Chapter 109 - Guns Blazing:

"Do you honestly think Tarleton will give her over to you, just for the asking?" William asked Benjamin. The words formed around the pipe stem stuck between his lips. Smoke wafted about him and Benjamin both.

"I've got to try, don't I?" Benjamin replied. "Seeing that you bloody won't. You're going to continue to be a damned stubborn wool brain fool, I take it?"

"I'm not writing to either of them, and that's an end to it," William's voice was as strong as iron.

"He could not ignore a demand from her husband, William," Benjamin frowned. "Nor could Cornwallis. You could send a letter to the General and Tarleton would be forced to release Beth to an escort of your choosing."

"Admit to the General that Tarleton is off screwing my wife? I hardly think so," William tossed his head.

"Very well. I shall gain her back myself, you leave me with no choice. I'll take her to Mrs. Selton but Christ, William, you must know that you'll have to live beneath the same roof eventually."

"A problem for the future. I am not ready to see her, Ben," William averted his gaze, hoping Benjamin hadn't heard the despair in his voice.

"You know, you've never spoken about how all this is affecting you," Benjamin said and William realised his hope was in vain - Benjamin had heard it. "Well, I do know how it affects us - our reputations, our standing. All that. But you've not spoken about what you're going through deep down."

"I'm not drunk enough for that," William replied grimly. They were sitting across from one another, at the table by the fire, this time with cards spread out before them. Almost a week ago, William had begun teaching Benjamin how to play Faro, a card game the older man had never bothered to learn before. He'd proved quite adept, William had been losing as many rounds as he'd won.

"Or perhaps you don't feel that you can confide in me?" Benjamin asked. William was silent. "Very well. I'll confide in you, instead," he said and William glanced up from his cards, startled. "Mrs. Selton," Benjamin explained. "Frankly, between you and me, I've got no fucking idea what to do about her."

"You're asking me?" William asked, surprised.

"Why not? You're going through much the same thing as I. Our situations aren't quite the same," Benjamin twisted his lips. "But they're similar enough. Both our women bedded other men. Not only did Beth lose her virginity to another man, but she didn't reveal it to you, and both are unforgivable. And Charlotte, Gods, we were engaged… I know why she did it, I know she was trying to stall for time, to protect me. I know it went too far, but that's just is, isn't it? She could have stopped it at any time. When she said 'it went too far', I know she what she really means is, she began to enjoy it so much she was unable to stop it from happening. She was flirting and kissing and carrying on, to stop him from coming after me. But then it got past that tipping point and she was then doing it purely for the pleasure of it, I doubt I was even in her mind at all, then. My fiancé enjoyed being fucked by another man. Jesus," Benjamin jerked back from the table, he crossed the room and to William's astonishment, he seized a bottle from the shelf. Martin never drank with William in the mornings - they only ever got soused in the evenings. But here he was, pouring for them both.

Well, it was that sort of conversation, wasn't it? William knocked his back and waggled his fingers at Benjamin to pour another.

"You've seen her since that night?" William asked.

"Once. When she left Fresh Water with the children, I came for them. Took them to where they are now. We spoke of it only the once, when I first arrived. We barely spoke again, after."

"What did you say to her?"

"It's what she said to me," Benjamin said, drinking back his second glass. He poured a third round. "I came to move her and the children, but she said she wanted to leave - to go to Rhode Island, where she has an elderly aunt. Prudence has been asking Charlotte to come and live with her for years, but Charlotte stayed. For me. I asked her to stay - to look after the children. She'd removed them from Fresh Water, and yes, I do think she did the right thing - that Gordon fellow…" Benjamin scowled. "But she also removed them from their sister, and therefore, they no longer had a chaperone. I asked her to stay, to look after them." Benjamin sighed. "She told me that everything she has done since her husband died, she has done for me. That she would do anything for me. She did not go and live with her aunt, despite Prudence constantly requesting it. I snap my fingers, and she comes running to Fresh Water to be with me. She sacrificed her virtue to be with me, bedding me outside of marriage, because she knew I wasn't ready to commit to her. She risked that she might fall pregnant, all for me. She listed all the sacrifices she's made for me, even that last - of defiling herself to protect me. She said she would do - and has done - anything for me, but I can't do the one thing she wants - I can't forgive her for that night. Her entire existence revolved around me, she lost her house and was slapped by you, in the protecting of my children. She gave me everything and I give her nothing. That's what she said. And then she told me," Benjamin paused.

"What did she tell you?" William asked.

"That she would do it - she would stay and look after the children, but she would do it for them, because they are her blood kin. She would not do it for me. She would never, ever do anything for me, ever again."

William made a sound of acknowledgement, but he had no idea what to say.

"That was the last time we spoke, even though we were in each other's company for hours the rest of the day. And she was right. She was the one doing everything for us and I wasn't doing much of anything. She wants me to make up for that lack by forgiving her, but how the hell can I do that?"

"I don't know," William shook his head. "Are you still engaged?"

"I never declared it to be over, and nor has she. So yes, I suppose we are - technically. Too many people know about the engagement for me to end it without gossip. I was hoping it would just… go away. Over time."

"You are hoping that people will just forget you're engaged to her?" William laughed. "You're Colonel Benjamin Martin, former Assemblyman, famed far and wide across South Carolina. If anything, news of your engagement will be increasing by the week, people won't be forgetting it anytime soon."

