Chapter 98 - A Cabin in the Woods:
Laying against the pillows in the too hot room, Banastre kept his gaze fixed on the empty doorway, waiting. He heard shouting, Captain was tearing strips of Beth and Banastre ripped the covers back, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and that was as far as he'd gotten. Though he wanted to rush to Beth's side - for how dare that damned Captain scream at her? - just as soon as he tried to stand all the blood in his body had rushed to his bed and he'd swooned like a bloody lady.
"Sweet lord, lay down!" Cilla gasped, reaching for him as he began to topple to his knees. "What's come over you?"
Banastre gripped Cilla's arms lest he fall, and she wrapped hers around his chest. He was far too heavy for her to support, she was not much taller than Beth and was still quite sick herself. She half guided, half dropped him back into the bed, and the momentum pulled her down with him. He lay panting as she extricated her entangled body from his, and was panting just as heavily as she stood by the bed, patting her hair back into place.
"That was mad!" She scolded, shooting him a quelling look. They'd been laughing a few moments earlier, but then the shouting had started and… Oh. Cilla understood, then. "You're worried about Beth," she said even as she began pulling the messed blankets back up and over the Colonel.
"…No right," he muttered, wiping a hand over his sweaty brow. "…To be yelling at her…"
"I could not agree more," Cilla resumed her seat with a hearty sigh; helping Banastre back into the bed had taken it out of her. "Listen… It's stopped now."
"If he starts again," Banastre ground out breathlessly, "you're to grab the first Officer you can find, and you are to tell him that, by order of Colonel Tarleton, Captain Wilkins is to be arrested."
Cilla was stunned for a moment, her dark eyes wide on Banastre's. She blinked, then a bubble of mirth rose up and she scoffed. "Heaven's above. I didn't realise a fellow could be arrested for shouting at Beth…" She giggled even while he glared at her.
"She's a Colonel's wife," Banastre reminded her coolly. Cilla sobered.
Oh. Yes, she is too… Cilla nodded agreement. "Still, she can more than handle her own, Sir. If you ask me, the shouting stopped because Beth pulled a pistol on him or something."
Banastre laughed despite himself. "Yes, you're probably right. Still, my command holds, Cilla. If he starts again -"
"I'll find the first Officer and have him arrest Captain Wilkins," Cilla finished for him. "Now, as I was saying, before we were rudely interrupted; yes, Beth often tells me how horrid you are."
"She does not."
"She says you're an awful flirt."
"That I am, I suppose," he smiled proudly.
"And persistent to a fault. You're like a dog with a bone, she said."
"Hmm… I don't see anything horrid about either of those character traits," he objected.
"It is when you're an innocent girl and you've got some fellow like you flirting and pursuing you…" Cilla sniffed primly.
"Some fellow like me?" He asked, eyebrows arch, grin widening. "Do please explain, what sort of fellow am I?"
"Well, you know…" Cilla blushed to high heaven. Lord, she could not tell him what she was thinking, that he was quite handsome and it would be very difficult for any girl not to swoon, if he were in pursuit of her. Rebecca gushed over Banastre Tarleton and Cilla quite understood why. When he turned that smile on you, with his dark eyes all melting… She shook her herself. "Some women would say you're handsome," she said. "And if you turn that flirting and persistence on those women, why -"
"They wouldn't stand a chance!" Banastre finished for her with a bright laugh. She rolled her eyes heavenward. His eyes narrowed, becoming shrewd. "Tell me, do you think I'm handsome?"
"I think you're horrid," she replied and he laughed.
"And Beth - does she think I'm horrid because she thinks I'm handsome, too?"
"Now, I never said that," Cilla warned. Believing he had his answer, Banastre settled back on the pillows, a pleased grin on his face.
"Beth is rather handsome," Banastre sighed. "Beautiful, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, I'd say she's really very beautiful," Cilla agreed, then teased. "I'm often mistaken for her, you know."
Laughing, Banastre nodded. "I do know. I have made that mistake myself. You are really rather beautiful also," he waited while she blushed, then he hit her with, "in a Beth sort of way."
"A Beth sort of way!" She protested. Banastre threw his head back and laughed.
"Oh, it's always been fun to twit you," he chortled. "It's so easy to do."
Cilla tried to maintain a glare, but found herself smiling also. They'd known one another before, back in Charleston. She had not liked him much then, for he was a Lobsterback British bastard Officer; and all of those were to be despised. Hadn't Major Bordon proven that it was true? She had not despised Banastre, but had not approved of the attention he'd showered Beth. For back then, she'd known his intentions toward her cousin were far from virtuous. But he'd been charming, he'd tried to win Cilla over back then and she did remember him teasing her quite a bit, also. He wasn't so bad, she thought upon reflection. Not like those other two…
"Hmm," she harrumphed noncommittally. "So. A Beth sort of way, is it?"
"Every attribute I love in her, you have also," he said, unashamed of admitting his feelings for a married woman. "You're hair is as golden as hers. Your eyes are the same deep brown, your cheekbones as high and… Honestly, you are as alike as twins. And you are every bit as beautiful."
"Is that why you kissed me? Because I'm beautiful in a Beth sort of way?" she asked, hoping that was not the case.
"Not at all," he replied with a warm smile. "I kissed you for you. Because we had shared a wonderful evening together, and I felt it was a wonderful way to finish it. I do hope you agreed."
"I did," she replied, blushing furiously. Sweet Lord, this fellow knew how to compliment a woman! No wonder Rebecca had fallen in love with him so easily. Silly girl.
"Besides, there are enough differences between you, as well" he continued, listing her traits as his eyes perused her. "You have a freckle just here, did you know that?" He reached out to caress her neck and her blush deepened. "It's really rather sweet. Your skin is so smooth and pretty, you've absolutely no need of powders…" Cilla could not speak to save herself, even as Banastre's gaze lowered and he began to eye her from her waist upward. "You carry yourself so regally… Your figure is very fine," his eyes raked higher, to the top of her bodice, where two half crescents threatened to spill over the top. A smile that could only belong on a philanderer quirked his lips, "and what I can see of your beautiful rotund globes suggests -"
"Sir!" Cilla squeaked, her hands flying to her bosom to cover those perfect globes from his view. Her face was beet red now and Banastre lay back chortling, clutching his side. Very deliberately, she jerked her shawl around her shoulders, closing it over her front. "Horrid and rude," she said primly.
