WARNING: Last explicit encounter between Calvin and Fallows, around mid chapter.

Chapter 105 - Mystery at Headquarters:

Mid October - Gullah:

Mark and Nicholas followed their guide past the rude cabins and the wary Africans that occupied this particular Gullah Island. The guide pointed and Mark caught sight of three women, two of them he would know anywhere. Golden blonde hair gleaming in the cold sun. Mage and Charlotte, he knew before he could even make out their features.

The third woman was dark haired Anne Howard - Anne Martin now. He could see the gentle swell of her stomach, she and Gabriel were already expecting their first child. While Charlotte's figure was exactly as it always had been, Mage's had undergone a massive change in the months since he'd seen her last. Her stomach was bulging, heavy with child. He stared at his wife, his very pregnant wife, and he did a quick calculation, trying to determine how far along she must be. When was the last time they laid together? Months ago. Before Tavington took over his house and threw him in the Provost. His stomach roiled, thinking of that place. Of the awful things done there. Not only to himself, but to Cilla.

Months.

His face grew hard, some of his joy dissipating. Three and a half months since the Provost? Nearly five, since the last time he'd laid with Mage. She must have been pregnant well before he fled the city, for she looked much further along than five months.

Pregnancy was dangerous for a woman her age, which was why she shouldn't try running. Not in skirts. Not with the dainty shoes she was sure to be wearing. But she was, running toward him, a shifting amble, as fast as her clumsy body would allow. He picked up the pace, saw when he was closer that she was weeping as she lurched toward him. He pulled sharply on the reins when he was almost on top of her and he leapt from the saddle. As carefully as he could, he seized Mage by the shoulders and pulled her hard up against him. She sobbed into his neck, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, an awkward hold with her so full of child. She was pregnant. Gods, he'd stopped praying for another child, so very long ago. When Cilla was born, and Mage's stomach could not be filled again. Was it his though? Was this one of his greatest concerns, about to unfold?

"Please tell me it's not his," he whispered in her ear and he heard her gasping sob.

"It is yours. I am certain it is yours," she replied, just as softly, no one else could have possibly heard them. Mark blew out a breath of sheer relief. He kissed her, tasted salt on her cheeks, then dropped to his knees before her. His hands cupped her stomach, moving over the bodice, as he gazed up at her wonderingly, his mind a whirl as he tried to grapple with what was right before his face. Another child. He was to be a father again! Mage bit her lip and cried even harder. Mark shoved himself to his feet and gathered her to him.

"Oh my love, my joy. I'm so sorry," he cupped her face, tilted her head back to meet her gaze. "You must have been desperately upset for this child, thinking I was dead. That he would grow and never know his father." He laughed softly. "Or her father. Gods, Mage!" His arms were around her again, he stood there holding her, savouring their reunion. How long he stayed there, holding his weeping wife, he did not know. Benjamin and Elizabeth's children surrounded him, little Susan smiling up at him. And Margaret - Gods, could that really be little Margaret? Just when did she become a young woman? Even William appeared several inches taller. Surely Mark had not been parted from the family for that long. Charlotte was hanging back on the outskirts of the small group. She was staring at the ground, her face as red as beets. He beckoned and a smile split across her face as she stepped up to him and kissed his cheek.

"I'm just so pleased to see you - alive and well," Charlotte whispered as he freed one arm from Mage and wound it around her shoulders. "I can't begin to tell you what I felt, when I was informed of your death," her voice faltered and broke and then she was crying in earnest also.

The joy of another child still warmed Mark's stomach, but it was slowly being replaced by fear. Mage was not young anymore. She was forty-two, far too old to bear a child. It was too dangerous to even consider it. But here she was, stomach swollen. There was nothing he could do about it, except worry.

"When we were told you were alive…" Mage laughed softly, it held a note of hysteria to it. She couldn't stop touching him, as if she was certain this was a dream she might wake from."I didn't believe it," she said, shaking her head.

"I could barely believe it myself," Mark said. His fingers twined through Mage's. "After the dungeon," no more needed to be said, they fell silent.

"Come, Mark. And Ensign Watson," Charlotte said, inclining her head to him. "Let's go to our cabin. We can talk…"

Mark sat on the straw strewn floor, holding his wife in his arms, waiting for her keening to subside. The hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life, was tell the mother what her beloved daughter had been through. Mark had told his tale to Charlotte and the children earlier in the day, he and Nicholas spoke of John Sumter's betrayal, of leaping out the window into the fast moving Cooper, of Nicholas dragging Mark bodily through the water to safety. Of stealing a small boat and rowing down a byway off the Cooper and into the healing arms of an empathetic old lady who lived there.

They both spoke of their journey from there, Mark's recovery, their travels to join Burwell, and then to Benjamin. Of the battle at Kings Mountain, finally coming to an end when they reached Rutledge Plantation. He did not speak of Cilla, not once. That was a discussion he would need to have with Mage, alone. The news that Cilla was now married to Bordon would devastate his wife - especially if she knew what Bordon had done to her.