"So I need to acknowledge it has ended," Benjamin said. "Is that what you're saying? I have to get it over with, and suffer the talk that follows. Is that it?"

"If you're not going to marry her, then yes," William replied.

"Eh," Benjamin grunted. "Alright then, I've confided to you… your turn."

"No, you didn't," William waved his hands in objection. "You told me of your dilemma, you didn't tell me what you're going through deep down."

Benjamin was silent a moment, deep in thought as he considered what it was he was feeling - and if he should tell this man sitting across from him, the cards in his hands forgotten. They were family now, they'd spent hours together every day for days, getting to know one another and finding common ground. But they were still enemies. He decided to take the leap. "Deep down? Confused. Angry." He paused, then continued softly. "Embarrassed." He avoided William's eyes when he admitted that. "And lastly, heartbroken. I do love her, you know." He drank deeply, set his glass on the table. "There. Your turn."

William was solemnly quiet for sometime. "I was shot in the chest and I was whipped bloody. At times, I'm not sure which is the greater pain - the agony of my wounds, or the loss of my wife and the woman I thought her to be."

Benjamin nodded, commiserating. "That, that just about sums it up for me, also."

"Hmm. Anyway," Tavington sloughed off his grief, he would not give in to that now. That was for the dark hours of night, when he'd drunk his full and was soused, and lay upon the bed, alone with his thoughts and heartbreak. Now, now was not the time to give in to it. "By the time your 'eventually' comes and I'm forced to live with her again, I will own a mansion - something close to a palace, perhaps. I will reside in one wing, Beth in another - on the furthest side of the house, as far from my own apartments as possible. Days could pass before either of us are forced into one another's company."

Benjamin allowed the mood to shift to a more jovial one. He almost fell off his chair, laughing. "I'd like to see this palace of yours," he chortled. "I suppose there'll be fairies doing the work of the maids, pixies to look after the gardens?"

"Do stop that guffawing, won't you? It makes you look like a madman," William snorted.

"Christ, he calls me the madman! A palace! Hells teeth. Twenty years of laying claim to Fresh Water and of stealing my crops won't provide you with enough to build yourself a palace, boy," Benjamin said, still spluttering laughter.

"I do have money, you know," William replied primly.

"Yeh, Beth's inheritance," Benjamin scoffed.

"With that amount in this country, I'll have my mansion and will be treated as a nobleman besides."

"You're planning on settling here, then?" Benjamin asked, becoming serious again.

"Where else? I'm not going to subject my lady mother to Beth and the tatters of our marriage. Mama will know immediately that something is amiss - there would be no fooling her. I have no desire to be the cause for her grief. No. I will return to England for short sojourns when the need arises - and will bring back all that I need to furnish my home. But I have no intention of ever allowing Beth and my mother to be in the same room together."

"You're still angry, lad. That will change in time," Benjamin soothed.

"If I gave you the same advice - would you believe it?"

"The difference is, my staying angry with Charlotte does not affect you. Not directly. You staying angry with Beth will have marked consequences for me."

"They are?"

"No grandchildren!" Benjamin said. "By God, I want grandchildren!"

"It's a good thing you have such a large broad of your own then, isn't it?" William asked, insolent. "Seven other children to provide you with the grandchildren you desire. Besides, Gabriel's already gone one on the way for you."

Benjamin sucked on his pipe for a few moments, taking the time to study Beth's husband before answering. "What do you think this palace is going to be like, without children in it?" He asked. William's eyes widened. "Empty, is how it'll be," he supplied the answer. "Empty and cold. Oh, you can have fires roaring in every room, you can have every chamber filled with furniture you bring in from England. But it'll all be for naught, without children climbing all over it and racing through the halls, raising merry hell. As I said, you and Beth are going to have to come to some accord eventually. At the end of the war, when this palace is built and your wife comes home to it. You'll have to get on with your lives then, somehow. She will have to provide her husband with children. "

"And if I have to stoop to violence to reduce my wife to her duty?" William asked pointedly, reminding the older man that Beth would not be willing.

The older man shrugged. "You do as you must," came the shocking reply. "She's your wife." The words had a finality to it, as though that was all there was to it.

William's eyes bulged. If Benjamin said "she's your slave", William could not have been more shocked. Such an answer! Was this the same man who had whipped William's back raw, for daring to take his belt to Beth, his wife? And now that same man indicates that William should do what he must?

"You should be put into a madhouse," his voice was soft, his eyes still wide. "My wounds are barely healing, I'll be scarred forever - because you took exception to me punishing my own wife. And now you say 'do as you must'? You, sir, are certainly mad."

"Mad at my daughter, certainly," Benjamin agreed, swiftly changing the interpretation of William's statement. "I'm not crazed. I am angry. She has comported herself in such a way… I do not believe I shall ever defend her again. Not to her husband, in any case. Now, I want grandchildren, from ALL my children," he pointed at William with his pipe, "and you want children. And Beth, my lad, will do as she is bloody told."

"Hmmm," William murmured, hiding his astonishment. And his irritation. "If only you'd known she had given herself to Tarleton earlier - I might not be obliged to suffer the immense pain I am in now."

"Probably not. I don't think I would have whipped you for taking your belt to her, if I'd known that," Benjamin admitted. "Well, done is done. Neither of us knew and here we are. The only way is forward, son. Nothing else for it."