"No, no, I mean it," he wheezed. "Every word…"
"I'm certain you do," she snorted.
"So fun to twit you," he wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and she rolled hers.
A commotion on the stairs sobered them both and they shifted their gaze toward the door in time to see Beth suddenly appear on the landing, before turning and striding toward her own room. Banastre and Cilla shared a startled look.
"She's reporting to Tavington, I suspect," Banastre replied to her unspoken question. "Do you think you could…?"
"Listen at the door?" She finished for him. "Gladly."
Cilla had risen then, and hurried from the chamber. She was gone long enough that his eyes closed against their will and he began to drift. Eventually, he blinked his eyes open again to see Beth filling the doorway. He pushed himself up as she walked toward him. Not Beth, he suddenly realised his mistake as Cilla sat down beside him.
"Wilkins is angry as we'd suspected he would be, but with William and Richard, not with Emily," she informed Banastre, looking astonished.
"Oh?" Banastre gasped, surprised. "Is that right?"
"Furious. Beth had a hard time waking Colonel Tavington, he'd taken some laudanum and was hard to rouse. She didn't send me away when she saw me standing in the doorway, either, so I heard it all. She told Tavington of the entire conversation," Cilla pulled her shawl close, not because she feared Banastre would stare at her breasts again, but because she was uncertain how she felt about the things Wilkins had said about Harmony Farshaw. Cilla was not jealous of Bordon and Harmony's love, not in the slightest. She did feel quite confused by it all, however. She suspected they had resumed their affair yet again and she did not care, as long as he was discreet about it. If he was in Mrs. Farshaw's bed, then it meant he wasn't in hers. And that was a good thing. Still, Wilkins had some very strong points. Bordon cared so much about his mistress, that he'd had a woman from a very distinguished family handed over to the camp followers and beaten. How could he possibly be discreet in his love for Mrs. Farshaw, if those were the lengths he'd go to for her? What shame would it bring to Cilla, that every person on the Santee would discover her husband would defend his mistress so? Banastre asked her to repeat all she heard, as best she could remember, and she did so now.
"Beth begged him not to go to O'Hara," Cilla finished. "But he refused and marched on over there anyway. Beth was quite upset, she told Tavington that she was worried that O'Hara would become angry with him again… I suppose we'll find out shortly."
"Oh?" Banastre frowned.
"O'Hara is in there now," Cilla said, huddling in her shawl, dread twisting her stomach. "He came over straight away. He shooed Beth and I out and then closed the door… Oh, I'd love to be a fly on the wall right now…"
"Lord, I thought I'd only slept a few moments!" Banastre said, shocked.
"No, it's been a good hour since I left you to go and listen to Beth…"
"Hells teeth," he muttered. "Well. I wonder what O'Hara is saying now, hmm?"
Cilla nodded, wondering the same.
O'Hara politely and firmly commanded Mrs. Tavington and Mrs. Bordon to leave, then he closed the door behind the retreating pair. Tavington sat on the edge of the bed. Though he was not dressed in his formal attire, his long dark hair was newly combed and tumbled down his shoulders. He was freshly shaven. The Brigadier General sat in the chair Mrs. Tavington had been occupying on his arrival. Tavington looked drowsy, he'd been woken prematurely and was still feeling the effects of a dose of laudanum.
"How are you feeling?" O'Hara asked.
"I'm past the worst," Tavington replied, his voice slightly slurred. He closed his eyes, then forced them open. "No more laudanum," he said. - O'Hara cocked his head, then realised Tavington was not saying that there was no more laudanum, for there was plenty. He was saying he would take no more of it. - "I can hold down my victuals, I can stand for longer durations than before. This afternoon, I might have the horses saddled; Beth and I can go for a ride. I'll like to see how far I can get."
"Before you fall out of the saddle?" O'Hara arched an amused eyebrow. Tavington smiled weakly in return.
"You're looking well," Tavington said. "It's odd, how the fever spreads to so many, but not to all."
"I'm grateful for it," O'Hara said. "I'm not eager to discover how horrid this illness is. Captain Wilkins came to visit me."
"My wife warned me he would," Tavington said, looking perplexed. "I must admit, his reaction has surprised me. This is not Mrs. Wilkins first time meddling - she has done it before, when she colluded with Mrs. Salisbury who helped to hide Mrs. Wilkins necklace among Mrs. Farshaw's belongings, to make it appear that Mrs. Farshaw stole it. I saw right through the conspiracy and I told Captain Wilkins to administer his wife's punishment in private, to save him from embarrassment. I warned him then that I would not suffer further meddling from his wife. He agreed with me, he vowed he would keep her under control. Yet here I am, having to deal with more trouble from her. And instead of supporting my decision to punish her, he goes running to you?"
"Considering the nature of her punishment in relation to her crime, I do not blame him in the slightest."
"I beg your pardon?" Tavington asked, astonished. He fussed with tying his banyan closed at the front, then took a few experimental steps toward the window. "A woman was beaten because of Mrs. Wilkins. You believe that I shouldn't have had his whore of a wife punished?" The Colonel asked, pale blue eyes flashing as he stood before the casement. He turned to the still seated O'Hara. "Have I not gained back command of my Legion?"
"You have," O'Hara agreed gravely.
"Then I do not understand why you feel the need to discuss this. The woman meddled constantly. Out of boredom, out of spite and jealousy, who knows what drove her? All I do know is that her constant tampering caused a great deal of trouble with the other camp followers." Tavington gripped the curved handles and pulled the window up to let in some fresh air. He began to walk about the chamber, stretching his legs, encouraging blood flow. "Now, I don't normally bother with the troubles of the women, but this was beginning to effect the soldiers in my Legion and I took pains to ensure that the offender was punished, in such a way that it would deter other camp followers from doing the same, if they were ever so inclined."