Mage had not.

Mark had waited until they were in one of the rude little cabins, alone. Mage had told him her tale then, in full. She'd touched upon it earlier but had left out the reason why she had left Christopher Middleton for Charlotte. It was not because she hadn't been getting along with Celeste, as Mark had assumed. It was because Christopher had learned about Mage's affair and Mark's compliance

With Bordon. Everything seemed to come back to Bordon.

Not for much longer, he thought grimly as he rubbed Mage's back. In not much longer, he'll be dead.

"H… how c…could she n…not tell me," Mage whispered. "H…how c…could I have not known… She c-carried this. This thing, this awful, foul, loathsome thing for months and never told me!" She lifted herself up from his chest, he gazed down into her ravaged face. "I could have helped her, Mark! I am her mother!"

"I know," he said. "I doubt it's something she could ever have spoken about."

"She was so quiet. Withdrawn. I just thought… I just thought she did not want to spend time with me!" Mage wailed. "I thought she was still angry with me!"

For bedding Bordon.

"I thought… because she was… she was so mad. And then she wouldn't talk to me and she was so quiet and Gods, I should have known!" Mage sobbed. "I am her mother!"

"I know darling," Mark whispered. "I wish… I wish I had revealed Camden sooner. My sacrifice, she said. I should never have allowed her to make it. My fault. It's all my fault."

"His fault," Mage spat between sobs. "His fault. Gods, when are you going to do it, Mark? I want him dead. Dead! I want my daughter freed - I want her to come home…" she trailed off on a wail.

"I know, dear heart, I know," Mark cupped her face and held her as carefully as he would a bird. He leaned in and kissed her gently, tears burning his own eyes. "Soon. I swear as God is my witness, I will find a way. I will have her free of him my love. Soon."

"Every hour of every day that she is with him, he is torturing her. Our baby. Our life. Oh Gods, I can't stand it." Her hands were shaking and she moved restlessly, unable to sit still. He took hold of her arms and began making soothing noises, kissing lips, her cheek, her neck as he promised to rescue their daughter and kill Bordon.

Soon.

"It's safer for us here," Charlotte argued in the fresh morning sun, her hair whipped out from under her bonnet, which nearly flew off her head from the incessant wind. Mark slapped his hand against his face to kill a mosquito and glared at her.

"You're dying here, Charlotte!" He cried, throwing his arms wide. "All of you are! This place is not fit for a dog, let alone my sister, my wife, my family! Look at it!" He pointed at the rickety old cabin - it was clumsily made - all of them were. The door hung half off its hinges. The wooden logs had massive gaps in them. If he was standing inside, he'd be able to see the view outside quite clearly just by looking between them. No need for a window, no need at all. "We're a month into winter and it's chill enough. By Gods, it's only going to get colder. I'm not leaving Mage here," he said, finality in his voice. "And I'm not leaving you here either."

"Benjamin has not given me leave to remove them from here," Charlotte said.

"Screw Benjamin," he spat, fury flaring. "After the way he's treated with you, he should be damned lucky you've stayed to look after the children at all."

"I'm doing that for Elizabeth," Charlotte said, lifting her chin.

"Yes and do you think Betsy would want them living like this?" Mark asked and Charlotte paused, her mouth opening and finally closing. "Her children, Charlotte. No. Our sister's children do not live like this. What a joke. Of all the places he could send you to keep you out of British hands, he sends you to a damned freedman's colony. I'm surprised any of these negroes took you in." He glanced around at the Africans, men women and children who walked about, worked, or played. None of them had cause to like white Plantation owners. Not a single one of them.

"Our welcome derives from Abigail," Charlotte said, pulling her cape closer about her body, feeling the chill wind cutting into her like sword blades.

"Yes, well, you'll have a far more comfortable welcome from Mr. Singleton," Mark replied. "He is a widower, his children are grown and gone. He's not far from here, he won't attract British attention any more or any less than these freed folk here will. Get them packing, sister. We leave immediately."

Charlotte heaved a breath. Just then, there was a commotion in the distance, screaming African's bolting about at the waters edge. Mark and Charlotte watched until word came down about an alligator almost snatching a child. Charlotte gave a great shudder. That was one thing she'd never be able to reconcile herself with this place - all the damned alligators. And sharks, only a few spans into the surf. Mark was right, for so many reasons, he was right.

"Very well."

"Don't worry, I'll tell your fiancé where you and the children are," he said grimly.

"Mark…" Charlotte lifted her fingers to her temples, already feeling a headache coming on. "I do not believe Benjamin and I are engaged any longer."

"But he hasn't said, either way. He'd left you hanging. That's what you said last night. You don't know either way. Too many people know of your engagement for him to end it easily, I reckon that's why he hasn't done it yet. It would cause him embarrassment." He said this with fury, his top lip curling. He'd known for years that Charlotte and Benjamin were intimate with one another, and although it had always bothered him, he'd never broached it with either of them.