"Son?" William cocked an eyebrow and Benjamin shrugged.

"Don't think nothing of it, I call everyone son."

"Of course you do," William laughed softly. "I suppose it's better than being called boy." Benjamin was right about one thing, there was no point dwelling on what might have been.

"Eh. I knew that one was upsetting you," Benjamin chortled. "Boy."

"Jesus," William muttered and Benjamin laughed again.

"Your wounds still paining you, son?" Benjamin said.

"Each day is better than the previous," William said, now that he was forced to admit it. "Moving is still excruciating, but not quite as excruciating as a week ago. Why are we still here, Ben? Why haven't you shipped me off to a prison camp yet?"

"Your wounds, I didn't want to move you and do more damage."

"So it's off to prison camp when I'm well enough to be moved? You could just set me free, you know."

"I could, could I?"

"Or are you worried I'll attack you? Perhaps it's as the old saying goes, if you catch a lion by the tail, for Christ's sake, don't let it go."

"Won't you? We're on opposite sides in this, William. We're enemy Colonels, we serve a greater authority, we have men under our command. Our duty is clear, we fight until one of us is caught, dead, or the war is over. I do have the lion by the tail, and yes, I would be a fool to let you go."

William heaved a breath of frustration. The two men had made some great strides these last few days, ever since William finally confessed why he'd beaten Beth. Benjamin had even encouraged his sons into William's company, to get to know their brother in law better. He never told them the truth about Beth and Banastre, but he'd let them know that he wanted them to develop an association with William. And they were making the effort, as well. And so was William. Had it all been pointless? What was the use in them bonding as they had, if it was going to amount to nothing?

"Having said that," Benjamin continued stoically. "That is exactly what I am going to do."

"What?" William breathed, stunned. A thrill of hope shot along his pain riddled spine.

"This does not go past the two of us," Benjamin leaned forward, his blue eyes piercing, intent. "I sent an anonymous tip to General O'Hara, letting him know where you are. O'Hara redirected Bordon, who had resumed your search of Farshaw. And in a few more hours, he'll be here."

William blew out the breath he'd been holding. "I'll… your men. I'll tell Bordon to stand down. And when he comes, I won't take you or yours captive."

"I'm glad to hear it," Benjamin said, some of his tension draining. "However, I'm not sure how you'd explain to that one, why you letting us go. No, William. I've already sent my men out - on various errands here and there. There's only me and your brothers here now."

William drew back, astonished. "Brownlow and Dalton -"

"Are out there, whispering to one another, discussion how weak my position is and whether they dare to stand up to me. Right now, they only have Thomas, Gabriel and me to contend with - Nathan is too young to be much of a threat to them. The way they see it, it's three against two, and those are the smallest odds they've had all week. Their issue, of course, is their lack of weapons, while me and my boys are walking about with rifles and me with my tomahawk. They know what I'm capable of, with that in my hand. They know I'm really worth three men, and that ain't no boast. They're out there though, whispering, bolstering one another's courage and working on the best way to divest us of our weapons and take us captive."

"You know they're plotting this?"

"Of course," Benjamin laughed. "I've been a soldier for decades longer than you - you were still sucking your nurses nipple when I was killing savages and Frenchmen. And I've been a militiaman before that and ever since. I know when someone's about to attack me, son. And those two lads are considering doing exactly that."

"Promise not to hurt them, when they try?" William asked and Benjamin threw back his head and laughed.

"I'd hurt that Brownlow, for messing with my daughter," Benjamin said. "But he's been growing on me lately. When I say this is between you and me, I mean it. At this very moment, Nathan is up a tree watching where I've told him to keep watch - overlooking the trail I know Bordon will take to get here. When Nathan sights riders approaching, he'll come running and my boys will come bursting in here to tell me Bordon is on his way. I'll act all surprised and when I'm with my Company again, I'll tell them how Bordon discovered us, somehow, and we had to flee like demons were chasing our tails."

"So much could go wrong with your plan, it's not even amusing to contemplate," William said. "If it goes wrong -"

"My plans rarely do and this one won't either. Having said that," Benjamin pushed the stopper back into the top of the bottle. "I believe I'll need my wits about me." He rose and put the rum in his saddle bags which, William noticed for the first time, were neatly and fully packed. As were those of his sons.

"Why are you letting me go?" William asked, lifting his eyes to Benjamin as he sat back down. "You know that I'll begin hunting you and yours as soon as I'm with my men. Besides, aren't you committing treason?"

"Yes, well, that's why this is between just you and I, yes? As for why…" He was silent for a long time. "I whipped you bloody. My sons whipped you bloody. Because you took your belt to Beth. Who, it turned out, had given you provocation that even I can not ignore. I think our family has taken enough blows, don't you? We need to start recovering from all this. Sending you to prison camp isn't going to help with that recovery. This is your father in law, showing his son in law good will. Perhaps it will go some way to making up for giving you a whipping you did not deserve nearly as much as I thought you did."

"I see. Well. Thank you," William replied, uncertain what else he could say. Both men returned to their cards, smoking their pipes and talking about this and that, nothing so deep and meaningful as before. Bordon could be along at any moment, there was no point going into the deep and meaningful now. William won the round and Benjamin began dealing again.

"If I die, you'll look after them won't you?" Benjamin asked.

"Just like we discussed," William agreed. "Even if you don't die."

