

"Emily lives to gossip," James said passionately. "It's what she's always done! I would not have punished her for that, nor would I ever place the blame for Harmony's beating, on Emily. No. I would have punished her for once again drawing to her the ire of my Commander. A few strong words, perhaps. I don't think I would have even used my belt this time though, not like last time. What she did last time was far worse - hiding her own necklace and pretending Harmony stole it, to deliberately cause trouble. This time, she was just revealing to Lieutenant Farshaw, the trouble Bordon and Harmony herself were causing; she was revealing the truth, that he was being cuckolded! Gods, any man would want to know that! Emily should not have been birched for it!" He was pacing like a lion; his eyes cause Beth's astounded face. "I know what you're thinking. That I was cuckolded and had a right to know, too. That it was Farshaw who cuckolded me. And you're right, but that's another thing entirely, and it was for me to deal with in any case. Only Bordon has taken it completely out of my hands! Emily repeated facts, is what she did. And she was birched for it. They stripped her bare and they beat her bloody for it. All those sluts, each taking a turn. Half of them spread their legs for money - believe me, Beth, I bloody know," he sniffed, thinking of the women he'd screwed down in camp. "They had nothing to do with any of it, yet they were all allowed to participate. Well, they will enjoy my coin no longer! And Tavington is the one that gave Emily over to them! He has treated the wife of one of his Captains with such…" James' lips twisted as he tried to think of the right word. "Derision! This slight… I can not ignore it. O'Hara had the decency to announce only that Farshaw was being flogged for insulting a superior Officer; if only to protect me from the humiliation. But did Tavington think to do the same? Did Bordon? No. They strip my wife bare and birch her for the entire camp to see!"

Beth watched as Wilkins continued to pace.

"Tavington gave the command, he is responsible!" He said crisply. "He gave Mrs. Andrews free rein! He never should have handed her over to the camp followers to begin with! He should have waited for my return. I would have dealt with her and I would have sent her directly to Charlestown right after! Bloody discreetly! Now it's all over camp, every blasted bastard I passed on the ride in here knows of it!"

"What will you do now?" Beth asked after a moments silence. "Will you go to Emily?"

He nodded curtly. "I am going to see O'Hara," he said, voice firm, his mind set. "I will lodge a complaint against Tavington and Bordon both," - Beth drew in a sharp breath of chagrin, which Wilkins ignored. - "I will not deny that Harmony was treated dreadfully after her husband learned of her affair, but that was hers and Bordon's to worry about. They knew what they risked and they did it anyway, despite him having beaten her before. As for Emily, she should have been treated in accordance with her station. Her true crime here is that it was Mrs. Farshaw's affair which Emily revealed. If it had been any other women, Bordon and Tavington would have done nothing. What occurred as a consequence of Emily's revelations were entirely outside of her control, and I know for a fact that she was extremely disturbed by the beating Mrs. Farshaw received. Emily had not meant for any of that to happen. If Bordon wanted to protect his lover from her husband's wrath, he should have kept his cock out of her."

"Oh, James, please," Beth rubbed her temples again. "All this talk of 'stations' and us being better than those of Harmony's level and yet you're using such language fit only for - as you put it - a common drudge! Am I a common drudge, for you to say such things in my company?"

"You're quite correct," he replied, instantly contrite. "Forgive me, I have shown you disrespect. I didn't mean too, I'm just so angry, Beth," James said.

"Please don't make a complaint," she begged. "William has been through pure hell with O'Hara and Cornwallis lately -"

"And all because of Major Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw!" James threw his arms up, frustrated. "All of it - Tavington and Bordon's fall from grace, can all be laid at Bordon's feet! They conspired together. They abused their authority. Bordon's obsessed with his damned mistress. Then he goes and falls to pieces when she was forced to return to her husband. He disgraced himself! All of it, because of Mrs. Farshaw. Yes, your husband has managed to claw his way back into Cornwallis, and O'Hara's, good graces. But then he goes and sides with Bordon - again - and over Mrs. Farshaw - again! And now they have treated my wife abominably, all because of their affection for Mrs. Farshaw. Always Mrs. Bloody Farshaw! And now I'm supposed to tolerate it all, to protect your husband? To save him and Bordon from O'Hara's wrath? Damn that to all hell!"

He whirled away from her and strode from the room without a backward glance.

Encountering Arthur Simms in the hallway, James nodded once, and Arthur fell into step beside him. They strode through the house, servants and soldiers alike had to leap out of their way.