For he'd always thought that eventually, Benjamin would do the right thing. And he finally had, he'd proposed, but then…

Bordon. Mark began to grind his teeth until his jaw hurt.

"Everything I've done, I've done for him," Charlotte shook her head. Her voice became determined. "No more. Embarrassing for us or not, you can tell him that I have ended it with him."

"I will do no such thing," Mark replied. "All these years, he could have gotten a child on you -"

"Mark!" Charlotte hissed, eyes darting left and right, panicking that someone had been close enough to hear. No one was.

" - And all this time, I thought he would do the right thing. He hasn't, and so when I see him again, that is what we shall discuss. Damned bastard thinks he can use my sister like this? He'll see his error soon enough," Mark had already turned and was still speaking as he strode away.

After a short boat trip back to the main coast, Mark rode at the side of the wagon that had his family piled on top. He led the way to Mr. Singleton's, who owned a sprawling coastal plantation, and a great house that had enough rooms for each of Mark's family to have their own. He knew the children would share with Charlotte, but still. Mr. Singleton had the space for them, and when they reached the gentleman's home, he was only too happy to open it up to them.

Mark spent some time introducing his friend and seeing his family settled, deciding to accept Mr. Singleton's invitation to stay for lunch. Mark was not going to lodge there, he needed to get back to the Santee, back to his daughter, as quickly as possible. But first, he sat at his wife's side, urging her to eat when it seemed she would not. She hadn't eaten breakfast either, nor had she had any victuals on during their travels to Mr. Singleton's. Her face was pale and wan, her cheeks sunken, her eyes dull instead of their brilliant blue.

"I wish I hadn't told you," he said, wrapping his hand around her nape and pulling her near so he could kiss the top of her head. The others were chatting - Charlotte spoke with Mr. Singleton and Nicholas Watson, the children were behaving themselves but were still quite vocal as they talked their nonsense. Mark could speak privately with Mage, despite being at the table with the others.

"She was pregnant," Mage whispered, placing her hand over her own stomach. "And now she's not. Lord, how painful… to miscarry a child born of rape, and to grieve it." Her eyes lifted to his, he could see hers were filled with tears again. "She must be so confused. So hurt. And he's likely hurting her, every minute of -"

"Please, Mage, you mustn't torture yourself," he whispered back, giving her neck a soft squeeze. "I should never have told you."

"I needed to know."

"Yes, but she's still with him and there's nothing you can do but worry. And I won't be here to help you through this, so there's nothing I can do but worry about you both. And about the baby," he said, dropping his gaze to her stomach.

"Worry won't kill us," she said softly. "Just get her free, Mark."

"I will," he took hold of her hand and pressed it to his lips. "Just eat, will you? Please, Mage. I'm begging you -"

"No. Don't," she picked up her spoon and dipped it into the casserole in her bowl, then put a generous helping into her mouth. He could see she had to force it down.

"Thank you," he kissed her cheek. "Five or six more of those, alright?"

"Alright," she heaved a sigh.

"It is mine, isn't it Mage?" He asked her again, pressing his forehead against her cheek.

"Yes. It is, I am almost certain of it."

"Almost certain? That was the one thing I was worried about most, you falling pregnant."

"If it isn't…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't know what to say," she paused, looked him in the eye. "It was so important to me too, before. Now… with all Cilla has been through and where she is now… It doesn't seem to matter all that much."

"Easy for you to say," he said. "You know the baby is yours."

"There's nothing I can do about it, Mark. Either way, there is not."

"I know, dear heart," he said, kissing her cheek again. "We're in this together, either way."

"I'm sure it is. I think it is yours."

"That's good enough for me," he said, smiling. "Five or six more, my love."

Mage made a noise, a sigh of resignation. She stared at her bowl, stirring it with her spoon for so long that Mark took it from her fingers and scooped up her next bite for her. He would have fed it to her too, but Mage drew the line there. She took it back and swallowed down what it held, and did it another four times more, until he was satisfied.

They'd said their farewells, Mark and Nicholas, to Mark's family and Mr. Talene and Mr. Singleton. It was time to go, Nicholas was already mounted and waiting.

Mage cupped Mark's face and stared earnestly into his eyes. "You get back our girl."

"I will. I am going to kill Bordon and Tavington, and I am going to settle with Christopher, he has so much to answer for."

"Don't kill him," Mage said. "He is my brother."

"I won't kill him, but by Gods, he won't will answer for what he has done. He knew, Mage," he said, and she nodded. He had shown her Cilla's letter, where she had revealed so many things, such Christopher not believing her at first, he hadn't believed she was raped until Bordon was confronted right there in front of Cornwallis. "He knew, and he made her marry Bordon anyway."

"He didn't care how she came to lose her virtue - all he cared about was that it was destroyed," Mage replied grimly. "All I am asking is that you don't kill him, Mark. I'm not asking you to be gentle with him."

He nodded, understanding. "I love you."

"I love you, dear heart. Forever and always. Get our girl, and come back to me. I want this child to know its father."