"Which soldiers was it effecting, Colonel?" O'Hara asked and Tavington paused, his mouth working. "How many?"
"Ah…" He was still far too unwell to even consider being deceitful, he was able only to tell the truth. "One. Major Bordon," he admitted.
"It was effecting Major Bordon," O'Hara repeated. "I see. So. You had a woman birched - by many other women - on the bare skin of her back and rump, because the information she repeated effected one soldier. Major Bordon."
"General, because of the information Mrs. Wilkins revealed, Farshaw beat his wife so badly that - well, you saw her yourself!"
"Yes, Farshaw did beat his wife," O'Hara agreed. "Because he has a vicious temper and because his wife was having an affair."
"Yes. If Mrs. Wilkins hadn't told him -"
"Or if Bordon hadn't entered into the affair to begin with…" O'Hara cut William off.
The sentences started differently, but ended the same. Mrs. Farshaw would not have been beaten.
"Mrs. Wilkins has caused trouble in the past," O'Hara agreed. "She hid the necklace, hoping to have Mrs. Farshaw ousted from camp. I agree, that sort of behaviour is not to be tolerated. However, in this instance, Mrs. Wilkins has revealed what was true. In this instance, it was Major Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw's behaviour, that should not be tolerated. Mrs. Wilkins was not spreading malicious and false gossip. Farshaw beat his wife because she was having an affair with another man. With Major Bordon. Now, I pride honesty, above all else. And here you are, handing a woman over to camp followers to be birched, for revealing what was true."
"General… Mrs. Wilkins intention was not an innocent one, despite the truthfulness of her information. She repeated what she knew to Farshaw, for the sole purpose of causing trouble."
"And why do you think that? Because she was not on your side. Or Bordon's. She was on Farshaw's side. She repeated to her friend," O'Hara curled his lip with distaste. "That he was being betrayed. You would consider her actions to be noble, if it was to you that she revealed these truths, if it was you that was being betrayed. If you were not on the side of those who were doing wrong."
Tavington drew a slow, deep breath and tried again. "The repercussions of that honest speech -"
"Were Major Bordon's and Mrs. Farshaw's to be concerned about. Not Mrs. Wilkins. They knew the risks they were taking, they certainly should not be crying foul, when the worst comes to past. And you, Colonel Tavington, should certainly not be punishing the messenger. Honesty is usually prided above all else, Colonel. Unless you're the guilty party. Only then is honesty deplored. It is not Mrs. Wilkins revealing of the affair that you should be wroth with, but the affair itself. Why didn't you punish Bordon, for causing trouble among the soldiers and camp followers?" He held Tavington's gaze. "For that's what he did, isn't it? A soldier was effected by Bordon's trouble making. Calvin Farshaw. Bordon caused trouble among the camp followers. Mrs. Wilkins, who was birched for telling the truth. Mrs. Farshaw, who was beaten. Bordon actually conducted the affair, which led to that beating. He caused this trouble. And he got… nothing. Yet again." His voice hardened, his eyes became narrowed and sharp. "You helped facilitate the affair," O'Hara reminded him. "Knowing that Mrs. Farshaw might incur her husband's wrath. Where, then, is your punishment? And Mrs. Farshaw's? Why aren't either of you accused and punished for trouble making among the soldiers and camp followers?" Tavington stood stock still, saying nothing as he held O'Hara's gaze. O'Hara's voice grew deep and thick with fury. "I am getting heartily sick and tired of you. I'd thought the removing of your authority would make you think twice about abusing it again, I thought you had learned your lesson, yet here we are!"
"You believe I have abused my authority?" Tavington lifted his chin, trying to hide his dread.
"Yet again," O'Hara confirmed. "Just as you were earning your way back into my good graces, you proceed to gain revenge on a woman you dislike, for tattling on a woman you do like, by using your authority to have her birched by every other woman in camp!" He glared up at Tavington. "Do not deny that this was revenge, Sir. As Captain Wilkins pointed out, if it had not been Mrs. Wilkins and Mrs. Farshaw involved, you would have taken no interest in this matter. If it was some camp woman revealing the affair of some other camp woman to that woman's husband, and if that husband beat her for it, you would done nothing." Tavington turned his back to stare out the window. "And if you had have done, if you did believe it was worthy of your attention, if you do care so much about the camp followers that you would intervene when one is causing trouble for another, would it have been the truth speaker you punished? Or the adulteress? For surely it's the latter, who was truly at wrong?"
"Mrs. Wilkins actions were not innocent," William repeated but O'Hara could hear the uncertainty in the Colonel's voice.
"Your affection for Mrs. Farshaw has blinded you to where the true trouble makers lay," O'Hara announced. "Major Bordon. Mrs. Farshaw. Yourself." He saw Tavington's shoulders slump. "I understand that you dislike Mrs. Wilkins. But what you did… you allowed your judgement to be clouded, yet again. You wielded your authority as a blacksmith does a hammer, when you should have used the delicacy of a surgeon. For this situation was delicate indeed. Politically. You handed the beloved daughter of Mr. Simms over to camp drudges, who birched her, by your command. Mr. Simms," O'Hara repeated sharply. "Who has done more for His Majesties army, and has been more true, than any other Loyalist in South Carolina. What will his reaction be, do you think, when he learns of this? You already lost us Mr. Tisdale. Will you lose us the Simms, as well?"
"Mr. Tisdale?" Tavington asked, turning to O'Hara.
"When you bedded his wife, he was so outraged, that he abandoned his Loyalties. We have since discovered that he began colluding with Putman's spies, when Putman fled the city. Tisdale himself has fled now, to where we do not know. He was a Loyalist, William. Until you cuckolded him."
Troubled, William turned back to the window. Vera Tisdale was pregnant, it could very well be William's child. Or Banastre's or Mr. Tisdale's, but still, it could be William's. Tisdale had turned, because of William's actions. He'd lost Colin Ferguson too, because of his bedding of Mrs. Tisdale - and for other reasons. As O'Hara's accusation began to sink in, Tavington found he could not look the General in the eye.