"What did she have to say for herself?" Arthur asked, an edge to his voice.

"It wasn't her," James replied, voice curt. "Tavington has put that Mrs. Andrews in charge of the camp followers."

They stepped out onto the back porch and began to make their way to the stables, where more of Wilkins' unit was mounted and waiting.

"She didn't know anything about it?" Arthur sounded relieved. James realised it was important to him, that Beth had had no involvement in what had been done to his sister. They'd known one another a long while, Arthur had almost been engaged to Beth once, when his parents set their sights on the girl as a marriage prospect. They were friends, and Arthur had felt quite betrayed when he was told that 'the leader of the camp followers' - whom they had assumed was Beth - had organised for all of the camp women to beat his sister with a birch.

"She knew, but she begged Tavington to not do it. She was ignored. She is on our side, she agreed with everything I said," James replied. Dark clouds gathered over head, it would be an unpleasant ride if it began to rain. Hell, it would be an unpleasant ride anyway. He mounted with one graceful leap and the unit rode out. He'd only been back at the plantation for a short time, and his first port of call should have been to Tavington. Well, screw that. He'd go to see O'Hara instead. And then, he'd pay a short visit to Farshaw…

"And O'Hara?" Calvin asked Fallows. "He's not making me leave here?"

The pair were in Fallow's office, the Major had guided Calvin backward until the Lieutenant was pressed up against the desk. He draped his arms around Calvin's shoulders, leaned in to kiss Calvin's neck even as he aligned their crotches to blissful perfection. He circled his groin against Calvin's and could feel the erection growing within his Clerk's breeches. "No, he is going to indulge me, just as I promised you he would," Fallows replied, his lips moving along Calvin's skin. He felt Calvin's hands come about his waist and Fallows was delighted. "When we leave here, you're to come with me." His lips drifted up Calvin's neck, along his jaw, toward his lips. "And you'll come with me, again and again and again." The lad didn't like to kiss, Fallows understood this only too well, and he didn't force the issue. He drew back from Farshaw's mouth, his lips returning to his exploration of Calvin's neck. "Ahhh, yes," he whispered. "That's it, lad," Fallows breathed, as Calvin met his slow groin gyrations. As the heat and intensity grew, they began humping faster now, harder, hard enough to force Calvin up onto the desk. "I'll never let them hurt you," Fallows promised, his voice thick, grainy with need. "I'll never let them touch you. Gods, Calvin. Let's fuck like animals," he cried out softly as Calvin's hands cupped Fallows' backside to force him hard up against his crotch, the two humping and grunting, indeed like animals.

Fallows lay back on the chaise, waking from his doze. Dry humping Calvin through their clothes had left him feeling drowsy, he'd laid on the chaise beneath the window in the thin, weak sun and was soon slipping in and out of a wonderful, light sleep. He was waking again, and he did not need to open his eyes to know that his lover was still there. He could hear the Lieutenant working, his quill scratching across the parchment.

His heavy eyelids finally drifted open and his gaze settled on Calvin, sitting at the desk. Gods, but he was handsome. Those eyes, such a brilliant green, his features so finely chiseled. He was all man, was Calvin Farshaw, and Fallows couldn't turn his gaze away. He stared now as he had the first time his eyes had landed on him.

Several days had passed since he had begun sharing Calvin's bed and Fallows was so entranced, he did not think he'd ever tire of the lad. He'd never be able to get enough. His thoughts drifted to their first time, he'd had to be careful of Calvin's sore, battered, bruised body.

Lord, but the lad was… well, everything Fallows had hoped for and more. Farshaw had proven a reluctant but oh so adept lover. Fallows would never force himself on an unwilling lad, but he was himself adept at coaxing pleasure from another. Under Fallows' careful persistence, Calvin had been unable to deny his baser instinct and evidence of his desire had spilled three times before Fallows finally withdrew from the chamber, exhausted.

"Do you recall our first time, Cal?" He asked lazily and Calvin glanced up.

"Oh, you're awake," was the reply.

"It was magnificent, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sir," Calvin was answering by rote.

"Lord, you're too afraid to admit it, aren't you?" Fallows said wisely. "I've seen this before, Cal. It's understandable, I suppose. We're taught from the earliest age that loving between your own sex is wrong. Buggery," he curled his lip, "is wrong. I've no idea where such a silly concept came from -"

"Ah, the Bible?" Calvin asked.

"Oh, but the Bible touts so many things that many choose to ignore when it suits them. Do not commit adultery - yet men and women down through the ages have done so, with barely a thought to that being wrong. Bedding a married woman does not carry the same weight of disgust as does two men loving one another."