Thomas entered with victuals he and Gabriel had prepared outside, he sat at the table to share the meal with them.

"Deal me in," he said between bites. William did so, he'd been teaching Thomas Faro too, though the lad was not quite as adept as his father. He watched Thomas from the corner of his eye, silently urging the lad to eat as much as he could, for he'd be in the saddle soon.

It still sounded weird to him, this calling Beth's brothers by their Christian names. It was too familiar, too intimate. But they were his brothers in law, they were his family. And they were calling him William, now. The barriers between them had been broken down. Alliances needed to be formed, the war would not last forever and one day, they would be relying on one another for survival. And so he called Gabriel, Gabriel. And Nathan, Nathan. And Thomas, Thomas.

And Benjamin, Benjamin.

"Gabriel is alone outside with Brownlow and Dalton," he said to Benjamin, a warning in his voice. "Perhaps I should have a chat with them?"

"Yeh, alright," Benjamin said. He rose, called both Officers in. As soon as they entered, Tavington could see that Benjamin had been right, the Cornet and Ensign were tense, like drawn bows, arrows ready to fly. He took both into a far corner, away from the table.

"Don't attack," he whispered. "This will all be over soon."

"Sir?" Brownlow breathed, tension easing, the bow loosening.

"Just… heed my command. When the time comes, you'll understand. And when that time comes, let them go."

The Officers exchanged glances, but William was already turning away from them. He'd given them their orders, they would obey him. They stepped outside, William nodded at Benjamin, and Thomas continued shovelling food into his mouth, completely unaware.

"Are you playing or not? It's your turn, William," Thomas said.

A half hour later, Gabriel joined them at the table, he was still learning Faro and he lost several shillings to Brownlow, who won the next round. Dalton was with them too, William ignored the Ensign's side long glances and laughed along with the others, when Thomas twitted Gabriel for being the slowest learner among them.

"Papa! Dragoons!" Nathan's warning scream from outside. Dalton shot William a glance, William gave him and Brownlow quelling ones as the Martin men jumped up, Benjamin making a show of cussing and cursing his surprise. The door burst inward and Nathan - clutching his sides and heaving - stumbled in. "Papa, there's so many of them, five score and not a man less!"

"Jesus. Get your bags, quickly now!" Benjamin commanded of his sons. He turned to face William, who was still sitting. His eyes darted to Brownlow and Dalton, both seemed on the verge of rising.

"Sit down," William commanded and both Officers slowly sat.

Seeing the two Officers would not try to restrain him or the boys, Benjamin hefted his saddlebags onto his shoulder. "Well, this isn't a good time for a prolonged farewell, so," he tipped his hat. "If I see you again -"

"You'll kill me?" William smirked.

"Nah, and don't interrupt your elders, especially when they're trying to be clever."

"The boards are yours," William inclined his head.

"If I see you again, it'll be too soon," Benjamin said and William laughed.

"You'll miss me, you all will."

"Gods, never that," Benjamin said. Gabriel paused, his saddlebags hanging off his shoulder.

"We just going to leave him here?" he said, pointing at Tavington.

"There's a hundred Dragoons coming for us, Gabe. Yeh, I reckon we'd just better leave them here, don't you? Get to the horses, go on, get out," Benjamin snapped, giving Gabriel a shove toward the door. The boys followed their father and brother. William rose slowly and with Brownlow and Dalton, he followed them outside. He stayed on the porch while they threw saddle bags over their mounts back and worked the buckles.

"Can't you move any faster?" Tavington snapped, he could hear the sound of the Dragoons approach. "They'll be here before you get gone!"

"Worried for us, are you?" Gabriel arched an eyebrow. He was shoving his rifle through a saddle loop. "You're growing soft, brother."

"There's no need, we'll be gone real quick. Well, I will be anyway," Thomas was laughing. He was furthest away amidst the body of horses. It wasn't until he was in the saddle and began peeling away from the group that William realised what he was laughing about.

"Thomas!" He shouted, taking a step forward. "Get the hell off my horse!"

Thomas chortled, he lifted his hat. "I'll leave you with Buttermilk, she's a fair trade!"

"Buttermilk is not a fair bloody trade!" William was on the steps but Thomas was already galloping away.

"Damned fool can't take anything seriously," Gabriel muttered.

"We'll send Thunder back to you," Benjamin promised, though he was crouched over laughing too.

"And nor can you, father," Gabriel said.

"Damned little…" William seethed. "Just get you gone, you damned fools - he's almost on top of you."

The three were in the saddle now. They wasted no more time on farewells, except for Benjamin who met William's eyes.

"Just get into the woods; as long as you're out of sight, I won't need to explain why I'm not sending him after you."

Benjamin inclined his head, tipped his hat, and twisted his horse in the direction his sons had taken.

"And send me back my damned horse!" William shouted as Benjamin began to gallop for the trees. Benjamin lifted one arm in acknowledgment before he entered the trail, he was lost from sight within moments. He'd chosen well, Bordon's entry point and Benjamin's exit. The Martin's were gone from view for two minutes before Bordon and the Dragoons burst into the clearing.

"He knew Bordon was coming," Brownlow said as he watched the Major - full of determination, do a double take when he saw William and the two Officers waiting patiently on the porch.

"He told O'Hara where to look," William said, meeting Brownlow's eyes.

"He let you go?" Dalton breathed, shocked.