"You need to stop treating Loyalists as though they are nothing. With so few allies, you must cease treating them as inconsequential. We need them, William. And you are losing them for us. Captain Wilkins, Arthur Simms, Michael and Marcus Middleton, have all requested they be transferred out of your Legion. I cringe to consider what Mr. Simms will do, when he learns of this - not to mention Lord Cornwallis! Or do you think he will condone the birching of a daughter of an influential and distinguished family, one of our greatest allies in South Carolina, the family whose patriarch Lord Cornwallis calls friend?" he paused and let the words sink in. Tavington licked his lips, looking quite uncertain. "You handed her over to the women of the camp, whose pedigrees are questionable at best. You - let - them - beat - her." O'Hara paused again while studying the Colonel's face intently. He saw a muscle jump above Tavington's eye. "You have already fallen in Cornwallis' graces, I've confided to you how he feels about your wife and what lengths I've been going to, to convince him that Mrs. Tavington is not a spy. There is already trouble between yourself and Cornwallis and now you go and court even more? For Bordon and his mistress? Have you gone mad?" O'Hara tossed his head. "You might have stood by your convictions before, William, but mark my words, there will be trouble from this - it did not end with the last swing of the birch. This is going to cause you trouble. Cornwallis will learn of this and he will be less than pleased to have a fellow he considers a friend to be so thoroughly insulted by one of his Colonel's. You are causing offence to those at the highest levels of Loyalist Society and I wish for it to stop!" O'Hara snapped, becoming angry. "Almighty above, you birched a woman for speaking the truth about Bordon fucking his whore!"
Tavington stared in shock down at a livid O'Hara, the General who never resorted to such language.
"Your punishment of her was nothing more than pure indulgence! It was not justice! You were not making an example to keep other camp followers under control! You were indulging yours - and Bordon's - anger and need for revenge! And Bordon! He raped a woman, and you protected him." Tavington's gaze fell to the floor. "He killed Sumter in cold blood, almost destroying our reputation and that of Colonel Tarleton! Yet you protect him. And then he enters into an affair with a married woman, and when it all falls apart, you protect him again. And you punish Mrs. Wilkins, because the information she gave bought about the beating of Mrs. Farshaw when we both know that if was any other woman who was beaten, you would not have done a damned thing!"
The silence stretched between them, Tavington was deathly quiet. O'Hara rose to his feet and stood eye to eye with the Colonel.
"You had her birched, you say, for she was meddlesome and the trouble she was causing was effecting the soldiers of your Legion," O'Hara said. Tavington knew better now, than to answer. "Well, I must admit to having that exact same problem. I find you - and Bordon - to be quite meddlesome indeed. And the trouble you both are causing, is effecting the soldiers in His Majesties army. It is, therefore, that I do indeed feel the very strong need to remove from you your command again." He stared daggers at Tavington, who was staring back with growing panic. He continued crisply, in a voice filled with frustration. "However, I do not have the time for it, I have more than enough to deal with, with this sickness sweeping through our ranks. Major Ferguson is up in North Carolina, in Gilbert Town, sending out challenges to the rebels that will surely come to conflict. Cornwallis is in Charlotte, preparing for our advance into North Carolina. I am told he is mildly affected with some ailment or other, but I fear that he's far more ill than is being let on. Burwell, Sumpter and Martin are harrying our forces here in the South. I've more than enough on my plate without piling your damned mistakes on top of it. Therefore, you shall continue to shoulder your duties, you will remain in command of the Legion. But you will clear your head, William. You will begin to act with the delicacy your rank requires, or by God, I will see you removed from it permanently!"
"Yes, General," Tavington said, relieved and ashamed at once.
"I am giving you a reprieve. You will, in future, think of the consequences of your actions, before you decide that punishing a patrician is a most excellent decision, because of a slight given to a damned light skirt!"
"Yes, General," Tavington said.
"I have decided to accede to some of Captain Wilkins demands. I've allowed that he will take the men of his unit - those who wish to remain under his Command - away from Fresh Water. He will quarter at his own Plantation a few miles from here. I've allowed for him to have a hiatus from your command, he needs time away from you to allow his temper to cool. I have told him he will serve under Major Wymess for the time being," O'Hara drew a steadying breath, even Tavington could see he was controlling his temper by a hair. "As for Mrs. Farshaw. Frankly, I am just as pleased she is gone. You maintain that Mrs. Wilkins has caused you trouble, but I trust you'll agree Mrs. Farshaw has caused her fair share, merely by being here. I believe Captain Wilkins to be correct in his summation, that if it had not been Mrs. Farshaw so aggrieved, you would not have punished Mrs. Wilkins at all. Tell me, Tavington. Do you know where Mrs. Farshaw is?"
The question was so sudden and unexpected, Tavington drew a sharp breath. He thought briefly of lying, but then realised it was foolish to attempt it.
"Yes," he replied.
"I'm going to pretend you answered 'no' to that question, Sir," O'Hara scoffed. "Did you assist her in leaving?"
"No," William answered honestly.
"That's better," O'Hara replied.
"No, I mean it," William insisted. "Yes, I do know where she is now, but I vow that neither myself nor Bordon knew she had left her husband until you summoned us to question us."
O'Hara stared Tavington directly in the eye for several long moments, before deciding he was speaking truthfully.
"I'm pleased to hear it," O'Hara said. "I do not believe there is any more to be said here. Good day to you, Colonel."
"Good day, General," Tavington whispered.
O'Hara quietly left the chamber. He turned the corner and strode along the corridor, and saw that Banastre's bedchamber door was open. He could see the Colonel propped up on pillows, with Mrs. Bordon sitting in a chair at his bedside. And sitting on his bed, was Mrs. Tavington. O'Hara tightened his lips as he strode down the length of the corridor toward the chamber. Stupid girl. And Tavington took exception to Mrs. Wilkins causing trouble! His own wife was sitting on another man's bed! The two Colonel's had already fallen out over the girl, and there seemed to be no mend to the rift in sight. Oh, he was certain Mrs. Tavington was merely being naive, but honestly! When he filled the doorway, all three of them turned toward him and Beth jumped off the bed with a gasp and a blush. She did have some understanding of lack of proprieties after all. She sidled past her cousin to stand by the window.