"He shall," Mark kissed her one last time, before leading her back along the porch to the others, who were waiting quietly. There would be no more farewell's. All that had to be said, had been said. Except, "look after her, sister," he said to Charlotte as he handed his wife over. "Make sure she eats. Divert her, as much as you can. Please?"

"I will," Charlotte put her arm around Mage's shoulders.

Mark hadn't told her the half of it - all she knew was that Cilla had been married off to Bordon. That, to Charlotte, was devastating enough without her knowing any of the rest. She would be thinking that Marge was feeling the same. Devastating at her daughters choice of husband.

And that was all she would know, sister or not.

Mark embraced the children one last time, and his sister. He kissed Anne Howard's hand - Anne Martin, now, and therefore his niece in law. He doffed his hat, thanked Mr. Singleton one last time.

"Look after them, Mr. Talene," he said to Charlotte's overseer.

"That I shall, Sir," Mr. Talene inclined his head.

Mark mounted, gave his family one last searching gaze, met Mage's eyes, tried to smile and failed. Then he kicked his heels into his horses flanks, riding away with Nicholas by his side.

20th October - Ferguson's Plantation:

Calvin's fingers curled around the head board of his narrow bed. On all fours, his knees dug into the straw mattress beneath both his weight and that of the man on top of him. With the help of their oils, Major Fallows' phallus glided quickly in and out of Calvin's back passage, his pelvis struck Calvin's backside repeatedly, making a slapping sound with each deep plunge. Calvin bucked back, meeting Fallows' thrusts, squirming to guide the Major's cock to stroke that exquisite place deep inside him.

"Aren't you going to jerk me?" Calvin panted, frustrated at the lack of stimulation. His cock was hard, his erection slapping his stomach. Usually, Fallows would reach around under Calvin's body in order to stroke Calvin while he was being rutted from behind. Calvin could do it himself but it always felt better when someone else did. Fallows barely heard the question, he thrust in deep and cried out softly and Calvin bit off a string of curses; for the Major was finished, but hadn't finished Calvin.

Slowly, because the exit hurt as much as the entry, Fallows pulled out his cock and dropped his trembling body onto his back, his bare legs spread wide, his arms over his head. The picture of contentment. Still on all fours, Calvin glared down at his Superior, whose face was covered in sweat. He was panting, Fallows was.

"Don't be grumpy," Fallows grinned, tapping Calvin's nose. "You know I'll always take care of you, Cal. Do you want my mouth or my arse?"

"You've sucked me already. Come on, get turned over so I can fuck your arse."

"Oohhh yes, fuck my arse," Fallows whispered as he began to turn over. The two shuffled their positions, Fallows on his knees with his hands braced on the headboard as Calvin lifted himself into position, also on his knees, behind Fallows. Fallows was presenting, he was already holding his backside at just the right angle and pushing back against Calvin in invitation. "In all my years, no lover has made me become erect again so quickly as you can," Fallows released one hand from the headboard to stroke his hardening member as he turned his head back over his shoulder, to watch Calvin's entry.

"Oil," Calvin said, waggling his fingers. There was a set of drawers beside the bed, within easy reach. The vial of oil sat on top. Fallows released his cock for long enough to hand Calvin the oil, before resuming his stroking, and his watching of Calvin's progress. Calvin dripped the last drops from the bottle onto Fallows' opening then tossed the spent bottle to the floor. It was enough, the way was a little dry but Calvin began to push his cock into Fallows' rectum anyway. When Fallows made no protest, Calvin gripped the Major's sides as his cock edged in deeper. "You're fucking loving this, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Jesus," Fallows whispered. "Aren't you?"

"You're so fucking tight," Calvin groaned, closing his eyes, warmth pumping throughout his body in time with his quickening pulse.

"I wish you could suck me and fuck me at the same time," the Major said.

"You'll have to settle for your hand," his cock was already buried deep, Calvin's pelvis hard up against Fallows rump. "You ready?"

Fallows drew a ragged breath, then he nodded. Calvin's fingers dug into Fallows hips, he lifted his hips back until his cock almost slipped from Fallows' anus, and then he slammed back in. The Major gasped and whimpered, making incoherent noises of pain and pleasure. One hand worked his member furiously and the other gripped the headboard to stop from being driven bodily into the wall by Calvin's thrusts. The Lieutenant's fingers held tight to Fallow's hips, he bared his teeth and rutted until his eyes began to blur. He was distantly aware of Fallows' climax, of when the Major cried out and shuddered, concentrating as he was on having his own. He was getting close, he released Fallow's hips and laid his chest along Fallows back, reaching out, his hands joining Fallows' on the headboard. The Major shifted restlessly beneath him, meeting his thrusts and squirming. Thrusting into that tight arse, fingers digging into the headboard, Calvin closed his eyes and panted against Fallows' ear. He was so lost he was only distantly aware that he was sucking and kissing Fallows' neck and shoulder, an intimacy he only ever surrendered to when he was at his height and barely aware of who he was fucking, let alone kissing.