"He let us go," William confirmed. "And it goes no further than the three of us. We'll tell Bordon, I suppose," he lifted his arm in greeting to the Major, who was trotting over, carefully scanning the trees for signs of attach. "But no others." He lifted his voice. "It's safe, Bordon. Martin and his men are gone - long gone," he added, with a glance at his two Officers, who knew that Bordon could catch them easily if William had spoken truthfully.

"Yes, long gone," Brownlow said. "And we should be too."

A very hard faced Bordon galloped up to the small house.

"So you finally decided to rescue me, did you? Took your sorry time about it," William said. Bordon's face split into a grin.

"Sorry for the delay, thought you might have wanted to spend some more time with your family," he mocked.

"How thoughtful of you," William laughed softly.

"What happened to you?" Richard asked, concerned. He'd seen the Colonel wince with pain and his voice sounded full of it.

"I was shot," William replied shortly and pointed. "Here in the shoulder."

"Jesus," Bordon whistled under his breath. "Has it been seen to?"

"I've had the best of care," William scoffed softly. "I'm fine, Richard, stop worrying. A bullet in the shoulder is not enough to bring me down." - Brownlow and Dalton kept their mouths shut. The whipping was between him and the men of Beth's family - his family now; it was not to be made public knowledge. He'd tell Bordon in due course but there were too many Dragoons milling about for it to be revealed now. - "Now, tell me where we are, exactly, how far are we from Fresh Water?"

"You don't know?" Richard asked. When William shook his head, he revealed their location and told the Colonel that there was at least twenty miles between them and Fresh Water. William sighed, it would be a very long journey home - long and painful.

"Are you in any condition to ride?" Brownlow asked softly and William shook his head.

"There's no help for it though," he said. "Damn Thomas for taking Thunder. Saddle Buttermilk, would you?" He said. He eyed the mare as Brownlow worked to saddle her while Dalton went into the cabin to gather their belongings. It was time to leave and William stepped down from the porch and approached the gentle mare.

"I can't believe he stole Thunder," Brownlow muttered.

"Perhaps it was for the best," William said softly. "Riding this gentle lass rather than my spirited boy."

Brownlow nodded. With Dalton on one side of him and Brownlow on the other, the two Officers helped William to climb up into the saddle.

Nicholas leaned back against the large oak, whittling away at thick stick with his knife, as if merely passing the time, as if that was all he cared about in the world. In truth, he was keeping an eye on Calvin Farshaw, who squatted before the small fire and stabbed at the coals with a twig.

"…Bordon is worse, if ye fuckin' ask me," Calvin Farshaw was saying to Peter Scott, who was listening avidly. "But Tavington, he ain't far behind. Mr. Putman is right to hate 'em like he does. I hate 'em too. We should all be hating 'em. You would too, if they'd done half to you as they have to us…"

In truth, Nicholas had plenty of reason to despise Tavington and later, he despised Bordon for helping to torture Mark, though Bordon hadn't done anything to Nicholas directly. Still, he'd seen the evidence on Mark's chest, he'd helped to bathe and bind Mark's wounds, for weeks until Mark finally recovered enough to travel. The two commanders were ruthless and the Patriot Cause would certainly fair better if those two were taken out of the action.

But something wasn't right with Calvin Farshaw, either. The way he looked at the others, these side long glances. And the way he spoke. Oh, not the cussing, Nicholas didn't care about that though it did indicate a lesser type of person, a man of simple intelligence and poor breeding. That didn't bother Nicholas either. It was the effect Calvin Farshaw was having on Mark, that bothered Nicholas Watson.

A week ago, Calvin Farshaw escaped to the Patriots, begging help and insisting he was one of them. Tavington was on his trail, and Farshaw ended up being instrumental in Tavington's capture, and the capture of fifty Green Dragoons.

A victory, for the Patriots, they were still buoyed by it a week later. Ten of Martin's men - including Martin and his sons, had taken off with Tavington to God only knew where, while another detachment of Martin's men took the Green Dragoons to a rebel prison camp. Mark Putman was given half a score of men and had retreated back to their camp on the outskirts of Rutledge plantation, Nicholas included.

As was Calvin Farshaw.

For a week now, they had settled in, supplied by Henrietta Rutledge. They received missives form Cilla Putman, which Mark sent on to whomever could best act on the information - usually Captain Billings, seeing that Benjamin Martin was in hiatus with his sons and Tavington.

For that entire week, Farshaw had been… working on the men. That was the only way to describe it. He told dark stories of his ill treatment at Tavington and Bordon's hand and while Nicholas couldn't fathom why the lad would lie, somehow he knew he was. Or at the least, he was telling half truths, or not both sides.

For the entire week, Mark Putman had been listening. Nicholas had had to watch as the men - especially Mark - grew darker in their moods, more focused, more deadly. Because of Calvin Farshaw, and because of Mark Putman, who'd suffered as greatly or more so, than Farshaw ever had.