He nodded his head to the two women and bowed low. "Perhaps it might be prudent to bring in a second chair, Mrs. Tavington." He suggested, voice flat.
"Yes, General," she breathed, her face blazing crimson. O'Hara nodded, satisfied that he had dealt that with that situation at least.
"Colonel," he addressed Tarleton, who was looking only marginally better than he had when he first arrived a few days ago. "How do you feel?"
"I believe I'm on the mend, Sir," Banastre replied. The women turned two identical frowns on him.
"Oh, look," Beth said, pointing out the window. "One of the soldiers just sprouted wings and is flying away," she waved out the window. "Good-bye flying soldier," she called.
"Ah… Have you been sipping my wine, Mrs. Tavington?" Banastre frowned. "You know it's spiced with laudanum."
"No. I just thought that if the General believed such a ridiculous statement, he would believe anything," Beth folded her arms across her chest.
"He's not well then?" O'Hara asked her.
"He tried to stand up before," Cilla replied for Beth. "And almost fell flat on his face…"
"I see," O'Hara said gravely, eyeing Banastre; who was glaring daggers at the women. "I will not have you being brave, Sir," he told the Colonel. "If you are ill, you are ill and you will rest until you are back to full health."
Banastre inclined his head. O'Hara thought the Colonel looked rather relieved, and that alone was enough to indicate to him how ill Banastre really was. The fellow could rarely sit still for more than three minutes at a time; his need to be in the saddle, chasing after rebels and distinguishing himself above his peers was a strong one. He stayed and chatted for a few minutes longer before taking his leave.
Denied his target, James set a hard pace for the cabin. He knew its location, Bordon had informed him in that damned letter. He galloped hard, Arthur and several others hot on his heels. The cabin was not far from Fresh Water, a run down shack hidden amidst a copse of trees. Several tents had been erected, at least Tavington had not left Emily here all alone and unprotected. That was something, at least. He dismounted and tossed the reins over to a soldier who came forward to greet him.
Arthur followed him into the single room cabin. Wilkins bristled. What a place to quarter his wife, what a fucking bastard Tavington was. This run down pit, the roof appeared ready to fall in on his head! There were gaping holes, where the grey light of day filtered in. Rain would pour into the cabin as though the roof were not even there! A woman stood at the inglenook, stirring a large pot. Wilkins recognised her - Mrs. Salisbury. The outcast woman curtsied, and kept her head bowed. Wilkins ignored her, his eyes searching the chamber for his wife. Who lay on a cot in one far corner. James approached, and to his dismay, he saw she was unwell. Sweat coated her forehead and she tossed and turned.
"Yellow fever," Mrs. Salisbury said and Arthur gasped.
"Jesus," James muttered. "Does Tavington know?"
"Word was sent the other morning, Sir," Salisbury replied. "As soon as we realised she was sick. The fellow we sent returned, without so much as a drop of laudanum nor any other medicine. No doctor, no assistance at all."
James froze. If Tavington were before him just then, he would have slammed his fist into the bastard's jaw, Colonel or not.
Emily, hearing his voice, opened her eyes. Seeing her husband standing over her, she blanched and cowered back into the bed, her flushed face draining of colour. Her eyes flickered toward Arthur and James saw relief flare across her face. Surely with her brother there, James would not beat her? He shook his head, sighing. Christ, but he was angry. Furious. Not so much for the infidelity itself, but for being stupid enough to be caught.
"James," she whispered. "Please, don't beat me. I'm so sick and my back, it's so sore. They hurt me, those horrible women and…" She began to cry. She curled into a small ball, her back to him, and wept.
"I'm not going to beat you," he sighed. Feeling a hundred years old, he lowered himself slowly to perch on the edge of her cot. While she lay there, he pushed back the coverlet and eased up her shift to view the damage himself. Arthur, though embarrassed by his sister's nudity, could not make himself look away. He winced to see the horrible streaks crisscrossing her flesh. Her back was covered with them, all the way past her buttocks, marring the backs of her thighs with deep, angry looking welts.
And all because she'd revealed Bordon and Mrs. Farshaw's affair.
"Have these been cleaned?" James snapped at Mrs. Salisbury, fury firing him. He felt the urge to lash out, and she was the closest to hand. "These are becoming infected! Have you done anything except sit on your fat arse since you were thrown in here together?"
"I've helped her!" Salisbury protested. Fat arse? Bloody bastard! "How in the world am I supposed to keep them clean? That fire and that small pot are all I've got to boil on, and I have to do cooking as well as washing, and I don't have bandages or cloths to wash the wounds and dress them and - just what in the world did you expect me to do? I've done what I can, I don't want to be here any more than she does!"
"Alright, alright," he said sharply, breathing deeply to calm himself. "Damn and blast it to all hell," he muttered, rising suddenly. He strode outside, spoke quick instructions to one of his men, then turned back into the cabin. "Emily," he crooned. "You have to stop crying and listen to me."
She sniffled, but although she did not turn to him, she did stop weeping.
"I've sent Private Johnson to fetch a carriage. He'll return when he can and when he does, I will escort you home."
"To Charlestown?" She asked weakly.
"No, Charlestown is too far. We'll go to Doux Ruisseau, Sarah too," like hell would he leave his sister at Fresh Water. Not after this. No, she would reside at his Plantation with Emily. "I'll send word ahead, everything will be in readiness for when we arrive."
"And then?" She winced as she turned her head - keeping the rest of her body in that secure ball. She met his gaze.
"And then…" He shrugged. "And then you'll get better."
"Will you quarter here?" She asked. "At Fresh Water, I mean?"
"No," he said, voice sharp. "O'Hara has detached my unit to Major Whymess and is willing to allow me to establish myself at Doux Ruisseau."
"Why?" She asked, blinking up at him, confused. "Why are you taking me there? Why aren't you setting me aside? Why aren't you beating me bloody? You must know I was unfaithful."
Gesturing silently, he indicated to Arthur that he wished to be alone with Emily and the lad ushered Salisbury outside, shutting the door behind them both.