"Need more oil," Fallows gasped. "Stop. Getting dry."

"Fuck no," Calvin whispered, barely coherent. "You wanted this, you're always wanting this. I ain't stopping." Instead he thrust faster, his hips a blur of movement, his climax so near. He buried his face in Fallows neck, his body hunched over the Major's, his knees between Fallows', his cock aching with the need for release. His penis began to convulse, his groin tightened; he gasped, pushing in deep and squirming as his seed jettisoned from his cock, the heat was so strong he felt like he'd put his cock in a furnace. Released, Calvin's full weight fell heavily across Fallows' back, his entire body relaxing. "Jesus, that was good," he whispered, eyes still closed, face still buried in Fallows' neck, cock still buried in Fallows' arse. He could not move, not yet, his body was to leaden, too heavy. Fallows - still on all fours - was as still as a statue beneath him. "Don't be grumpy," Calvin laughed softly in the other man's ear, thinking the other man was annoyed. "There was no point stopping, I wasn't that far off."

"Calvin?" Fallows asked, sounding alarmed.

Calvin lifted his head from Fallows' neck. He was still breathing heavily, still dazed, as his eyes landed on what Fallows was holding.

"I was just looking for some more oil," the Major said, sounding bewildered. The drawers were pulled open - all of them. While Calvin had been busy rutting away in Fallows' canal, the Major had reached into the drawers in the search of another vial of oil to moisten the way. Calvin stared in horror at the items in Fallows' hand. "My seal," Fallows said. "And O'Hara's. And his cipher… Calvin…" Fallows shifted his gaze from the counterfeit goods, he turned his head over his shoulder to meet Calvin's eyes. "Calvin, what are you doing with these?"

Calvin's mind whirled, he barely knew what to do when Fallows dipped his hand back into the drawer, this time coming away with several papers. Calvin watched as Fallows sifted through them. They were letters, and copies of letters. One was written by O'Hara, the other by Fallows, and the last two were perfect copies of both, written by Calvin. "You copied these. You're practicing copying my hand. And O'Hara's. Good God, Cal, were you going to betray us?" Fallows breathed, turning again to meet Calvin's eyes. "How could you do this to me?"

"To you? I did nothing to you," Calvin replied. He knew he should get off, just pull his cock out and start gathering up his clothes. He should be running, that's what. But for the life of him, he could not move. He wouldn't get to the front door of the house, if he tried.

"You were a Continental once," Fallows voice was becoming accusing, now that he was past the shock and confusion. "Calvin, have you turned traitor?"

Calvin met Fallows eyes. There was no other possible explanation for him to posses the items Fallows had pulled out of the drawer. There would be no talking his way out of this. Fallows, as much has he loved to rut Calvin, and had perhaps been falling in love with Calvin, would not suffer a traitor in his ranks. He could see it in the Major's face as his expression shifted from horrified disbelief, to determination.

"Lieutenant, remove yourself from me," Fallows snapped, his voice commanding. He was a Major, he expected to be obeyed. He honestly thought Calvin would, that he would remove himself from the Major's body, that he would sit tight and wait for the Major to dress, before summoning the guards to arrest Calvin. "Get. Off. Me!" Fallows barked the command. Calvin stared down at the Major, driving toward a decision. Fallows, taking matters into his own hands, began to buck like a bull, trying to force Calvin off him. Calvin was younger, stronger. He threw himself forward over Fallows heaving body, pinning the older man down. He gripped the back of Fallows head and shoved downward, forcing his face into the pillows. Fallows' could barely move, though he was trying. His shouts were muffled by the pillows, he thrashed uselessly. Remembering his hands, he let go the contraband and planted his hands into the mattress, trying to use his arms to push back up even as he continued bucking in an attempt to dislodge Calvin's weight. Calvin ended the deadlock by shoving his dagger into the side of Fallow's neck. He jerked it out, stabbed again, again, again, until the Major's strange, frantic sounds were silent and the man himself grew still. Calvin placed his hands on the Major's back to push himself upward, leaving a bloody handprint on the man's skin. He dropped his head back, fingers gripping the Major's hips for purchase as he gasped for air. It had been a struggle with the Major putting up a fight. Calvin finally caught his breath. He lowered his head and stared down at his Superior. His face was pressed into the pillows and blood smeared his back.

Calvin pulled his knife out of Fallows neck, wiped the blood from the blade on his pillow. He set it aside, then he gripped Fallow's hips and began easing his cock from Fallows' body, as if still being considerate of how painful the exit. He stumbled to his feet and stared down at the man on his bed, Fallows still on all fours, he was a little slumped now but he was still on his knees and elbows with his arse still in the air. Blood smeared his back and hips, it pooled from the gaping wounds on his neck to soak the pillow.