Mark and Calvin were constantly plotting, tirelessly, unceasingly. They would draw Bordon out. They would torture him, and they would kill him. Tavington too; him, they would get off Benjamin, if Benjamin Martin didn't have the stomach to kill him. The discussions were never quiet, never alone, with heads bent together. No, they were loud, they spoke at the camp fire and loud enough for all to hear. Mark spoke of his torture, of hot pokers and pincers and knives. He showed his chest and back, and the men stared in horrified awe. Farshaw spoke of being beaten so brutally by both Tavington and Bordon, that he was left for dead and only survived because O'Hara had taken pity on him. He spoke of being whipped, for the crime of having an affair with another man's wife. Yet, Bordon was having an affair with Calvin's own wife, and where was his whipping? They spoke of atrocities committed by both, Calvin fanned the flames of Mark's fury, which was descending Mark into a spiral of anger and hatred the like of which Nicholas hadn't seen before.

Mark had mentioned wanting to kill Bordon and Tavington before - on many occasions since the interrogation. But Nicholas had thought it was just talk. He'd thought that when or if Mark ever did get his hands on either, he'd take them into custody and hand them over to Burwell or Martin.

Until now. With the influence of Calvin Farshaw working its part on Mark, Nicholas had the terrible feeling that Mark wouldn't spend the time or energy on taking either man captive. He would kill them outright. In fact, he had tried to kill Tavington - the night Calvin lured the Butcher into that trap. Martin had been quite specific with his order - to capture the Dragoons, not to kill unless absolutely necessary. Yet Mark had fired his rifle, a few inches to the left and Tavington would be dead. As Mark had intended. He'd lamented to Nicholas since then, at his missing the Butcher. At the Butcher still being alive.

And he'd been seething, ranting at Benjamin taking Tavington away. He should have been strung up in the trees, hanged and left there. Nicholas listened gravel to Mark's complaints, he let the man speak his piece, before reminding him gently that Benjamin Martin knew what he was doing, Mark had to trust his brother in law. There were rules, the rules of war, and they could not be circumvented merely for revenge.

Not so Calvin Farshaw. He did not listen serenely before giving sound, wise advice. No. He was a firebrand, declaring that the ten of them should march right up to Benjamin Martin and demand justice, they should seize command and hang the Butcher, and then they should go after Bordon. They could use the same trick, Calvin didn't mind. He'd be the bait again, he'd risk himself - his very life, if it meant getting hold of Bordon. This impressed the ten men - he was quickly becoming a Messiah, in their eyes.

Not so in Nicholas'. He was becoming more uneasy by the day. What they were proposing - it not only went against the rules of war - it was murder.

Murder.

Was Mark really willing to do murder?

He almost had, the other night, when he opened fire on Tavington…

Nicholas pushed himself off and away from the tree, feeling the sudden need to pace.

"Riders!" A sentry barked and Nicholas whirled in the direction of the call. The men squatting around the camp fire hanging on Farshaw's every word all lurched up, reaching for their rifles. Nicholas dropped the stick, sheathed his knife and pulled his pistols.

Only to relax, when Benjamin Martin and his sons rode up into camp.

The relief was overwhelming. And not because it could have been Bordon or the Dragoons or another Company of British entirely, but because Martin was here. Nicholas hadn't realised how worried about Mark he'd become until he saw Martin dismounting and striding toward them. Finally, someone who could take charge, someone who could set things to right. The heavy weight he hadn't realised he'd been carrying lessened as he walked toward Martin to greet him.

Nicholas bided his time, waiting for a quiet word with Martin. The opportunity was a long time coming, with everyone wanting Martin's attention, and with Martin explaining what had happened - Bordon falling upon their hideout, his fleeing with his sons in the nick of time. And then there was the fight between Mark and Benjamin, when Mark learned that Tavington was now free again. That he'd been whipped instead of hanged like he aught to have been. Lots of yelling, then, Gods, Mark had been angry. So angry. These days, he was never not angry. It had Nicholas worried, and he told Martin so when he finally had a chance to get the man alone.

Relatively alone, anyway. Gabriel and Thomas were there too, but Nicholas had judged it to be fine, raising his concerns in their presence. Mark was their family, their uncle. They were not outsiders in this - Nicholas was the outsider. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, unable to hide his unease, as he laid out his concerns to the Colonel.

"…Farshaw," he said, voice soft. "He's behind much of it. I know Mr. Putman was already tense but with Farshaw here, under his influence… Mr. Putman was a burning torch before. Now he's a bonfire. I don't know, maybe it's a good thing - that fire."

"But you don't think so," Benjamin said and Nicholas shook his head.

"No, Sir, I don't. Not like he is now - he never speaks about anything else, now. And that argument you just had - because you didn't hang Tavington. As if you would hang an enemy officer of Tavington's rank! You don't have the authority for that, you can make that decision on your own. It makes me worry that Mr. Putman would do exactly that, not caring that he hasn't the authority. Besides, it's bad practice - you capture Officers, you don't hang them. Militia, yes. The law does not protect them. But Regulars? It's like he just doesn't care anymore, about any of it. He wants blood, he's thirsting for it. Now with Farshaw here… He's just about frothing at the lips for it."

Gabriel and Thomas shifted restlessly, uneasily.

"He fired at Tavington that night," Nicholas confided. "Mr. Putman is the one that shot him."

"We all started shooting at the Dragoons," Benjamin said. "It was an ambush, it's what you do in an ambush. The first volley, sometimes people die."

"Yes, sometimes they do. If I am in battle and fighting the enemy, I take sight on the first enemy and I fire. I don't seek out any in particular for a personal vendetta. But Mr. Putman was deliberate, he was trying to kill Tavington that night. All I'm trying to say is, your agendas do not align, Sir. Where you will try to capture, he will try to kill. I feel that he will use the confusion of battle to commit murder, no matter what you order to the contrary."