"Why Farshaw?" He asked her when they were alone, honestly perplexed. "Of all the men in the bloody world, why him? He's nothing but bilge water! Base born scum! Why the devil would you choose him?"
"Initially, it was because it was because he was that whore's husband," she began, blunt with her honesty. "I despise Mrs. Farshaw and, well, it amused me to bed her husband. But as you say, Calvin is quite… Rough around the edges. I'd never kept company with his sort before and he… intrigued me."
"Intrigued you," he scoffed, tossing his head. "Well, I suppose I understand - I've been intrigued by the lower sort myself a time or two. As for beating you bloody, well, I'll do no such thing. Perhaps I would have taken my belt to you like I did with the necklace, but you've been beaten more than enough, I think," he pulled her shift back down and replaced the covers over her body. He sighed heavily. "So. You told Cilla I was never the best of husbands, did you?" He asked and she twisted to look back up to him. "I overheard her talking. Beth, too. They both think I'm a hypocrite. Cilla said you told her all about me and she finds herself liking me less and less every day."
"I'm sorry," Emily whispered. "Cilla and I have become very close. I've never been able to confide in anyone before, but she's as miserable in her marriage as I am, which gave us common ground. We spoke at length, of many things."
"Such as?" He sat down on the floor, settling in beside her. "Your misery at being my wife? Tell me, Emily. What sort of things did you confide to her?"
"You want to know? Fine, I'll tell you," she said, soft voice filled with pain. He wasn't certain she had the energy for a lengthy discussion but she began to speak, starting with her contentment at being married to James Wilkins, to the horror of their wedding night. After that came so much more - his continual disdain for her chasing her into the arms of her first lover, learning that there could be joy in coupling after all. "A thing you should have taught me," she said. "It's something I should have learned from you. Instead, you mistake my fright of waking up to you standing over me, for reluctance, when in truth, I'd been waiting for you, for hours and hours, excited and anticipating what was to come. You ruined it all, from the outset, and I do not understand why. Why, James? Why have you treated me like that?"
James was quiet for some time. He ran his hand over his face, wishing he had bought a flask of whiskey. For a moment, he stared blindly, grieving what might have been. "Do you remember the Brunson's, who lived near Dawson's Parish?"
Emily nodded, wide eyed.
"Well, Mrs. Brunson…"
"Oh dear Lord, you can't have been in love with Mrs. Brunson."
James laughed despite himself. "No, don't be absurd. It was…" He sighed. "Well, you'll think this is every bit as absurd, but… Mrs. Brunson had a maid, her name was Alice Parks…"
"A maid…" Emily whispered. She was too tired, and feeling far too ill, to make any nasty comments about him falling in love with a maid. Besides, he was speaking to her, finally, as a husband should speak to his wife. She was not about to ruin it with scathing comments now.
"A maid," he agreed. He stared, looking quite haunted. "I wanted to marry her. I had never been in love before and when I was struck with it, it was so strong… But my father…" He tightened his lips. "He said he would disinherit me. I don't know. I sometimes wonder if I should have gone ahead and married Alice anyway. I wouldn't have had my father's fortune, but I would have had my connections. I could have built my own wealth up again… Perhaps we could have built a life together. The Lord knew she didn't have much to begin with, she would not have missed wealth she never had…"
"Was she upset with you, when you didn't propose?" Emily asked.
"Very," James replied. "And when I told her I had to end it, and marry the woman my father chose, she wept and…" James choked off, he looked away, his jaw working. Emily waited patiently. "It broke my heart, to do that to her. She accused me of not loving her. That my abandoning her just because my father asked it of me was proof that I did not love her…"
"That must have hurt," Emily replied.
"It damned near killed me," he admitted. "She would have no truck with me after that. No matter how often I begged to see her, begged for forgiveness and understanding, she refused me. I married you," he met her gaze and she stared back solemnly. "She married someone else," he said woodenly. "A young man with barely twenty acres to his name. They eked out a living on his God forsaken farm. I visited her there several times, each time I had hoped she would take me back, that she would be my mistress. And each time, she turned me away. She was married, she said, and she would not forsake her vows. She begged me not to return, but I always did. Until that last time…"
"What happened?" Emily asked, thoroughly drawn into James' tale.
"Her husband met me on the road with a babe in his arms. I had known she was pregnant, and she'd already birthed him twins, as well. They were hanging off him - those two, they must have been two years old and the baby didn't look more than a few days old… I asked where she was - I'd made no secret of my feelings for her in the past. He told me I'd find her in the church burial ground, six feet down. Bastard," James cut short, his voice was hoarse when he continued. "She died in child birth, bearing him the baby he'd been holding in his arms…"
"I'm sorry," Emily whispered. "James, none of that is my fault."
"I know. It's just… Some wounds heal slowly, you know?"
"I do know," she agreed, a rush of anger at old, unhealed hurts, flooding her. "I've been hurting for three years now," she turned away from him, tears welling again. She stared at the wall, her vision watery and blurred.
"I'll admit I haven't been a particularly good husband…" He ventured
"No, you haven't been," she replied, fighting to keep her ragged emotions under control.
"Well. Yes. But that doesn't mean that I'll allow anyone to treat you with such contempt. What Tavington and Bordon did to you…" He paused, fury whipping his words away. "They should not have done that. You are my wife, Emily."
"So you're the only one who can treat me with contempt?" She asked, eyes fixed on the wall.
"No. Not anymore. I think we've hit quite a low, don't you? Perhaps it's not too late though. Neither of us have been innocent, and we've each wronged the other," he paused as he considered exactly what he wanted from her, and from his marriage. "If you vow, here and now, to bed no other man, I'll forget this business with Farshaw and your other affairs," he promised. "I understand you were lashing out, you were probably trying to hurt me."
"I wasn't trying to hurt you, James. I was trying to feel alive."
"Oh," he said, lowering his eyes.
"But you are right, we've hit rock bottom, I think. But if you're willing to try, then so am I. I will keep to your bed only," she paused, again meeting his gaze, "as long as you actually come to my bed, James. I'm beautiful, I've been told so my whole life. Why can't you find me desirable? I don't know why you've despised me so, I had nothing to do with your Alice… I never made you end it - that was your father. It's time to stop blaming me for everything. If you are serious about it not being too late, that is."