Pouring water from a ewer into a bowl, Calvin washed his hands until the water was a deep red. There was nothing he could do about the body - it was far too heavy to lift, he could not carry it off somewhere, he could not hide it. Instead, he dressed, combed his hair, then began packing his belongings. He cleaned his knife and pocketed it. Retrieving the seals, cipher and letters, he packed them all except for Fallows'. The Major had reached into the damned wrong drawer. It had only been unlocked because Calvin had been working on creating a copy of O'Hara's seal from the clay template when Fallows had unexpectedly knocked on his door earlier. Calvin had shoved the whole lot into the drawer, pushed it closed, and, unable to immediately find the key, he'd let Fallows in, not thinking for one moment that Fallows would have any reason to pull open that drawer.

Fallows seal was already replicated. Calvin sat down at his table and, ignoring the dead body on the bed still in its bestial position, he pulled out a new parchment and began writing his own pass in Fallows perfectly replicated hand. The seal added a little authenticity. He should be able to remove a horse from the stable, then pass every check point all the way out of the camp, with this.

Unless Fallows' body was discovered first.

Nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he could do about the fact that Fallows would be found there, in Calvin's bed chamber, as naked as the day he was born, his arse up in the air after just being fucked in it. To try to do anything about it would almost certainly result in Calvin being caught and arrested, both for murder - and for sodomy. People would know precisely what he'd been doing with the Major - it was Calvin's chamber, after all. But Calvin planned to be far, far from this place before that could ever be a problem for him. Pulling on his boots, he threw his bag over his shoulder, then strode out into the hall. He locked the door behind him, then strode from the house.

Thank the Lord above, it had finally stopped raining. Tavington and his small guard rode the last leg of their journey - through the dark woods until they reached Fresh Water Plantation. Tavington was tense the entire way, it was not until he could see the firebrands and lights of the fort on up ahead that he finally began to relax. Martin was out there somewhere, but for the life of him, William could locate him. The man was everywhere, it seemed. There were reports and sightings placing him a mile from Fresh Water and then not an hour later another would arrive, placing him one hundred miles away. So many false reports. After a few days of this, Tavington had grown tired of chasing after these sightings, but he could not ignore reports of the man's raids. There had been two just over a week ago, Bordon had still not returned from riding out to investigate one of those.

This latest - the worst William had come upon yet - had dragged him out of Linda's bed so early, it had still been pitch black and there had not been even a single bird awake. He'd ridden from Fresh Water and he'd found the site of the attack only four miles away. Though he had not been able to find the rebel himself, William had seen the devastation first hand. The dead bodies of the caravan the enemy Colonel had attacked.

In grim silence, William began to descend down the last part of the road, his eyes fixed on the lights ahead. The Legion's camp sprawled before him, the many pinpricks of light showing a camp still awake. This was not unusual being early evening, no later than six o'clock. Linda would still be awake at the Kent's home, she would be waiting for him as she had awaited him every night this past week. He hadn't returned to Fresh Water since Beth left it, he'd filled his days and most nights with scouting and routing rebels, returning to Linda on the nights he was close enough to visit the Kent's. When he did, they retired to her bed chamber - though the Lord only knew what the Kent's thought of that. Tavington found he really could not have cared less.

No doubt they assumed he was having relations with Linda in her bed chamber, and in a sense, they would have been right. Nearly a week, since Beth had left. William had visited Linda three times now, he'd languished in her bed, allowing her to soothe him with her massages and her kisses, taking what comfort from her that he could. However, for some reason he could not entirely understand himself, he had not allowed any further sport than that. He did not bed the lass, when he came to her bed. Why that was so, Tavington could not have said. Especially when she persisted more strongly every evening. Linda was becoming impatient with him, he sensed her frustration strongly. Still, he resisted stepping over the line and joining with her in that sense.

He'd been faithful to Beth in his marriage, and to be accused of adultery was... Cutting. It was an indignity of the greatest extreme. Perhaps that was why he had not coupled with Linda - so that he could still, with absolute righteousness, declare that he had been faithful. There was no stain on his character, no matter what his wife believed. And there still was not, even with Linda's trying. Which was far more than Beth could say by now, William did not doubt. Not after seven nights of being in Banastre Tarleton's company. William's wife would have been unfaithful to William by now, probably ten times over. And she can accuse him? William's face darkened, it matched his mood well.

He had ridden closer to the plantation, closer to Linda. For the first time since his wife left him, he wondered if he should bed Linda properly, as she clearly wanted. Beth probably had her legs splayed wide for Banastre at that very moment...

Gritting his teeth in a snarl, William began to steer Thunder toward the pickets, readying himself to turn off the road. He would go to Fresh Water first, for a change of clothes and to hear reports from Bordon, and then he would leave again, to spend the night in Linda's bed. He halted, however, when he saw riders approaching from the opposite direction, carrying firebrands and riding hard toward him. He waited until they came abreast of him.

"Colonel," the Sergeant, the leader of this company, saluted from the saddle. "Thank the Lord, that was excellent timing! O'Hara has summoned you, and with respect Sir, you are to come immediately."

"Am I just?" Tavington huffed a sullen breath. Christ, had Martin struck again already? He pushed thoughts of Linda and her miraculous fingers aside, he would just have to wake her up for a massage later. His muscles seemed to cry out in protest. "Return to the General immediately and inform him that I am coming."