Benjamin gazed at Nicholas thoughtfully.

"You know this can't be easy for me," Nicholas said, troubled. "I don't like to speak against him. It's just that… with Farshaw here… I think Mr. Putman would have been redeemable, before. Perhaps he could have been reasoned with. But under Farshaw's influence…. The other men you placed under Mr. Putman are listening to Farshaw's every word, they're being influenced too. Which would be fine, if not for this niggly feeling."

"And the feeling is telling you not to trust Farshaw?" Gabriel asked.

"I have the distinct feeling that he isn't speaking the truth. Or that he is, but only part of it. They whipped him, he says. They beat him and left him for dead, he says. Perhaps both are true, and he's using it to rile the men, without ever saying why he was whipped or beaten. I'm not saying that Bordon and Tavington should've done those things, but perhaps there was a very strong reason for both. We don't know Farshaw. That's what I'm saying. No. I don't trust him."

"You're right not to trust him. I've been informed of a few truths about the lad, some that would curl your toes," Benjamin said and Nicholas gaped. Benjamin lifted his voice, calling out to Mark. Stiff with tension, Mark strode over, clearly still angry after confronting Benjamin about Tavington. "We have to talk," Benjamin said.

"Done enough of that," Mark spat.

"That was shouting," Benjamin said mildly. "It's about Farshaw."

"What about him?"

Lord, he is in a mood, Nicholas thought. He waited for Benjamin to stay laying Nicholas' concerns out to Mark, and was surprised when he took a different tact entirely.

"What do you know of his conduct back at Fresh Water?"

"He told me some of it. Cilla told me some also," Mark said, shrugging.

"So you know that he beat and raped his wife," Benjamin asked. Nicholas whirled to Benjamin, stunned.

"How can you call it rape? She is his wife," Mark shrugged again. "Besides, she was having an affair," his eyes narrowed, his lips became pinched. "With Bordon. I don't blame him for beating her."

"You didn't beat Mage," Benjamin pointed out. There was a collective gasp among the youths; Nicholas, Thomas and Gabriel averted their gazes, looking anywhere but at the two men. Mark shot them embarrassed looks, to have what they all knew bought out into the light and discussed so blithely. "I didn't beat Charlotte," Benjamin said, voice strangled. "Though I suppose you'll justify their actions of having a purpose and therefore, we should not be angry with them. Farshaw, on the other hand, had good cause to almost beat his pregnant wife to death."

"The child isn't even his," Mark hissed, casting a swift look over his shoulder at Calvin Farshaw, who was sitting beside Peter Scott, chatting. That was another thing Cilla had told Mark, though the information hadn't been shared with Calvin yet.

"He beat a pregnant woman almost to death," Benjamin stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "And prior to that, when he served in the Continentals under Colonel Clement, he forced Mrs. Farshaw into Clement's bed, gaining coin in return. He whored his own wife, Mark."

"You don't know that that's true."

"I remember rumours," Gabriel said. "I remember hearing Francis Marion discussing it - he did not like that Clements was paying to bed the wife of one of his men. It would be it would be simple enough, to discover if the woman was Mrs. Farshaw."

"I do not need to discover it, I already know it for truth," Benjamin said. "He whored his wife to his Superior for personal gain. He beat her then and he beat her now. I will not have a man such as he in my command, Mark."

Mark drew back, his eyes widening. "He is a Corporal in the Continental establishment."

"Only if I decide he is. He switched sides, giving up all rights to his rank -"

"They forced him!"

"They gave him a choice and he chose. It was a hard choice, to be sure. But he made it. He also chose to turn traitor within the British ranks, but that does not automatically entitle him to his place among the Continentals. A man who would beat his pregnant wife - no matter who had the siring of it, and no matter what the provocation - is not a man I will welcome in my Company."

"Then he will serve as a militiaman, in mine," Mark said, lifting his head.

"Your company is my company," Benjamin leaned in close. "Never forget that, Mark. You are a Captain in my chain of command. If I decide he is gone, he is gone and that is an end to it."

"Why send him away when he's so damned willing?" Mark snapped, furious.

"Because he is a sly little bastard," Benjamin replied. "From the moment he came to us, he has told us half truths and all out lies. And he has shown a propensity for violence toward women which I abhor."

"Yet you tolerated it from Tavington, when you should have hanged him!"

"Fifteen lashes is hardly tolerating his beating of my daughter. We discussed this, do not seek to use it as a distraction now. We are discussing Farshaw and his lies."

Nicholas eyed Benjamin warily, hoping the Colonel did not call upon to speak his concerns. He had no evidence of Calvin's conduct, he only suspected that Farshaw had been speaking half truths and lies.

"He said they beat him nearly to death?" Benjamin asked Mark, who nodded. "That was because he beat his wife. He took her roughly against a tree and when he was done, he beat her some more. Kicked into her repeatedly, full force, what ever part of her he could reach. That was why he was beaten."

Nicholas stared at Benjamin in horror. His sons did not look surprised, clearly they already knew all of this.

"What of it? She is Bordon's whore. Farshaw has every right to discipline his wife as he sees fit," Mark shrugged. Clearly, he knew of it too.

"Ah, I see. Cilla told you, did she? And it doesn't bother you at all."