"I'm serious," he replied. "I don't want us to sink any lower. I'm grateful that O'Hara did not publish why he was flogging Farshaw, if not for that, the Wilkins would have been the talk of the countryside…"
"I've been more discreet than you have been. There's not a man in the British Legion who doesn't know you spend more time with whores that you do your own wife," she pointed out. She noticed that he had not promised to be faithful, and she doubted he would promise it. He was the man, the husband, and he would do whatever he pleased, whenever it pleased him. "Just don't blame me when I don't give you a child, because you're busy wasting your seed inside the quim of every slut on the Santee," she said, her tone showing her asperity.
"I suppose I deserved that," he had the grace to look ashamed. "I'll try to station myself at the Plantation and I will come to you more often."
No promises to be faithful, just as she suspected. She shrugged, she'd expected no less from him. "If you don't want the Wilkins name to be mud, you must stop your carousing." She cocked her head. "Or at least be more subtle about it."
"I know. You're right," he nodded. "You should get some sleep. It'll be a long journey when the carriage arrives."
"Sarah will come with us?" She asked hopefully. Doux Ruisseau would be utterly tedious without proper companionship.
"Just as I said," he replied grimly. "I'll not allow her to stay at Fresh Water, with Tavington and bloody Bordon."
"What of Rebecca? And what of Cilla? Will she be able to come? She's going to despise being there without the other girls and I."
"I doubt Bordon will allow his wife to come, Emily. He despises you, remember? And by the time I'm done, the rift between us will be far too great. But I believe Rebecca will come, I'll have to speak to her brothers for their permission."
"Alright," she sighed saddened that she might not be allowed to see Cilla again. Beth, she would miss also, but nowhere near as much as Cilla. The girl was far too headstrong and she encouraged friendships with women far too low than was correct for her standing.
After James had left the cabin, when it was too late to call him back, for she realised she'd forgotten to tell him that Linda Stokes was one of the women who had beaten her. Linda Stokes, with her stomach increasing - no doubt with Tavington's child. She wished James had not fled so quickly, for surely Beth needed to know that Tavington's mistress was still in camp, and he was - without a doubt - still screwing her. Poor Beth, her husband was being unfaithful right under her very nose. She deserved to know…
Emily's back was afire with pain, days after the beating. And all because she had revealed to Calvin, Mrs. Farshaw's dalliance with Major Bordon. She should tell Beth the truth, she knew. Then again, she thought as she tried to will away the pain coursing along her spine, her rump and thighs, perhaps she would be better off keeping her damned mouth shut. Beth was a friend, but Emily did not believe she could survive yet another birching…
"Remind me to give Wilkins a gift, will you?" Marcus asked Michael as he continued shoving his clothes into his saddlebags.
"Hell yes," Michael agreed, packing his belongings also. "Jesus, I thought I would go mad! What a poor way to utilise us… I mean, with all the training they have given us all these months, they go and shove us on guard duty."
"In the protection of, wait for it, Major Bordon's consort," Marcus sniffed. "A grand and noble mission indeed. Father would be so proud."
"Wouldn't he though? Well, it's done with now," Michael glanced around the chamber he shared with his twin. Having already packed their meagre belongings at the Turnbull's, they were finishing the job at Fresh Water. The twins had cared enough for Major Bordon's orders to ensure that two other Dragoons had replaced them at the Turnbull's, but they themselves had scampered at the first opportunity. As soon as Wilkins suggested it, they had leaped up and raced to their chamber and thrown their belongings into saddlebags. Wilkins was over at the Ferguson's now, speaking with O'Hara to ensure he received new commands, that would see Michael and Marcus reassigned to his unit. O'Hara was far higher in rank than Bordon, and he had reason to smooth Wilkins ruffled feathers, by granting the Captain almost anything he wanted. And what he wanted, was for Michael and Marcus to be placed under his command again, and to be stationed at his own plantation, Doux Ruisseau. O'Hara had no reason to deny Wilkins his requests, and every reason to grant them. And the twins could not have been more joyful.
"A new carriage, do you think?" Marcus asked, suggesting the most expensive, most extravagant gift he could think of, to show his appreciation.
"Oh, no - a new pistol!" Michael gushed. "A nice new flintlock, all engraved with fine scrollwork, and his initials…"
"That's a good idea!" Marcus crowed. "We'll write to father at once. Nothing is too good for James, I vow it!"
"Was it so bad as that?" Arthur laughed as he strode into the room.
"Tedious to the point of nausea," Marcus muttered. "I've never been so bored. The Turnbull's don't even have any pretty daughters to chase!"
"I was just saying to Marcus, what was the point of all that training, only to be put to pasture? That's how it felt. Guards, for Bordon's bloody mistress," Michael added.
"He's not still on with her, is he?" Arthur asked, leaning back against the closed door.
"It's supposed to be a grand secret but yes, of course he bloody is," Marcus muttered. He threw the lid of his chest shut with a loud clatter. "And here he is, with a wife as fine as Cilla Putman… Damned fool, is what he is."
"Oh well, we're done with it all," Michael plonked himself onto the edge of the bed. "What's all that bawling about?"
"That, my fine Gentlemen, is your sister and the other women, howling because she is being forced to leave," Arthur said. "Well, the other women are upset, but it's actually only Rebecca doing the howling."
"Because she's being forced to leave Colonel Tarleton," Michael huffed, finding another reason to be annoyed. "Of all the men to become infatuated with…"
"I wonder… If we informed our dear sister of all the women the good Colonel has poked around inside of, would she still be taken with him?" Marcus asked, eyebrow raised.
"Probably," Michael shrugged. "Women are a bloody mystery."
"They're damned bloody stupid, if you ask me. Look at my sister - honestly, having an affair with Farshaw, of all people…" Arthur blew out a sullen breath.
The twins offered him a sympathetic glance.
"Well, I'm just damned glad that Sarah had the sense to tell James that Rebecca fancies Tarleton. I mean, my God, I was just about ready to indulge Becky, when she begged me to let her stay here," Marcus folded his arms across his chest. "To be with Beth and Cilla, she said. Gods, it was to be with Tarleton, the little fibber."