"I received thirty lashes for bedding a married woman," Calvin said.

"You received thirty lashes because Bordon willed you to receive thirty lashes," Fallows corrected. "And I was unable to prevent it."

"You were fuckin' unwilling too," Calvin shot back.

"When you dangled the promise of fucking when you were merely stringing me along, yes," Fallows said. "I was protecting you, I was doing my part while you were just pretending you wanted to do yours. A demonstration was necessary, and can you say you truly regret it?"

"Regret receiving thirty fucking lashes? Yes, Sir, I do regret that," Calvin frowned.

"My lad, I am speaking of the pleasure of the promised fruit," Fallows said. "But let us not quibble. What was I saying? Oh, yes. While many did not approve you screwing Mrs. Wilkins - and that includes me," he sniffed, "none of them looked upon you with the same level of disgust as you can expect two male lovers to receive. It's really quite ridiculous. I'd like to know who decided that one is wrong but amusing, while the other is wrong and devastating. My career would be over if anyone discovered my preference. But none would give a care if it was a married woman I was bedding." He shrugged, frustrated. "It is so ingrained in you that even though I have bought you to blissful climax over and over again, you still feel shame. Embarrassment. Mortification. You still think it's wrong. Did you feel any of those things, while you were bedding Mrs. Wilkins?"

"No," Calvin replied.

"Yet, that is as much a sin as the other," Fallows sighed. "When you start viewing the two sins as equal - or better yet, viewing what we do as not a sin at all, only then will you truly find peace. In the meantime, you will enjoy it when you're at the height of your pleasure, only to torture yourself in the long hours between. It's not good for you, Calvin."

"Yes, Sir," Calvin replied and Fallows shook his head. He rose and crossed the room to stand behind his clerk. He began kneading Farshaw's shoulders gently, being careful not to disturb the man's sore back.

"Do you recall," he whispered in Calvin's ear, "the first time I knelt behind you. Your beautiful cheeks, as pale as the moon, as you presented yourself. My fingers, working the oils into your tight canal," Fallows shuddered. Calvin was stiff but he was listening, Fallow's heard his new lover's breath hitch. Again, he was fighting his arousal, and he would continue to fight it, until he could no longer. And then… Lord, what a beast the lad was then. "I pushed in deep, my middle finger, all the way in. I thought I would come without ever entering you, for your arse had closed around my finger as tight as a vice. You understand now, I imagine, how exciting it is, the feel of a nice tight arse?" When Calvin gave no reply, he continued, "I wiggled my finger gently, driving deeper until I found that exquisite spot deep within you. You never even knew that existed, did you?"

"No," Calvin breathed. He closed his eyes, sweat popped along his forehead, his groin began to ache.

"Now why, my little rabbit, would Our Lord Above see fit to bestow upon us such a gem as that, and not intend for it to be plundered?" Fallows asked. "And you never even knew about it - because it takes another man to show you. I have given you the sort of pleasure a woman never can, and never will. Lord, your cock was so hard. Your arse was so tight around mine, I thought I'd die when I was only half way in. And when I was all the way - God, I couldn't move, for fear I'd spill too soon. My pelvis, hard up against your beautiful soft cheeks, my cock in your canal as far as it would go and when I reached around with my hand and wrapped my fingers around your achingly hard-as-marble shaft, what did you do, Cal?"

"Sir…"

"Don't be ashamed, Calvin," Fallows whispered, his lips on Calvin's neck. "What did you do when my fist began to pump you? When you pushed back on my cock, squirming to make the end of me hit that precious spot inside you?"

"I begged you to fuck me," Calvin whispered.

"That's right," Fallows said. "I'm hard, Calvin. I need… Did you bring the oils?"

"Yes, Sir," Calvin swallowed hard.

"Where are they?"

Wordlessly, Calvin reached for the drawer, several small glass vial clattered against one another as he opened it. Fallows reached down past Calvin's chest to his groin, he nearly fainted to feel Calvin's cock was as hard as his own.

"You never fail to disappoint," Fallows murmured. He pulled his hand away, began working the laces of his breeches. Calvin was rising, doing the same, freeing his cock. He took up position over the desk, his breeches around his knees, presenting his arse to Fallows. Fallows came to stand behind Calvin, he unstoppered a vial and began pouring it over Calvin's anus. Calvin shuddered, holding his breath expectantly as Fallows began to take up position behind him, his cock nudging at Calvin's slick opening.