"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," the agitated sergeant whirled his mount and the unit galloped back the way they'd come. Brownlow and Dalton looked to Tavington, both awaiting his command. Instead of releasing them to take their enjoyment, he gestured for them to follow. They rode for the Ferguson Plantation, and as they approached it, they saw that all was in uproar. Far more light flooded the front yard than was necessary, and there were many soldiers rushing about. Gone was the usual orderly precision of a British camp, the place was a kicked anthill. Tavington was escorted immediately into the house, but rather than being taken to the sleeping quarters upstairs, he was taken down a long corridor on the ground level, to a small chamber at the rear of the house. Servants quarters, these. Or apartments for very low ranking officers. O'Hara was just outside in the corridor, surrounded by his adjutants and several men William recognised to be doctors.

"That was certainly quick," O'Hara said to Tavington as soon as he saw him.

"I met your man on the rode," Tavington explained. "What is it, what has happened?"

"It's a grizzly sight," O'Hara wrinkled his nose. "If you have a soft stomach, I suggest you don't look."

Tavington gave O'Hara a 'look', one which spoke volumes. Soft stomach? Him? He snorted.

"Lead the way, Sir."

"Just in here," O'Hara opened the chamber door and Tavington followed him in. He stopped dead as soon as his eyes landed on the bed, for there was the grizzly sight. A peculiar sight, also. Tavington frowned, trying to understand why Major Fallows bloodied body was naked and on all fours, his bare rump in the air. His head was turned on the pillow, his eyes wide open and staring. The side of his neck gaped open where he'd been stabbed.

"Jesus," Tavington whispered, drawing closer. He could not peel his eyes away from the sight. "Why… this position…" Tavington gestured, trying to understand. One thing was clear, however. "He was murdered… in his own bed!"

"Not his," O'Hara said quietly, voice grim. He drew a shuddering breath, and as if forcing himself to continue, he said quietly, "this is Lieutenant Farshaw's."

Tavington twisted his head up and his startled eyes met O'Hara's.

"This is Farshaw's chamber?" Tavington asked, incredulous. "What was Fallows doing in Farshaw's bed? Naked? In this position!"

"Those questions are worth a thousand pounds just now, but I believe we can deduce the answers easily enough," O'Hara twisted his lips in distaste. "Fallows has been championing Farshaw for some weeks now. He sanctions me almost daily. He can not do without his Clerk. I must not send him back to you, for he'll never be able to find a replacement with as fine a hand as Farshaw," O'Hara heaved a breath. "Clearly, he was speaking with a double meaning. Whenever I mentioned sending Farshaw back to you, Fallows would be in here, begging and pleading on his behalf. He even broached me several times about advancing Farshaw. He was wasted as a Lieutenant, Fallows said. Deserved to be Captain. In that, I absolutely would not yield, however, for I knew Farshaw's history entirely too well. I'd rather have seen him gone from my ranks entirely, than have him promoted. But Fallows was dogged, so I allowed him to keep Farshaw in his command. I thought it was to be his clerk but now… Now I suspect I know the true reason why," he jutted his chin toward the corpse on the bed, "he was clearly receiving favours from Farshaw for his protection and patronage."

"Jesus," Tavington said again. This time, however, he couldn't help but to laugh. "I'm sorry, Sir," he apologised. "This is not amusing, I'm just so… shocked! Jesus!" Again he laughed and O'Hara nodded gravely.

"I understand. I've lost a damned fine Major, you know. But to think of what he has been doing all this time," O'Hara folded his arms across his chest. "I just can not imagine it. Honestly, Fallows? I never took him to be…"

"A ganymede?" Tavington said coarsely. His eyes landed on the small drawers beside the bed, where several vials were sat atop.

"Quite," O'Hara sighed heavily. "For how else did Fallows come to be here, naked, in Farshaw's bed? There is evidence of coupling, the physicians have inspected him closely and they all agreed that these spots are… well, you know." O'Hara was pointing at several wet patches on the bed. And although it pains me to direct your attention here, you will see…" He pointed at Fallows' rear, where milt had pooled, then seeped down the inside of Fallows' thigh. "Judging by the position of the body, I would say that Farshaw took Fallows from behind. I would also say that this… distasteful union… has been going on for some time now. I wouldn't touch those," he cautioned as William went to pick one of the vials up. "We found them in the drawers." When William looked at him in askance, O'Hara said, "they are filled with scented oil."

"Gods," William jerked his hand back, understanding precisely what the oil must have been kept there for. "Well, that clinches it then. They're both ganymedes."

"I can see I do not need to explain what the oil is for. Good. Yes, I can only conclude the same as you - they are sodomites. There are more of those vials in Fallows' office, and God knows the two spent a large portion of their time in there with the door locked. I assumed it was because of the sensitive nature of the missives that crossed his desk - "

"No, it was the sensitive nature of Fallows bending Farshaw over the desk," William scoffed.