"He is a worthy member of my Company and he -"

"Is a sodomite," Benjamin said, folding his arms across his chest. Nicholas' eyes bulged.

"He was raped, Benjamin," Mark whispered, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Farshaw again. "Raped! Major Fallows forced himself on him - Farshaw confided in me!"

"Hmm, he is more cunning than I thought - confessing that, knowing it would come out eventually, he covered his tracks before it could. Fallows did not rape Farshaw, Mark. When Fallows was found, he was in Farshaw's bed, still on all fours, there was evidence that he had been rutted from behind. Tell me, did he somehow force Farshaw participate in their relations?"

Mark's face paled, his breathing slowed, became deep.

"He told us that Fallows came into the room, that beyond Farshaw's imaginings, he opened a drawer and found the seal and cipher. So Farshaw had no choice but to kill him. But that was not what happened. The Major was in Farshaw's bed, Farshaw was a participant in their coupling."

"Then why did he kill him?" Mark said, folding his arms across his chest. "Why did he stab Fallows to death, if he was willing?"

"Fallows had been speaking for Farshaw to O'Hara, trying to put him forward for promotion. O'Hara continually refused. Realising his future would not advance with the Major's help, Farshaw killed him," Benjamin shrugged. "I find it very easy to believe of him."

"And where did you get this information? Tavington?" Mark spat. "You would trust Tavington's word? Gods, I hadn't thought I could think lower of your actions, letting the damned bastard live. Now you believe his word, as well? You don't know what happened, you weren't there. Tavington doesn't know what happened, he wasn't there. Farshaw was there, however, and I have his testimony! You say he speaks in half truths and lies? What choice did he have but to do exactly that? He couldn't admit he was being force by the Major -"

"Yet he admitted it to you," Benjamins said. "To gain your sympathy and to cover his tracks, knowing that news about his perfidy would eventually spread."

"Think as you will, I know a tortured soul when I see one," Mark said. "You weren't there any more than I was. You don't know what position the body was found in, or if he was naked or clothed. Tavington spilled his lies all over you, as a means to get at Farshaw. And it worked, by the sounds of it!"

"Alright, tell me his side of it then?"

"It happened exactly as he told us. Fallows walked in on him, opened the drawer, discovered evidence of his spying. Farshaw killed him. He admitted to me, when he confided what was being done to him, that he found the decision to kill Fallows quite an easy one, considering," Mark said. "He told me he had no one to turn to, no one who would have believed him, much less helped him. He had to suffer Fallows attentions for weeks, he was helpless to do anything about it. Would you really turn out one of your soldiers because he was raped by his Superior?"

"If he was raped by his Superior, I'd hang the Superior and do whatever I could for the soldier," Benjamin said. "But I do not believe that is what happened. As I do not trust the one person who was there to tell of it, I will not release him because of his - liaison - with Fallows. I will release him for the beating of his wife, for I will not have a man like that in my ranks."

"Gods, half these men have likely beaten their wives. They'd never tell you though, not their Holier Than Thou Colonel Martin," Mark curled his lip. "I will inform Farshaw that he is not be returned to his previous rank as Corporal, he is not to be made an Officer, despite risking his life to help us capture Tavington who you were so gentle with, you might as well have not taken him at all! I am keeping him in my militia, however. Will you argue this?"

"I will not."

Bristling, Mark made to turn away.

"And Captain?" Benjamin said, turning Mark back. "If you ever question my actions or my command again, I will have you flogged and your rank will be revoked. Do I make myself clear?" The Colonel held his Captain's eyes, Mark's growing wider by the moment. Benjamin did not blink, his face was cold and hard, the Colonel in every sense of the rank.

"Yes, Colonel," Mark saluted, then turned crisply on his heel and strode away.

"Dear Lord, that was… unpleasant," Nicholas said. "I wish I hadn't bought it up."

"It was a conversation that was coming," Benjamin said. "Watson, you are in my chain of command, but I know you are loyal to Mark, I respect it and would not for one moment try to persuade you from it. Just… Keep your eyes open, will you? Keep them on Mark and on Farshaw. Keep your level head, first and foremost. I'm not asking you to betray him but if it gets bad enough, I do ask you to inform me. Can you do that, son?"

"Yes, Sir. For Mark's sake, I most certainly can," Nicholas said. "A sodomite?" He asked. "Are you sure Tavington wasn't lying?"

"I know which version of the story I would believe," Benjamin said grimly. "And it definitely is not Farshaw's." He met Nicholas' eyes. "He was keeping vials of oil in his drawer, Watson. They were used to… to… make the entry… smoother."

"Eh," Nicholas grunted.

"Did Fallows force Farshaw to keep those, too? Did he force Farshaw to take up position behind him, to participate in buggery, which Tavington knows was done for there was a man's milt pooling in Fallows arse hole -"

"Enough," Nicholas lifted a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. He heaved a breath, met Benjamin's eyes. "That whole thing you just described, that might never have happened, Sir. It all depends on whose story you believe. Tavington could have been lying to you about the entire thing - the vials might have been added to make it more believable."

"I know a lying bastard when I see one," Benjamin said, a mockery of what Mark had claimed earlier. His eyes were on Mark and Farshaw, who were on their feet and walking away from the others. "Tavington was not lying, Lieutenant. I'm sure he's not above it, but in this, he was not. Keep an eye on them, will you?"

"I will, Sir," Nicholas promised.