"Sir!" Someone knocked on the door and the two men leaped apart, both jerking up their breeches. His heart beating wildly, Fallows began crossing the chamber, tying his breeches over his aching cock as he walked. When he reached the door, he glanced back to Calvin to ensure he was decent again before unlocking it. The Lieutenant was seated red faced behind the desk, a quill in his hand not a vial to be seen. Fallows unlocked the door and stepped out.

"Sir," a red coated soldier saluted Fallows as he stepped into the antechamber and closed the door behind him. "Sir, Captain James Wilkins has sent me to find Lieutenant Farshaw. Do you know where he is?"

"Farshaw is not available," Fallows replied, hoping his voice sounded normal. His heart still beat wildly, from desire and from the fright of the sudden interruption. He hoped his face wasn't as red as Calvin's was. He stood in front of the closed office door, no one would enter without going through him. The Major had to keep up his end of the bargain; so, when James Wilkins and several Officers strode into the antechamber clearly looking for trouble, Fallows drew himself up, preparing to flay Wilkins with his tongue.

"Where is he?" Wilkins asked, stopping short in front of Fallows.

"I beg your pardon, Sir?" Fallows bristled from head to toe. To be addressed in such a manner by this, this buckskin boy! A damned Colonial, one of the Planters who dared to pretend to the Gentry! This so called Officer was naught more than a militia Captain, while Fallows had been assigned the rank of Major by His Majesty King George himself! This worm was nothing! Fallows said nothing more, he held himself erect, his nose twisted as though he smelled something unpleasant. James paused, his face flushed. He had over stepped, and had only just realised it. If he wasn't such a stupid ingrate, he would have realised his mistake before he made it!

"Forgive me, Major Fallows," Wilkins began his apology, his tone far more polite and respectful than a few moments ago. "I forgot myself. I have been to see General O'Hara, and will soon return to Fresh Water. I wish to speak with Lieutenant Farshaw, who I believe to be in your command?"

"He is indeed in my command," Fallows replied. "And as such, if it is your desire to speak with him, you certainly will not do so without my express permission."

James paused, uncertain how to proceed. Lord, he wanted to get his hands on Farshaw, him and Arthur both. He shared a quick glance with his brother in law, together, they had indented to pummel Farshaw to pulp.

"Sir," James said, trying to temper the harshness from his voice. Permission? Christ! "May I have a moment to speak with Lieutenant Farshaw in private?" Speak with? There would not be much talking, that was for certain.

"You may not," Fallows snapped, not even bothering to be polite to the Captain. "If you'll excuse me," he turned on his heel, opened the door, and strode into the office. He caught sight of James' astonished expression before shutting the door in the pretend Captain's face. He locked it for good measure, then turned into the room. Calvin sat behind the desk, the quill crushed in his fingers, his face as white as snow.

"Don't worry," Fallows said, his voice smooth now, gentle. He rounded the desk, came to a halt before Calvin. "I told you I'd protect you, didn't I? What do you think he wants from you?"

"I fucked his wife," Calvin said. "He probably wants to kill me."

"Such a long list of men who want to kill you," Fallows shook his head slowly. "Don't they understand," he said as he placed his hands on Calvin's thighs to guide them apart so he could kneel between them. "What a delight you are?" His face was level with Calvin's groin, Fallows began tugging at the laces holding the breeches closed over Calvin's crotch.

"Is he gone?" Calvin asked, making no protest as Fallows worked to free Calvin's member. Astonishingly, it was still erect from what they had started a few minutes earlier. "He'll beat me, if he gets me alone."

"He won't get you alone," Fallows breathed, licking his lips as he stared down at Calvin's erection.

Major Fallows was in absolute heaven. He did not even mind that Calvin's fingers where twisted sharply around a clump of his hair. The Lieutenant barely seemed to notice his hold, his eyes were closed and his mouth slack as he bucked and spasmed before Fallows, pushing his cock deeply into Fallows' mouth. Calvin's harsh grunts were music to the Major's ears. And his milt, now that was -

"Nectar of the Gods," Fallows said as he swallowed it down.

Calvin's cock had slipped from Fallows' mouth. The lad's fingers relaxed, releasing that agonising yet sweet hold on Fallows' hair. He was now collapsed back into the chair, his legs splayed to either side of Fallows body, who was still kneeling over Calvin's crotch, his fingers still stroking Calvin's shaft gently.