"Please, Colonel," O'Hara ran a weary hand over his brow. "As if this is not bad enough. I do have to conclude that it is true, however, the two were indulging in buggery. The question is, why did Farshaw kill Fallows? Fallows had my cooperation, I was letting him have little… clerk. Perhaps it's because I refused to advance him to Captain?"

"You haven't questioned him?" Tavington asked, startled.

"No. He has fled," O'Hara spread his hands wide now. "He did this and then, he vanished. Barely two hours ago, he was seen leaving the house for the stables. I have since discovered he used a pass that Fallows himself wrote, to get himself through the pickets. Why Fallows would write it… How Fallows wrote it," O'Hara added, sounding incredulous. "Perhaps he wrote it not realising Farshaw's intentions. Perhaps he wrote it before they started… But why do this - why bed Fallows, then kill him?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but that is when my guard is at its lowest," William said, still somewhat amused. "I could probably be murdered during the throes of passion and not even feel the blow coming."

"Hmm. I have no desire to entertain such thoughts. I believe Farshaw has perhaps a half an hour start on us."

"On me, you mean?" William asked, sensing they had come to O'Hara's true purpose in summoning him.

"If you would be so kind," O'Hara replied dryly.

"I'll leave immediately," Tavington promised, ignoring the pang in his stomach that told him he'd already missed the dinner time meal… "Who found him here?"

"A Private. I sent for Fallows and when he could not be found, the Private knocked on Farshaw's door. When there was no answer, he tried to open the door but it was locked. He would have left it at that, but he said he felt an itch… something warning him. An instinct. Now there is a lad worthy of advancement. Instead of walking away, he worked the door open and found… This."

"I trust he will be discreet?" William asked.

"So I've requested."

"Very well. I shall leave you with this unpleasant task," William pointed at Fallows, bowed to O'Hara, then left the chamber.

"…fine at Mr. Singleton's," Mark was saying, justifying his decision to move the children. Benjamin sat across from him, his lips tight. "Look, there are more things to fear than the British," Mark said. "Did you see those hovels? Gaps as large as my hand - how the devil would the children see winter out alive, living in those? You can't heat them! And while I was there, a child was almost attacked by an alligator. I heard there's been lots of attacks, not all of them ending as well as that one did. You want little Susan being dragged back into the surf by one of those beasts -"

"Alright, alright!" Benjamin raised both his hands in surrender. "Fine. So. Mr. Singleton's, is it? I never heard of him."

"He's a good man. A gentleman planter, he is a good friend and he took in mine and yours in with no question. Anne, too. They'll be safe there, Ben. Hell, at least they'll be warm and well fed."

"Alright. I'll send him a letter to thank him and I'll send him money too. I won't have anyone saying I can't pay my way."

"No one is saying that," Mark said. "Everyone knows you're honourable. Which is why I'd like to know, for once and for all, if you're going to marry my sister, Ben."

"What?" Benjamin gasped, eyes narrowing.

"Jesus. You're my brother and I love you like one, but by Gods, you try me. You did the right thing by Betsy but you can't bring yourself to do the right thing by Charlotte. I know you've been bedding her."

Benjamin's mouth worked, a slow red flush spread across his cheeks.

"Yes, you'd do well to be embarrassed," Mark scoffed. "As you should be. I've known for a long time, but I never took you to task for it because I knew you'd do the right thing. And finally you did, you proposed, but now I don't know anymore. Are you going to marry her, or not?"

"It sounds like you know more than most," Benjamin finally found his voice. "You know she bedded me. Do you know who else she bedded?"

"Oh aye, I do. Bordon," Mark spat. "None of us are going to have to worry about him much longer. I'm going to kill him, Ben. Him and Tavington both. I'm going to free our daughters, God strike me down now if I am telling a lie. But you…" He shook his head, his lips tight for a moment. "You need to make a decision about Charlotte, who you should marry after all these years of having your little affair. What Charlotte did… It happened, that thing with that wretched bastard happened, and it was all his fault - "

"She seduced him, not the other way around," Benjamin's voice was hard.

"It was to save you! All for you, Benjamin. It isn't a big deal - it doesn't matter, it's over and done with."

"You might condone such tactics, but I do not," Benjamin said and Mark lurched back as if he'd been struck. Benjamin did not apologise, made no attempt to take the words back. It was a dig at Mark, to let him know that Benjamin knew that Mark had allowed his own wife to bed Bordon. And Cilla too, it seemed. In truth, he'd been struggling with doubts regarding Charlotte for some time now, ever since she confronted him when he came to move her and the children from Mrs. Billings. He knew she hadn't meant for it to go so far, he often found himself wondering if he could forgive and forget, for he loved her and missed her and desperately wanted things to return to how they were before bloody Goddamned Bordon.

Mark opened his mouth to retaliate - or perhaps to justify his actions - but then the door was opening and Gabriel came sauntering in.

"There's someone floundering out there, looking for our camp," he said and all thoughts of Charlotte flew from Benjamin's mind.