"Hell's teeth, what a disaster that would have been. She's been at Tarleton's bedside, caring for him… who knows what might have happened when Tarleton found himself well enough to, well, you know…" Michael trailed off. "I like the Colonel well enough, I do, but honestly, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. Not where my sister is concerned."
"Like as not, he would've started seducing her as soon as his strength began to return," Arthur agreed. "She would have been primed and ready to fall into his bed, as soon as he was recovered enough to actually do anything…"
"Jesus, I feel like we've dodged a bullet. Do you feel like that Michael?" That from Marcus.
"Hell, yes, Marcus my lad. I certainly do. She can howl all the way to Doux Ruisseau for all I care. She's coming with us and she'll never see Tarleton again if I have my way. Can you imagine father's face, if Becky got herself seduced by Tarleton, under our bloody noses?"
"Bloody noses is right, they'd be right bloody after father was through with us," Marcus agreed.
"We need to get her good and married, is what," as one, both lads turned to study Arthur.
"Don't look at me," he threw his arms up in the air. "I like Becky well enough, but I sort of fancy Sarah…"
"You've already got a connection to the Wilkins family, through your sister and James!" Marcus argued.
"Just think on it, would you? You'd be doing us a grand favour, we'd feel much better if Becky were safely married. And you'd be our brother then!"
"I'm already your brother, Michael," Arthur pointed out. "Brothers in arms, remember?"
"You'd be our brother in truth, though," Marcus argued again.
"You'll find someone," Arthur laughed. "Or your father will. I don't think it'll be me, though…"
"Listen to it, would you?" Marcus bemoaned. "Oh well, blast him. We'll find someone better for Becky."
"Won't be hard," Michael chuckled.
"Jesus, you two!" Arthur frowned. Whatever he was about to say next was cut off when James tried to shove the door open. Arthur, who'd been standing against it, went sailing forward, arms flailing. He looked ridiculous and the twins began to laugh. Their mirth was cut off as if it had never been, when James stormed into the chamber.
"You ready?" he asked, voice clipped with fury. He'd been speaking in that same tone all day, ever since fetching the twins from Pembroke.
"We are, Captain," Marcus saluted.
"Good. We will leave shortly. O'Hara has given his permission for me to escort the ladies to Doux Ruisseau. As soon as they are settled, we are to join Major Wymess, until further notice. We are still Green Dragoons, O'Hara would not remove us from the Legion, but we take our orders from Wymess. We will be travelling with Wymess until we're told otherwise, and we will be stationed at Doux Ruisseau."
"Does that mean that O'Hara is allowing it?" Michael asked, rising. "I mean, does O'Hara's command include us, specifically? We can leave with you, we won't get into trouble with Bordon?"
"Fuck Bordon," James spat.
"Really, Mr. Wilkins, you should be more quiet," Cilla glided into the chamber and shut the door behind her. "The door is open, for heaven's sake! Everything you say now will be repeated to Colonel Tavington as soon as he returns, you must know that. The halls and walls have ears…"
"Thank you for the warning," James said. "But it's unnecessary. I don't give a pigs fart what Tavington has to say about any of this. Bordon, either. Leaving Emily alone and sick in that cabin without sending someone to tend her! They didn't even allow her her maids!"
"While I am not a particular advocate for Tavington," Cilla began, adding 'or Bordon' to herself. "I have some news there, if you will hear it."
"Pray tell, I shall hear it, you have my undivided attention, Mrs. Bordon."
Gods, I hate it when people call me that. "I spoke to Beth before she rode out with Tavington and she asked me to pass on a message to you. She learned that a messenger did ride up to the house the other morning. He was not admitted to see Colonel Tavington, because Colonel Tavington was sick. He was not admitted to see Major Bordon, for the same reason. Instead of asking to see Beth, or seeking out General O'Hara - people who could help him - he went down to camp in search of the doctors there. None of them would come away with him, not without a direct command from O'Hara and not when they have their hands so full with the sick down there. Beth asked me to tell you that the fellow was not sent from here empty handed deliberately. It was not a malicious move on Bordon's or Tavington's part. The fellow clearly did not know who else to speak too, and so he left."
"What else can you expect from the lower ranks?" Arthur asked, gaze on James. "He was given the menial task of guard duty for a reason…"
"Hey! So were we!" Marcus gasped. "Just what are you trying to say?"
"Shut it, Marcus," Michael said, jutting his chin at Cilla. Considering who it was the pair were guarding, Marcus did indeed snap his mouth shut and his face blazed crimson, too.
James drew a shuddering breath. "Very well," he said crisply. "Would you please pass along my thanks to Mrs. Tavington, for this information. I will take that one off my very long list of grievances that I have complied against your cousin's husband."
"Leave it on there, I hardly care," Cilla shrugged. "How was Emily?"
"Sick, deathly ill," he said, though he made an effort to quell his anger and speak to her in a reasonable tone. None of this was Cilla's fault. Indeed, Cilla was caught in a very difficult situation, having learned that her husband had punished Emily for slighting Cilla's husband's mistress. He wondered how Cilla felt about that. "The welts on her back are becoming infected. Do you have something I can take with me, to help her?"
"Lots of things, I'm sure. If you'll give me a moment to gather them," she said. "Will you please pass my best wishes on to Emily, let her know I am thinking of her?"
"I will. And thank you," he replied. There was nothing more to be said, Cilla slipped from the chamber, leaving the men alone.
"I want to be away as soon as possible," James said, voice crisp and firm again. "Have those chests loaded with the rest of the baggage. I've already packed Emily's belongings, and my own. We'll leave just as soon as Mrs. Bordon gives me some medicines for Emily."
"Have you been to see Tavington or Bordon?" Arthur asked.
"Only Bordon," James snapped. "But he was sleeping like the dead. Tavington and Beth went out riding, I have no idea where. I wish he was still sick, the damned yellow fever can carry them both to hell, goddamned bastards."
The lads exchanged worried glances. Finding it prudent to be silent, together, they began carrying the chests and other bags from the chamber.