Calvin's eyes were closed, his breathing still laboured as Fallows climbed to his feet. He began unbuckling his belt and unlacing his breeches. By the time he had his member free, Calvin had recovered himself. The dazed look slowly disappeared and reluctance began to return.

"Fair is fair," Fallows whispered, his fingers stroking his own member now as he gazed down at Calvin. "But I'll give you the choosing."

Calvin appeared to be considering his options. He could use his hand, he could present his rear, or he could… At length Calvin stood before him, cupped his face and gave Fallows the most devastating kiss of his entire life. And it seemed to last a lifetime, his knees went weak, feeling Calvin's tongue stroking his own. Minutes past, Fallows heart beat as wildly as a hunted deer. Calvin broke away and then, to Fallows' absolute joy and delight, Calvin slid to his knees to kneel eye level to Fallows' groin. Heart pounding so hard Fallows feared it might burst, he slowly slid his cock into Calvin's open mouth.

Calvin closed his eyes and did as Fallows had done to him, as so many women had done to Calvin before Fallows. He sucked, swirled his tongue, sucked again until his jaw and mouth began to ache and all the while, Fallows pushed his cock in and out of Calvin's mouth, making those guttural noises and whispering his appreciation.

Calvin hadn't wanted to do this. Fallows had tried to encourage him, but he'd had to draw the line somewhere. No fellatio, unless he was the recipient. And no kissing, no matter what. Fallows did that occasionally, the kissing, but Calvin was so discomforted by it - was so unwilling - that the Major never did it for long.

And now Calvin had felt he'd needed to give up his other stipulation. He knelt before the Major, the Major's cock fucking his mouth, because the Major had stopped Wilkins from doing whatever it was Wilkins had come to do. For the first time since agreeing to fuck Fallows, Calvin realised how grateful he was. For, if Fallows hadn't had such a keen interest in him, if Fallows hadn't suggested this arrangement, then Calvin would not have had anyone to hide behind. No one to protect him. No Fallows equalled certain death. What would have become of him, if Fallows hadn't helped him? Tavington and Bordon would have tried again, to kill him. And now Wilkins would try, also. Calvin engulfed Fallows rod in his mouth and began to suck, as deeply and as hard as he could. Fallows was almost weeping now, the fingers of one hand holding the back of Calvin's head, the others digging into the desk, his knees appeared to be weakening. Again, Fallows had protected him from a certain threat and Calvin felt an increased and desperate need to keep the Major well pleased.

Fallows was right, it did shame him. Everything they were doing with one another. The pleasure Calvin gained from it. Especially the pleasure Calvin gained from it. But if he hadn't had his very own Major to hide behind, then Wilkins, Bordon, Tavington; all of them could have at him in any way they chose, for O'Hara would have sent Calvin packing back to Fresh Water long ago. If Calvin had Fallows speaking on his behalf. He doubted he'd survive a beating from Emily's husband even if he was in full health. But the wounds on his back were only just beginning to knit, and his ribs were still bruised to hell; he was certainly not in the best of health. Calvin dug his fingers into Fallows' backside as the Major continued to fuck him.

How the hell his body could betray him so, was utterly beyond him. It repulsed him, disgusted him. But without this, he'd be a dead man.

"Ah, simply wonderful," Fallows breathed. He was stroking Calvin's hair back across his scalp, Calvin glanced up to meet the Major's eyes, his mouth wide around the Major's cock. "Ah, lad," he whispered, staring down at the sight, of his rod in Calvin's mouth, drinking it in. "I doubt you're ready to appreciate my nectar as I do yours. How about you bend over the desk for me to finish, hmm?"

Calvin rose, obedient to Fallows will, surrendering completely. He stood before the desk, his breeches still around his ankles. Fallows reached into the drawer for the vial as Calvin braced himself, fingers digging into the desk for purchase. He felt the cool oil dribble down his backside and despite himself, his cock began to twitch and stir. Fallows positioned himself, the head of his cock began inching in to Calvin's now slick anus, as Fallows' hand reached around Calvin's body, to bring him back to life.

"Ah, Calvin," Fallows breathed in his ear when he felt that Calvin was already hard. "You'll be my undoing," Fallows whispered. He edged in until his pelvis was hard up against Calvin's cheeks, his cock buried deep. Calvin began to pant as Fallows' hand worked his shaft and that spot deep inside him was stimulated by Fallows' cock. Within moments, Calvin was lost again, he bucked wildly back onto Fallows' shaft while he fucked Fallows' hand until a tornado tore through him and he exploded, his seed jetting out to cover the papers on Fallows' desk.